TRYLON-31
BY GORD


CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1	RETURN OF THE GODS		PAGE 5
CHAPTER 2	COMFORTS OF HOME		PAGE 14
CHAPTER 3	JUNIOR TAKES A RIDE		PAGE 29
CHAPTER 4	GUESTS OF THE STATE		PAGE 44
CHAPTER 5	PAIN AND PLEASURE		PAGE 55
CHAPTER 6	NEGOTIATIONS			PAGE 64
CHAPTER 7	LETHAL WOMEN			PAGE 74
CHAPTER 8	TROOP CARRIER			PAGE 91
CHAPTER 9	TRYLON SUBDUED			PAGE 119
CHAPTER 10	SENTENCED TO LIFE			PAGE 132
CHAPTER 11	MISGIVINGS				PAGE 149
CHAPTER 12	POST WAR TRYLON			PAGE 156
CHAPTER 13	POLICY CHANGES			PAGE 168
CHAPTER 14	THE SOLUTION				PAGE 170
CHAPTER 15	THE MOON AND BEYOND	PAGE 175


THE ALIENS SERIES: EVENTS THUS FAR

'Trylon-31' is the continuation of a series that started with the book, 'Aliens'. In that first novel, the delectable Tracy was kidnapped from Earth whilst on her way home along an endless desert road. The alien kidnappers wished her no harm, but unfortunately their crippled spacecraft required something that she could supply. The only known earthly source of a certain frequency of beta wave required to control their volatile hyperdrive system was to be found in the female of the species. Tracy is installed as part of the control system and maintained at pre-orgasmic levels of excitation so as to provide a constant flow of the desired output. Arrival at the home planet four years later offers no relief from her torment as she discovers that the entire planet is bondage crazy. In addition, the computer that controlled her during the long flight has adopted some human traits. Determined to get into Tracy's panties, the computer eventually kidnaps her again and legs it into the boonies with its prize. That would seem to be the end of Tracy, but then in the novel 'Starburst One' a bunch of travelling drop-outs lost in space stumble upon the wreckage of that craft after crashing through a space time warp. Tracy and another woman kidnapped by the computer are alive and well, still in bondage, and being kept as museum exhibits by a race that doesn't understand they are creatures normally endowed with separated legs and the power to walk. Sven Olafsun and his motley crew of dropouts quickly relieve the planet of its goodies, and scuttle back to the cover of deep space.

But now they have a dilemma. What to do with two new unwilling recruits, and what to do with a cargo of 280 Miss Galaxy finalists travelling in stasis. Hmmm! Big dilemma, especially when one considers that the rest of the cargo is 150 tons of bondage equipment in transit to the planet PLON-KR-250.

Rope and ravish mayhem reigns as they figure it out. But then, Rampant Roger, a horny android, figures that the planet Thyros, which until recently had two delectable bound females in its museum, is ripe for some prime directive jiggery-pockery, especially since it is in the middle of a gender war.

Armed with modern technology, they lend the beleaguered males a hand. Within days, the women of Thyros are beaten and condemned to a life of subservience. Sven and Roger eagerly advise on how to control the females, and of course, bondage being their penchant, the means to do that is not in dispute.

'Thyros Bound' the third book in the series is about the conversion of an entire culture to a system where women are contained in the most stringent bondage imaginable, and of course arranged to be aesthetically pleasing and available for their masters. 

Which brings us to this book. Sven and Roger retire from Thyros and slip ahead through time, emerging on Thyros a thousand years later to see what has developed from their teachings. They are truly staggered to see the advances made by the inventive Thyrons. Encouraged by that success their minds move on to thoughts of bondage on a galactic scale. 'Trylon-31' becomes the focus of the next stage, a planet inhabited solely by gorgeous amazons who have long since eradicated males from their world.


TRYLON - 31

CHAPTER ONE
RETURN OF THE GODS

Unfortunately for Sven's four personal playmates, it was essential that the reappearance of the planet's godly mentor be accompanied by a show of female control that was as yet unprecedented in both severity and innovation. Not an easy task, even for someone as well versed in the art of dominance as 'The Great Sven' when confronted by the inspired bondage genius of Thyron males. However, Sven did have one small point in his favour. Generally speaking Thyrons took existing ideas and bettered them to a staggering degree. The advent of totally new ideas on Thyros was still a rarity that was seemingly reserved for the up and coming developers of the new generation. Thyros it seemed, was poised to take a major step in radical thinking. Perhaps the return of the Gods would be the catalyst that sparked off an era of bondage ingenuity and originality for this planet of entrammelled femininity.

At precisely noon, on the day Thyros reserved as a spiritual holiday to remember the departure of their ancient Gods, the whisper of shuttle retros sounded above the capital city of Gazra. In awe, thousands of eyes strained skywards against the bright sunlight in an effort to catch first glimpse of the arriving deity. A shadow flitted across the upturned faces and a murmur of awe rose from a multitude of throats as the giant craft blotted out the Sun.

With an eye for detail, Sven chose the huge supply shuttle in preference over the small unimpressive VIP craft. Gods were expected to do things in a big way, and a cargo shuttle weighing some 10,000 metric tons tended to give the impression of BIG.

Dust swirled in clouds as the leviathan eased down, then with well-practiced precision, Thyron troops dashed forward, arranging carpets and honour guards as the craft settled into full landing mode. As a sign of reverence for the great prophet, steps constructed of carefully selected females presented a sea of upturned buttocks ready to bear the weight of the descending God Sven. Eighty gorgeous, powerfully bound females, chosen for their superb buttock features were cinched savagely to the stairway frame so as to form steps with their under thighs and curvaceous rumps. Their feelings on the usage were difficult to judge. Any part of their anatomy not required to form the step surface was embedded deeply into the solid resin moulding that encapsulated and rigidified the structure as a whole. Careful consideration of the stairs would later reveal that all were in fact arranged doubly folded, as if in a modulator tube, and simply laid in staggered rows that presented a new line of thigh-bottom steps for each level. A single upper thigh band clamped each female tight to the woman below. Rising from the centre of the clamp was a single steel hook that reached up and deeply penetrated the butt hole of the woman above, thus ensuring that the whole became an inextricably joined unit of womanhood each inter-dependant upon the others thus guaranteeing structural integrity. If nothing else, the Thyrons were meticulous engineers.

Image 1

The hatch cracked open and there was a hiss of air as the vessel's cabin pressure and Thyron's slightly lower air pressure equalised. Silence descended on the crowds as the shuttle hatch swung wider. Eighty women with no hope of escape died inwardly as their helpless forms were left arranged as steps for these alien visitors; monsters who had brought about the enslavement of womanhood on Thyros. Thyron mythology depicted them as normal looking humanoids, yet somehow legend nurtured an unreasoning fear in the female gender. It was probably enhanced by the fact that each woman was arranged with her most private orifices and tender bottom facing upward and available to all manner of abuse.

A gasp went up as the first God appeared, and a trembling row of top step rumps felt the heavy tread of a God on their upturned bottoms. A second row beauty was slightly less fortunate as Sven's other foot landed squarely on her pussy. The God hesitated and seemed to readjust his tread so as to gently grind a sole into the resilient cushioning peaches of her mons. Strangely the woman felt a firm yet benevolent pressure designed to test and torment rather than torture. Others would later reveal they had experienced similar feelings. Unable to resist in any way, they felt a mischievous, yet understanding, usage of their availability as Sven bounced his weight on their curvaceous bottoms. A much heavier tread, probably that of Rog the Great, showed rather less concern for their comfort.

As it happened, it was their own gender that was destined to create the greatest trauma. But it had to be said, the women of Starburst's entourage had little choice, given the shoes they were forced to wear. High-heeled stilettos were hardly conducive to a gentle tread when the steps were of human construction. Try as they might, none of the women appearing from the shuttle could avoid sinking a heel into at least one or more pussy or butt holes in the multi-bottomed steps. In all honesty, they did their best, but given the enormity of the task facing them whilst restrained the girls were bound to fail in their wish to ease the trauma of their galactic sisters in bondage.

There was a suckling sound nearby, and Sven turned in time to see Yelda balancing precariously on one foot as she tried to extract a six-inch heel from a butt hole. Fiona was in a similar predicament, albeit with her heel deeply embedded in a pussy. Major Boscomp simply stood still and looked pleadingly in his direction. Her left heel was currently buried in a butt on the second step, and her right heel had sunk into the butt hole of a third step. She was trapped and could not balance on either foot whilst extricating the other without sinking deeply into one or the other of the female steps. The bondage she was enduring was hardly helping her balance either. 

Roger and Sven grinned widely and then Sven motioned to Roger to lend a hand. The android lifted the major with one hand, and a gasp rose from the breather tubes of the human staircase as two butt holes relinquished an unsolicited grip on the orifice penetrating spike of her heels.

Wobbling uncertainly, and hampered by extreme bondage, the women tried to follow their owners down the staircase. A dozen or more extractions by Roger completed the descent and found them standing on Terra firma, or rather in this case Thyro-firma. A hushed whisper of awe brought their attention back to the watching throng and the effects of their incredibly alluring image upon the male spectators.

Sheathed in super-tight transparent Synthotex, arms back prayered, feet stilettoed, waists corseted, and heads hooded, Sven's playmates were a lusty male dream come true. Modesty was a notion mentioned in storybooks, but it was hardly a requirement aboard Starburst One. 

Every curvaceous line, every crease, every voluptuous female adornment was on outrageous display. The Synthotex suits were cut to enhance, shape, squeeze, mold and captivate the playmates in the most lewd and provocative manner possible. Their restraints were sized down to smaller women so as to produce deep cinching and exaggerate not only the swell of femininity on hips, tits and buttocks, but to ram home the extreme nature of their enforced containment.

This particular Synthotex was another of Roger's brainstorms. Somehow he had incorporated a metallic element into the mix that gave the appearance of a transparent flexible metal. In fact the strength of Synthotex was almost equal to steel. It also had some of the other sterling qualities of steel, and many of those found in wet rawhide. It was magnetic, and a perfect conductor of electricity. It also exhibited a strange metamorphosis when electrical current passed through it. It shrank! Shrinking was probably not a very descriptive term. Ruthlessly and rapidly contracting to half its original area was probably a better way to describe it. But it was a controlled reduction, dependent upon the strength of the current. 

Roger wasted no time in demonstrating the full potential of the material, which the occupants of the suits had no knowledge of at that time.

A quick flick of the remote controller produced an immediate response from the women as each felt their legs clamped together by an irresistible force. Magnetized legs were as inescapable as the most powerful strapping. In addition, the metal floor of the landing pad served as a perfect anchor. Roger switched them off and re-arranged them in a line, then re-energised the magnetic effect.

Like toy soldiers, the four staggeringly beautiful women stood on parade for all to see. Unfortunately for them, Roger wasn't finished with his demonstration. Another button produced a current flow in the suits that started the reduction.

Steadily he adjusted it and watched gleefully as the women were squeezed and reduced. It was not necessarily an all over reduction. It could be controlled and modified in such a way as to reduce some sections more than others, with all the desirable effects that could be achieved by squeezing the female form in certain areas.

Cheeks bulged over tightening gag sections, and eyes bugged out in silent protest. Then tits seemed to magically expand and balloon into taught hard spherical chest adornments at the flick of a switch. Butts came in for some heavy modification as waist lines and thighs reduced dramatically. The flare of female hips took on a whole new profile as Roger calmly modified the women into absurdly enhanced caricatures of femininity. 

Sven clearly approved of the new developments and took his time inspecting the troops as Roger fine-tuned them to stiffened female effigies. As the modifications took effect, the women provided a crotch melting display of straining and writhing before the final adjustments solidified them and robbed them of even the slightest movement. His intention was to leave them there for the amusement of the gathering. No doubt they would be a very popular attraction for the Thyron males who were always on the look out for new ideas and developments in the control and usage of the female gender. Rog the Great, deity from above, was certainly showing them some novel new ways to heap yet more trauma on the luckless women of Thyros.

But there was work to be done. Loath though he was to turn his attention away from the straining statues of tormented womanhood, Sven turned to face the approaching dignitaries. It was time to get the formalities under way. He noted with some delight that the two people he had long been observing from the heavens were amongst the entourage. Apparently his request for their presence had been heeded.

Sven felt an instant warmth emanate from the elders. He had surmised that it would be a nervous first meeting, but his misgivings were quickly dispelled.

As Braka and Yoran, the requested attendees, were introduced, there was a moment of stunned silence from the young man Yoran, but that quickly passed as he moved forward to shake the hand of his hero Sven. At last, after years of studying the philosophy of female control in the scriptures, he was finally getting to meet the author of modern day Thyron culture. Thoughts of his God-like origins vanished in a trice as Sven gripped the young man's hand enthusiastically. The next words issuing from the translators stunned Yoran.

"Well done, young man. I've been watching you for a long time, and I can see we have a lot to talk about." Gobsmacked was a good term for the look on Yoran's face. Sven, 'The Sven, had been watching him?

Thyron elders were a smart bunch. They sensed that Sven and his cohort were eager to enjoy some quality time with the two people they had requested, so the formalities were kept to a minimum. Most of the planned social and diplomatic events were scheduled for the following day. The excuse was that they had felt the Gods would be tired after a long journey, but nobody was really fooled by that. An hour later Sven, Roger, and the much prodded, poked, squeezed, and investigated soldierettes at the landing pad were ready to accompany Braka and Yoran to their home. As a mark of respect, the 'Gods' were afforded the royal transport, an ornate carriage that looked suspiciously like the State coach used by the long defunct monarchy of a small island called Britain. Sven suspected that Roger had left a history book lying around at some time in the distant past. The Thyrons had basically adopted it as a sort of bible. Good job it wasn't a book about the American prohibition era or the like, or else Thyros might be a whole different place now.

Unlike its predecessor, this coach was pulled by twelve bounding, Rog- Reamered beauties. Sven wasted no time in ordering his own coffle attached to the rear, and the procession moved off.

Unfortunately, the capital city of Gazra was a rather large place. Much to the dismay of the hopping team of super sheathed femininity, it took three hours to complete the ticker-tape tour of lined streets. A multitude of stops to view various places of historical interest left the Starburst quartet at the full mercy of the throng. Thousands of hands jostled for a place on their bodies, probing, squeezing, pinching and mauling as the captive females stood in total helplessness. Occasionally Roger demonstrated other aspects of the conductive quality of the sheaths. A pulsed low level charge induced a very enjoyable animation in the straining forms as they were left to the mercy of the crowds. They were the lucky ones. The Rog-reamered Thyron ponies were parked by simply throwing a switch. Instantly they were electrified from ankles to neck and transformed into quivering arched columns of rigid impotence, tits and pussies thrusting lewdly forward and available for any amount of unsolicited abuse.

For the men, it was an interesting tour. The women were slightly less enthused by the parade. But all good things must come to an end, and so it was that the procession finally arrived at the home of Braka.

Image 2


CHAPTER TWO
THE COMFORTS OF HOME

Sven stared at the endlessly pogoing figure in the garden with drop-jawed amazement. A visit to the Municipal buildings had availed him of his first close-up physical inspection of the diplomat ensconced in a prototype version, but even that amazing device really wasn't in the same ballpark as the advanced Gazra-3 version.

The guided municipal tour, in itself, proved to be a strange situation. The Thyron elders, guessing that he was not in fact a deity, but that he was from Earth, feared that Sven might be offended to see one of his own race put to such a demeaning use. They tried to steer him away, but he insisted. They were ecstatic when Captain Sven complimented them on finding such a perfect occupation for a forcibly retired diplomat from the Earth federation. Encouraged by his acceptance of the usage of females from any source, they offered to show him the other two women of the captured delegation later.

Apparently the female crewmembers of that ill-fated diplomatic mission were suffering equal levels of humiliation. Whilst the male members of the delegation were sent home in disgrace, the women were kept as a warning. It was probably the most humiliating diplomatic cock-up in Federation history. Initially all three women were stripped, inverted, and spread-eagled at the landing field when the remaining male diplomats were escorted on board their shuttle. As if to add insult to injury, each woman was utilised as a flag bearer for the Thyron ensign, two flags stuffed into each woman's offered orifices.

Sven knew all this, yet still he cemented the relationship and put them at ease by asking if he personally could switch the Rog-reamered municipal display on. But not until he'd taunted the muted, desperately keening woman who had been brought to a stop specifically for his inspection. No doubt she was convinced the nightmare was about to end when he formally introduced himself. To her horror there was no move to ungag or release her, and the Space Corp Captain, Sven Olafsen, only seemed to discuss the technical details of her horrendous bondage. Then she heard him make the request to re-energise her. The result was a spectacular display of frenzied straining as she tried to escape the renewal of the torment. 

The diplomat's eyes were ablaze with flashes of fury, mainly aimed at the smirking Space Captain. Her anger availed her nothing as Sven threw the switch and re-energised her to a bounding electrified fate. It was the diplomatic thing to do, after all, and Sven derived great pleasure from such a politically correct act. Sven's eye fixed avidly on the woman as she emitted a loud "Mmmmpht!" and exploded into totally controlled movement at the flick of a switch.

As it happened, Sven had an ulterior motive. The commander in chief of Earth Command was no friend of his, and to exercise the power to consign his snooty diplomat daughter to such a diabolical fate was a pleasure. They stood for ten minutes watching the figurine pogoing around and enjoyed her daggering furious looks each time she came to face them. It was all wasted on Sven. He was too busy savouring the vision of her painfully jostling electrified tits and violently animated butt. The woman was certainly as looker, and it was uplifting to see her curvaceous bubble butt jostling and jouncing with enforced exertion.

Image 3

As a special treat for their prestigious visitor, the town council had the maintenance man come in and adjust the former diplomat up to maximum settings. The "Mmmmpht!" accompanying each muscle-jerking leap became louder and more pronounced as the technician gleefully turned the voltage control up. In no time at all her jackknifing performance had escalated from being merely frenzied, to something approaching demoniacal. Sparks flew from the nipple cap connectors and steel track, as the bounding steel sheathed figure went ballistic. It seemed unreal to visualise this thoroughly controlled female-shaped device as the simpering debutante he had once met at a function back on Earth, but he had to admit it was a task she was well suited for.

For almost an hour the entourage stood around and discussed the electrically motivated woman as she bounced and convulsed her way endlessly around the track. The technician was continually tuning her to greater effort, oblivious to the effects of rebounding spherical tits and her desperate attempts to escape which merely translated into a spectacular display of straining tormented delight for the onlookers. Unfortunately, there were other things the Thyrons wanted to show him, so they left her to perform, and out of courtesy for their prestigious visitor, kept the settings at maximum. He had to admit she looked much more attractive when performing a demonic flexing dance and perpetually shoving dildos into herself. The thoroughly controlled woman cast despairing eyes at the backs of the retreating entourage as the technician managed to adjust her to even greater effort by expanding her dildos and redirecting a greater proportion of the energising force into her butt hole. Each leap became an explosive convulsion of jostling female curves that defied description.

Sven's mind returned to the task at hand, and he was entranced by the newer version of female control on display in the garden. He continually fired questions at his host whilst Junior stood back and allowed his Dad some of the limelight.

Sitting under the shade of the tree for a half an hour discussing the endlessly circling figurine, Sven complimented the Thyrons on a marvelous invention. The horrendously traumatised bounding steel encapsulated female never missed a beat. Crackling with electricity and jerking madly with each muscle-wrenching jolt, the deliciously controlled woman maintained a staggering pace. Braka informed him that she'd been at it three weeks now, only stopping for the mandatory government four-hour rest each day in which she was also serviced. Servicing consisted of pumping out her wastes and cramming her full of high-energy food supplements.

Sven remarked on the astounding profile of the rubber sheathed buttocks erupting from the rear of the steel suit, and Dad, or as Sven now knew him, Braka, explained.

"The suit was an ultra tight fit to start. But after three weeks of that exercise her muscles have bulked up. It's really tight now." Braka took another swig at the Karra juice and leaned back to enjoy the sight of his ex wife in motion. Sven had to agree, that rump looked really superb at such levels of extrusion, especially when forcibly animated. The tits were something else. Cinched savagely to hard spherical balls, they were bouncing demonically with each enforced leap, nipples snagging viscously at the spring electrode connectors, and sparks daggering from the high voltage nipple clamps that powered her re-setting mode. Sven noted the flecks of surplus liquid flying from her rubberised crotch orifices and allowed his eyes to savour the constant thrusting insertions of her activator dildos as they pumped in and out of her body. The image of the woman constantly fucking herself did wonders for the erection that was currently challenging the strength of his trousers.

Eventually Yoran managed swing the conversation away from the mind boggling exhibition of the Gazra-3 home generator and get Sven interested in his own projects. Rising, they all sauntered into the house where Yoran had prepared a demonstration.

Since experiencing those strange feelings every time he looked at the new house female, Yoran's design talents had been concentrated on a new line of work. Even his Dad was not aware of the latest ideas; Yoran had saved the unveiling especially for the visit of his hero.

Entering the kitchen, Yoran saw his father's eager expression turn to one of disappointment. Wife 3 was as normal; spending her time plugged into the punishment socket. There was no visible sign that anything had changed, other than the fact her straining movements against the Rog- Reamer were still apparent. She wasn't switched on.

"So what's so special son?" Braka turned a questioning look at Yoran and saw him beaming with pride. Reaching down he flipped the switch. 

Instantly the female's rump jerked into a starkly enhanced profile, then relaxed. A second later it repeated the quivering tensioned performance. At first it all looked normal, other than the fact that the output of the punishment socket was pulsing instead of flowing constantly. Only then, as the upper torso continued to strain against the restraint bands did the differences start to become apparent.

The surging current was only acting on her lower body. The upper torso was simply held by the normal body clamps of her everyday working attire.

Braka stared at the butt humping figure with questioning eyes, whilst Sven clapped Yoran on the shoulder and smiled.

"You're learning fast, son. Owning women is not all about tormenting them. Treat them right and they can give you hours of pleasure as well." At that point he was interrupted as the electrified woman gave vent to a muffled yet massive moan and went rigid all over. Braka looked perplexed and asked, "Is that a full punishment charge stiffening her up son?" Sven smiled at Braka, looked at his watch and shook his head without actually answering him directly.

"Impressive! Very impressive. Eighteen seconds and already she's going into orgasm." Braka's puzzled look grew even deeper and he looked back to the moaning shape on the floor.

"How the hell did you manage that Yoran, I mean, what's the point?" Yoran misread the tone of his father completely and visibly puffed up with pride as he prepared to air his brilliance.

"I re-routed the charge. Instead of having both heels as positives, and her tits as the negative pole, I made one heel negative and one positive."

Sven was already nodding. He'd figured it out in a flash.

Yoran continued for his father's benefit. "She's coated in rubber so there's no short circuit. The current has to travel up one leg and down the other. I insulated her nipples so that is the only path."

Sven added the rest. "So her pussy and ass get a continuous pulsing charge as it passes from thigh to thigh and she's forced to go into orgasm as her whole crotch region works itself into a frenzy. Pretty slick Yoran, pretty damned slick." Yoran flushed with pride. Sven the Great giving praise to his efforts was a special moment for him.

For a while they just walked around the perpetually orgasming figure and watched her exploding with violent electrically orchestrated pleasure. The petrified look of suffering inherent with the standard punishment socket was gone, replaced now by a serene glow and the half closed eyes of a woman being subjected to extreme ecstasy.

Wife 3's chest was heaving delightfully. The rubber-sheathed breasts were pulsing with carnal power and her nipples were like daggers that threatened to burst through the insulation caps. All the beauty of seeing a woman plugged into a punishment socket and totally controlled was still there, but hugely enhanced by the vision of rapturous enjoyment she was being forced to accept.

"How long do you leave her switched on, Yoran?" Sven threw the question sideways without moving his eyes from the magnificent sight of the woman's third orgasm.

"Well, so far I've only kept her energised for ten or fifteen minutes. I was worried in case she overloaded." Sven grinned widely and shook his head at the young man's ignorance of females.

“A woman, overload on pleasure! I suggest you leave her on for the night, Yoran, and you'll find out just what a woman is really capable of."

The pulsing female released a long moan. But it wasn't a moan of fear. It was a moan that said Oh! No! - Please Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Sven gestured to the woman as if his case was proved.

"See! She doesn't want you to leave her switched on, and at the same time she's praying that you will. Aren't you, woman?" The translator in his hand passed his words on to the sensuously writhing female. 

There was another long moaning sigh in answer, and then she stiffened and erupted into a fourth orgasm. Whoever this strange man was, he knew all about the deep-rooted conflicts of womanhood. In a trice she succumbed to the inner demons. It was the realisation that he really knew female secrets and had the knowledge to keep her erupting with excruciating pleasure that triggered her unstoppable carnal response. Yoran looked impressed. That strange feeling was back and it felt good to see this magnificent female enduring almost unbelievable pleasure. In fact, he had a feeling he could become addicted to it; even more so than seeing her stiffened completely and undergoing massive punishment, as was the norm for a woman who had been plugged in.

Braka looked totally out of his depth. He was a man of the old school. He could see no sense in wasting time forcing a woman to enjoy herself when all she had to do was obey and ensure that her owner was fully serviced and happy. He preferred to see her rigid and quivering, no matter what the cost to her. It made him feel secure to see the females of Thyros ruthlessly controlled and chastised. But he was reckoning without Yoran's strange feelings for this woman, and Yoran wasn't alone in his considerations. Many of the younger generation were having doubts about controlling females without allowing them any pleasure. Yoran had just gone a stage further in forming an unspoken attachment for one particular specimen. It had to be said that she was an exceptional specimen in anybody's eyes, but for him she was a quantum leap further up the ladder in desirability. 

Sven completely understood what it was Yoran subconsciously felt for Wife 3. If a woman enjoyed herself, enforced or otherwise, she became a true servant to the one who brought it about. Yoran was an astute young man to have realised that at such an early age. However, Sven had also seen the sly looks Yoran cast at the writhing woman when his Dad wasn't looking and he knew instantly that the son was struggling with emotions towards this woman that he didn't fully understand. Yoran was falling in love with the orgasming stunner and wanted to see her perpetually enjoying erotic sensations.

Sven made a mental note to take the son aside and try and explain what it was he was feeling. His father never would, because he didn't understand either. Poor Yoran probably thought he was a pervert for feeling like he did. It was totally against all Thyron teaching. Women were items for usage, and that didn't include having benevolent feelings towards them. In a way, that troubled Sven and he decided to look into ways of introducing a new line of thought that would, over a decade or so, mellow young Thyron males to at least have a modicum of feeling for their women. Generous yet firm masters were good news for the cause. But it had to be done carefully. Any ill-conceived ideas could end up with females becoming revered persons, and males back under their thumb. He knew the disasters that line of thought had brought to Earth. Give them an inch and they took a mile. Equality was swiftly relegating Earth and the Federation to a second class power with too much time being spent on gender appeasement. There was just too much effort wasted on the niceties of catering to women's whims.

Females deserved some slack, but not too much. However, Sven felt one could truly enslave the female if her own Achilles heel was used against her.

He looked at Yoran shrewdly and it occurred to him that this young guy would make a great addition to the Starburst team. He was brilliant, yet had an, as yet, barely realised tenderness for the opposite sex. Maybe if he was away from his father aboard Starburst he could learn about women and allow himself to look upon them differently without him becoming an object of scorn in the eyes of his own people. The trick was going to be how to arrange it. He caught Yoran looking at him with questioning eyes and averted his eyes back to the woman before Yoran read his thoughts. The son knew his hero was plotting something.

Sven allowed his mind to dwell on the superb pulsing female buttocks, and it suddenly occurred to him that a simple modification could improve Yoran's idea still further. If that female's rubber suit included internal condom type pockets, a man could have a fine old time buried in her to the hilt whilst she was switched on and pulsing madly. It was sure to be the ride of a lifetime, and a woman enjoying as much carnal pleasure as she was, would surely not begrudge a male invading her interior via that tight puckering ring of delight. It was liable to be less an invasion, and more a sort of dick-parking in a super active garage of hot pulsing womanhood. There was no need for the man to do anything other than let the electrically motivated tunnel of firm silky softness milk him dry as the spasming ring of her sphincter worked diligently like a bovine vacuum milker tube.

A hard rod rapidly appeared in his trousers, and he caught Yoran smiling at him.

"Great minds think alike Mr. Sven?" Sven grinned sheepishly at being caught out.

"Just Sven, drop the mister! You had the same idea then? Rubber inserts?" 

Yoran nodded. "Already fitted. She's safe to use. Fully insulated as far as we are concerned." They turned to find that Braka had vanished. He just couldn't understand what had inspired his son to come up with such a useless modification. In fact he was ashamed that Yoran had revealed his stupidity at a time when the greatest designer of female retribution was there.

Sven shrugged. "He doesn't understand Yoran. You'll have to forgive him; he just doesn't understand.”

Yoran looked crestfallen. He really wanted to impress Dad, and it had all gone horribly wrong.

Sven snapped him out of it with a request.

"Can the punishment socket revert to normal punishment mode as well?" Yoran nodded. "I'd like to see that for a moment or two if you don't mind."

The spasming female pleaded through the gag as Sven's request filtered through the translator, but as Yoran flipped the selector over her pleas and imploring looks were instantly eradicated.

"UUUUUUUUMMMMMMPPPPPPHHHHH!”

The rubber sheathed form jerked savagely and became rock hard as the powerful punishment current surged into her body and froze her rigid. Gone was the sensuous writhing of the upper body; gone were the half- closed eyes. The woman was staring fixedly ahead, unable to bat an eyelid, and solidified into a column of silently immobilised suffering. Sven bent down and stared straight into her eyes.

"WOW! That's some gadget Yoran. Instant perfect female. Silent, rigid, totally under control, and ready for screwing. Only way to go son." He knew she could see and hear him and he smiled. His tone mellowed. He stooped and tested the rigidity of the figure. Her bottom has hard to the touch, a mass of convulsed muscle that was shaped into a staggering profile. The rest of her body was no less firm, and it was amazing to consider that she was still a living, warm-blooded female.

"Personally, I think I prefer the other mode, Yoran. Keep this mode for punishment. Switch her back over will you." Yoran seemed eager, and as the switch clicked the quivering female relaxed and restarted her humping routine as the current returned to a pulsing mode. For a second the eyes softened and flashed a thank you, then she exploded into another orgasm. His arousing comments, although frozen into a form of irresistible stasis within her body during the punishment mode, now exploded into full force. She found his appraisal of her total helplessness under full charge set her crotch on fire with strange new sensations. It shocked her to realise that she actually enjoyed the right men having such awesome control over her body.

Sven waited until it finally passed and then squeezed her rubberised gag- cinched cheek affectionately as he whispered into the translator. "Have fun you sweet thing, and we'll see what we can do to make your life a bit more enjoyable." The woman moaned loudly and the movement transmitted through her body became more urgent. Yoran had just wound the voltage control higher. Her buttocks reacted with an astounding new level of cyclic resculpting. Sven rose and turned. For a moment he thought Yoran had heard him, but he wasn't sure.

They left the frantically hip-pumping female to her own devices and moved back into the living room where Braka was staring out of the window at the performing Gazra-3. To his mind, Wife 2 was fulfilling her function in life correctly. She looked so beautiful as an erotic, traumatised, helplessly bounding puppet, and if he offered her the chance to perform any sexual service for her master, she would gladly undertake anything he asked, without question, so as to prolong her re-installation on the Gazra-3. Although, he had taken to screwing her without removal from the Gazra- 3 these days. It was a simple matter to stop the device with her in a squatted mode, remove the rear activator dildo and fuck her rubber clad bottom whilst she was still installed. It made the task of re-energising her much easier and she could be back in operation within minutes of absorbing his seed. Braka even noticed an escalating muscle manipulation each time he used her. The woman was obviously trying to please him by tensing her butt hole tightly on his dick. In fact she was desperately trying to please him so much that he would not want to keep her as the Gazra-3 woman. Unfortunately her efforts proved to have little effect, and without even a backward look, Braka flipped the switch as soon as he was done and re-energised her. To Braka she was a household utility item. He never even considered she might have feelings.

Sven winked conspiratorially at Yoran and then spoke loud enough for Braka to hear.

"Yes, well of course even I've had a few failures Yoran, but one has to take that in stride. Now the other idea you had seems brilliant. Publicly punished female prisoners would surely make other women thinking of rebelling pause for thought." Braka suddenly regained interest.

"What was that idea then son? You didn't tell me you were working on something else." Yoran opened his mouth and struggled for words, but Sven cut him short by interrupting.

"Using a modified weather proof punishment socket idea and having all the prisoners arranged in the shopping malls." Braka's eyes lit up. 

"Now that sounds more like it. Have you finished it yet son?" Yoran shook his head and again Sven saved the day by answering for him. 

"No, not yet. We've been working over Yoran's original idea and I gave him some suggestions that might make it even better. We want to be sure we have a winner before he tries to sell it to the prison service. If we get it right, all prisons can be closed down and all the prisoners will serve their sentences publicly. It'll save billions of krel in costs."

Braka was beaming with pleasure. The great Sven was actually working with his son. He could forgive him for the failure humping away down in the kitchen. This was an honour that would stand the family in good stead with the state.

"Come son, let's eat. Get that wife unplugged from your daft pleasure contraption and get her working." Sven flicked a glance at Yoran then put forward a suggestion.

"Er! If you could use some of the other house females, Yoran and I wanted to leave her switched on. Although the new design isn't a punishment device, it will give us some valuable research into cyclic electrical excitation and the long-term effects on vaginal tissues. It might be important for future developments."

Braka looked at them for a second, clearly he was undecided. It went right against his teachings to leave a female in a condition of never ending pleasure. However he wasn't a technically minded man and the scientific jargon impressed him. In the final analysis the feelings of benevolence inspired by his son's other idea was the decider. If leaving the woman switched on could add data to his son's archives, then so be it. No doubt Junior would use the findings to develop some sort of diabolical new torment for recalcitrant females.

"Okay! That's fine with me. Yoran, call the two bedroom maids and set them to work will you."

Sven saw Yoran visibly relax. Had he argued, his Dad would have switched the woman to punishment mode himself and insisted she stayed like that. As it was, Braka decided to turn the Gazra-3 to maximum power and let Wife 2 ease his injured pride with a demonstration of demoniac, jackknifing, frenzied torment. The endlessly performing figurine outside the window exploded into a violent routine of horrendously enhanced activity and dad seemed placated as the muted pleas for mercy penetrated even the double glazing. Two or three hours at that level and she would be very accommodating if he felt like some crotch relief later. He left the desperately bounding woman to marinate in her inescapable compliance mode and moved back over to his guest.

Yoran walked over to the control on the living room wall and selected two buttons. A quick press and two compacted females in storage were being unpacked for service. He left the room making the excuse that he was going to advise them of their temporary new duties. Having done that he crept past the living room door and made for the kitchen to check on his new project.

The stunning shape was still performing strongly as he bent down to her, his hand caressing the pulsing buttocks with undisguised fondness.

"You enjoying yourself woman?" She looked him straight in the eye and moaned softly. “Then I'll leave you to have fun. No work for you tonight. I'm going to keep you all trussed up and humping away for as long as I can. I heard what Sven said, and I'm going to try and get you and me on his ship when they leave. Would you like that?" The woman moaned softly and rolled her eyes suggestively. It was the only way she could communicate but the message was clear. Keep me like this for as long as you like if I don't have to go back on punishment mode.

Her eyes half closed and she shuddered violently as a massive sensation of pleasure swept through her sheathed form; a spontaneous eruption of cataclysmic orgasmic power quickly followed as her surprise benefactor prepared to leave her to mind sapping repetition of never ending orgasmic bliss. Just when all seemed lost, her luck was changing. A gentle hand fondled her spasming buttocks for a while and then her would be savior left. Her mind was in turmoil. A man had touched her affectionately for the first time in her life and it felt good.

Returning footsteps regained her attention. It was Sven wearing a smirk. Yoran turned back to her.

"But first I think just a little indulgence gorgeous. Don't know why, but the sight of you being recharged in punishment mode really winds my spring."

“Uummmmmph!”

The woman jerked and convulsed violently as the selector switch was moved to punishment mode. A microsecond later she was a rigid quivering mass of electrified torment.

"Just a reminder re-charge to prevent you getting lax. So you just lie there for a few hours and absorb all those nice electrons, and later I'll be back to switch you to pleasure mode."

A foot pressed and prodded the super-tensed butt muscles playfully, but the rigid woman simply rocked like an inanimate log. Yoran smiled, turned the control up to maximum and watched avidly as she gradually arched into a powerfully controlled bow of quivering electrified torment. Then he left her to be attended by the merciless socket and an inescapable recharge of obedience.


CHAPTER THREE
JUNIOR TAKES A RIDE

Four weeks of intensive effort by the new friends saw the prisoner punishment device (PP-1) nearing completion. As far as Yoran's new interest in Wife 3 went, he had to compromise. Braka refused to allow her permanent pleasure on the grounds that she would be useless and unmanageable by the time they had finished their cyclic testing of her pussy pulsing experiment. So from the time he came home till the time he left in the morning, she was switched to punishment mode.

Yoran couldn't bear to watch and avoided the kitchen as much as he could during the evenings. Things had gotten so bad that it hurt him to see the stunning woman rigid and quivering as the current savagely held her in its powerful grip. The moment the family transport pulled out of the drive in the mornings, he would rush down and unplug her. A routine slowly developed.

As soon as she was unplugged, Yoran would service her with a raging erection, then exercise her all morning in the Rog-Reamer. She would serve breakfast and lunch, then they would plug her back in and energise the pleasure mode. She always resisted, but it was clearly a token gesture that had always been expected of her. The betrayal of her real feelings came when she subconsciously assisted them by moving her body just enough to make it easier to tighten up the band.

One afternoon she was standing patiently by Yoran's desk as he worked and he turned to Sven thoughtfully.

"You know, I wonder if she appreciates what we're doing for her and the risks if Braka finds out? I mean how do women think? Do they think like us? I've never even heard one talk. I don't know what her name is or anything. Do they have names?"

Sven grinned back and cast a knowing eye at the silent listening woman. She was smiling with her eyes; a trait Sven noticed that she'd been developing more and more over the last few weeks.

"I think you'll find she appreciates what you're doing for her Yoran, old son. Believe it or not, there is a very complex and very human creature inside that rig. They have feelings and emotions far in excess of males. That's why we have to control them, otherwise they would rule us. But there is more than one way to control a woman. You'll see. The path you're following will never cease to amaze you as they reveal more of their nature." Sven looked affectionately at the woman. "I think they are the most fabulous creatures in the universe." He pointed the translator at the woman and spoke directly to the Rog-Reamered figure.

"Show him how much you appreciate it woman." Yoran spun his swivel chair around and was confronted by a woman looking very unsure of herself. Women just didn't thrust themselves on males. It was unheard of. On Thyros a woman stood meekly, and the male made all the first moves. They just followed orders.

"Go on, show him," Sven commanded.

The female hopped forward, hesitated, and then leaned forward as best she could, and enveloped his face with her staggering array of chest hardware and began to sensuously caress his cheeks with her thrusting rubberised breasts.

"Only that much?" Sven asked.

For a second she straightened and thought, then hopped around and backed her butt towards him. Yoran sat stunned as the smoothed sleek rubber sheathed curves undulated gently, rubbing and rotating against him. But Sven could see the exasperation on the woman's face. She wanted to do more yet didn't know how in her exacting bondage rig and she couldn't ask to be released. Then she seemed to have an idea and hopped to the door. There she stopped and looked back at Yoran. He shook his head, not understanding. After a moment she bounded back to his side, looked meaningfully at him and then pogoed back to the door and halted to look back. Yoran was still mystified at her strange behaviour, but Sven was way ahead of him.

"She wants you to follow her Yoran. Go with her."

Yoran rose and she turned and immediately bounded away towards the kitchen, her lithe athletic form a picture of mouth watering rubber sheathed flexing curves, jouncing attributes, and thoroughly contained limbs. She was a tapestry of licentious poetry in motion. She looked like a giant female filled condom in that rig; her smooth shaved rubber shrouded head forming the teat at the end.

Soon all three were in the room and the woman hopped over to the punishment socket, nodded emphatically towards it with her upper body, then turned herself around to face them with three tiny toe tapping hops. She stood staring at Yoran with raised eyebrows. He still wasn't sure. 

"She wants you to plug her in. Preferably on pleasure mode if I'm reading this right." His words carried through the translator and she made a loud mmmppphing affirmative, and hopped upward so as to kick backward, presenting her heels to the socket in a clearly defined 'plug me in' gesture. 

Yoran almost made a sticky mess in the front of his trousers. It wasn't often, even on Thyros, that a man was confronted by a magnificent woman, all tightly cinched up and sheathed, begging to have her trussing made even more severe, and asking for the resultant bound package of herself to be plugged into a punishment socket.

Between them they made short work of parceling her into a tightly bound, stiffened item that could only be used for one purpose. Unlike other times, she didn't make a single sound of disapproval or even try to fight against the securing bands as she was tightened up for punishment. The Rog- Reamer was removed at Sven's suggestion, clearly pleasing the female. Sven then knew for sure what was coming and winked at the woman. Besides, the Rog-Reamer was superfluous. She was still unmercifully bound into complete helplessness by the outer over-banding. Sven realised that she didn't want any live metal on the outside for what she had in mind. The clamps were over the top of the rubber and therefore safe to come into contact with. He compensated for the Rog-Reamer's lost control over her body by adjusting the body clamps to a level far tighter than she had ever experienced before. It didn't seem to bother her that she was being converted into a series of connected bulging extrusions. By the time they'd finished she was trussed up so tight the Rog-Reamer was hardly necessary. She was almost as rigid without it.

Both men straightened from their work to stare down at her. She was ready. The rubberised female packet just lay there unmoving and tightly banded, the plug pin heels daggering with ominous intent from the end. Sven simply couldn't imagine how a woman could possibly look more devastatingly vulnerable. The shining pins were just waiting to feed paralysing current to her very core, and she couldn't move or deflect them from the designated task in any way. She had willingly allowed herself to become a two-pin plug-and-play item and Sven had no doubt she realised the risk that she might be switched to punishment mode at any time. But it was too late to change her mind now. Both men had the bit between their teeth. A female that well prepared and easy to plug in was just begging for to be utilised for visual enjoyment at the very least.

They lifted her horizontally, both men relishing the stiff unyielding feel of the sensuous load as they slid her heels into the socket. Junior quickly flipped over the clamp and locked her in, feeling a slight shudder running through her as that dreaded sliding sensation on her heels heralded her connection to something that was capable of diabolical torment. His hands were shaking with excitement created by the fact that she had actually asked to be put back under the control of his new invention.

Yoran flicked her on and watched as her rump sprang into action, pumping and squeezing as the cyclic current pulses contracted her powerful buttock muscles. The woman strained her eyes upward and made suggestive eyebrow gestures at Yoran. Sven laughed aloud.

"That's how much she wants to say thanks Yoran. She's inviting you to climb on for the ride." The woman nodded with the whole stiffened upper section of her body, her superb rubber moulded breasts and thrusting nipples bouncing and spreading as they impacted the floor.

"Mmmmmmm! Mmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmm!" There was no mistaking the invitation when put like that.

Yoran's jaw dropped. He wasn't a virgin by any means, but to take a woman up the rear under these conditions almost blew his brains. An instant erection filled his crotch to bursting point, and threatened to erupt from his clothing.

"You're being honoured my friend, now go to it, and have fun." Sven smiled and waved him goodbye as he left.

Yoran looked down at the woman in disbelief, but her imploring looks told him that Sven had read her right. Hesitating only a fraction longer, he climbed out of his trousers and released the throbbing beast of his manhood, noting the glint in her eyes as his massive arousal appeared in physical form. It took but a minute to lubricate his shaft with some gel left by the ever ready Sven. It was doubtful that it was needed for normal sex, but her rubber insulation prevented any of her natural bodily fluid helping the insertion. Natural body fluid was there in abundance, and steadily spreading throughout the entire slithering skin of her sheathing.

Kneeling, he straddled her and placed the turgid phallic head between her rhythmically flexing buttocks. Just feeling the spasming rubber lobes was mind-bendingly erotic, and in addition, it was his very first rear mounting. Pulsing rubber-sheathed hillocks worked his slippery rod with a powerful devotion. Yoran's bodily demands could wait no longer. Taking a deep breath he forcefully began to plunge into her, his vibrantly stiff rod cleaving her rhythmically clenching bottom apart like a snowplough as he thrust inwards. God she was tight, so wonderfully tight, and her sumptuous electrically activated rump was massaging him all the way in, grabbing and gripping like a giant, lusciously lipped mouth trying to devour his bursting shaft. The powerful, erupting buttocks were pumping against him ferociously and there was nothing she could do to stop them. It made the sensation that much more excruciatingly pleasant to know that she was being ruthlessly controlled. The pain of irresistible anal dilation was lost in the sea of pleasurable sensation flooding her helpless form.

He flopped down onto her and almost lost control as the full impact of her undulating rubberised form came into close contact. He could hear her gasping and the breath snorting from her nostrils. The woman was orgasming violently as the hard shaft of manhood deep in her body breathed new meaning into her reason for living. It was her first rear reaming with a human phallic sword, and it felt exceptionally good. Unlike the unyielding steel Rog-Reamer shaft it was vibrant and pulsing with power; she was truly being taken as opposed to being reamed with a sterile unfeeling piece of steel. His father's test drive in her front orifice at the showroom was crude and unwanted; but this invasion of her body was by invitation. It didn't matter that her electrically flexing rump had no choice but to suck him in. She wanted him to be pulled in by her uncontrollable muscle action. It gave her great pleasure to feel her most private orifice suckling on his hard vibrant male shaft.

Junior reached under and gripped the plentiful orbs of her tits. That was the final straw. The resilient heaving mounds felt fantastic, and her nipples were like rocks. His manhood exploded with a ferocity he would never have thought possible as it pumped endless jets of hot male liquid into her pulsing body. How long it lasted he would never know, but eventually he returned from a world of dreams to find himself lying full length on top of the gloriously active body, still energised and unable to stop her buttock jolting gyrations. God she felt marvelous. A living mattress of warm smooth undulating rubber sheathed extravagance that defied description.

Image 4

His hardness was easily maintained by the greedy suckling tunnel of her rear shaft.

She was trying to tell him something. Minute movements of the head seemed to be indicating something behind as she arched upward.

"You want to be unplugged?"

"NNNNNNRrrrrrrrrr!" The upper body made a side to side negative gesture.

"You want to be switched off?"

"NNNNrrr! NNNNNrrr!" Again the negative movement, this time more insistent and somewhat frustrated.

For a while he didn't understand, and then incredulously he made a suggestion.

"You want the punishment mode switched on?"

The head and upper body bobbed frantically with a clear yes signal, and was supplemented by a loud "MMMMmmmmmmrrrrrrrrr! MMMMmmmmmmrrrrrrrrr!"

"With me still inside you?"

"MMMMmmmmmmrrrrrrrrr!" The upper body was flexing madly in approval.

Hardly able to believe his ears and eyes he reached down and removed the nipple insulator caps and reached behind, his manhood partially withdrawing so as to allow the rearward reach. For a second he hesitated, then his carnal drive overrode any other considerations. He flipped the mode selector switch.

“UUUUUMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPHHHHHHH!”

The sensuous body below him seemed to explode with a violent recoil as the current ripped through her, and his rampant rod was yanked into her depths by the resultant muscle contraction of her powerful buttocks. It was a massive, uncontrollable backlash of horrendous muscle reaction, and for the first time he felt the unseen effects of punishment current deep inside a woman. The pumping rump action was frozen. Her whole insides were vibrating madly, and the tight butt hole was clamped onto his manhood like a vice. Her whole form was arched into a violently quivering bow of tensioned muscle and sinew. The cushioning buttocks assumed the startling hardened extruded profile he had witnessed during previous punishment sessions. In effect the rock hard bottom mounds were trying to lift him clear. Unfortunately his penis was in a fleshy vice of prodigious strength. He was stretched taut by the massively powerful and horrendously maintained muscle reaction. Even without the coercion of the Rog-Reamer adjustment she and been shaped to almost the same excruciating bowed format by the power of her own muscles.

His soft pliable female was gone. The figure beneath him was as solid as a statue of stone, warm and vibrant but hard and unyielding. She was totally silent and devoid of any natural muscle flexing. He exploded into her again and again as the vicious vibrations of her punishment current engineered a succession of ejaculations. Yoran found himself stuffing the stiffened woman with almost inconceivably powerful thrusts as his libido ran amok.

Finally, exhausted and mindful of the suffering his woman was experiencing, he tried to reach back to the switch, only to find that it was out of reach. She was clamping so tightly on to him he couldn't withdraw and his dick was stretched to the limits of endurance. Panic welled in him, then before he could stop it, the vibrating stiffened form engineered yet another explosion in him as her clutching orifice pulsed with energy. Incredibly, she was suffering another massive orgasmic spasm, despite the powerful current that controlled every fibre of her being.

His eyes caught the mirror tiles on the opposite wall and he could see the fixed rigid stare of a woman totally paralysed and unable to help him in any way. As long as the current was flowing she was a solid rod of female flesh, unable to move even the minutest amount. It was a fantastic feeling to have such power over her, but his concern was rapidly outweighing any personal gratification.

"SVEN! SVEN!" Yoran shouted at the top of his voice, and minutes later Sven appeared.

"My! My! What have you done?"

"Sven! Thank God. Switch her off quick, I can't reach." Sven lunged for the switch and flipped it to the off position. Instantly the form relaxed, but began to make odd noises.

"NNNrrrrrr! NNNNNrrrrr!" The head was moving from side to side with infinitesimal movements and her torso was wagging from side to side as she tried to impress her displeasure on them. Sven put out a hand and froze Yoran as he was about to pull out.

"NNNNrrrrrr! NNNNNNrrrrr!" Suddenly he understood, and before Yoran could react, he flipped the switch back to full punishment mode. For a brief second he caught sight of the female's eyes just before the switch flipped. She was going ballistic at the thought that in microseconds the current would hit her like an express train.

“UUUUUMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPHHHHHHH!”

The living mattress exploded beneath Yoran and pulled him back in with a single massive muscle contraction of the tight sphincter. The young man's loins smacked down onto the rigid bottom as his taut penis yanked him inward. He looked up at Sven as if he'd gone mad.

"What are you doing? Switch it off for God's sake, she's had enough." 

Sven shook his head and smiled.

"I don't think so. You don't understand do you? She wants it back on. She wants you to enjoy feeling her like that. This is her way of saying thanks. In fact she'll thank me for helping, you'll see."

Yoran saw his hand vanish behind on its way to the control knob, then the female below remorselessly began to arch even further upward as her quivering hardness just got stronger and more pronounced. Her buttocks were rising more and more as the tensile effort increased the profiling to impossible levels and her butt hole crushed his manhood ruthlessly. He cast horrified looks at Sven who was mocking the incapacitated female's inability to respond unmercifully.

"Tell me when to stop won't you." He knew full well that she was incapable of doing or saying anything. Whatever level he chose to adjust her to, she had to accept. She knew the risks when she offered, and the fact that she couldn't answer was probably enhancing her masochistic enjoyment considerably.

Sven studied the rigid muscle formations intently as he adjusted her to almost twice the level she had ever experienced before. Inexorably the voltage got higher and higher, until finally the visible ridges of electrified straining tissue assumed the status of high tensile steel. Yoran's manhood was stretched like a piece of throbbing elastic and neither he, nor the throbbing female beneath, could do a thing about it.

Yoran watched in amazement as Sven rounded on the head end of the woman and crouched down to look into her face. It was a picture of crimson straining effort, erupting cinched cheeks and bulging eyes. She looked superb in her ultra tensioned helplessness. A solid edifice of incredible rigidity, held by a merciless current that condemned her to an existence of suffering stone until the switch went off. It was amazing to think that this woman had actually requested such torment. Sven had no doubt that the masochistic component of her nature was engineering massive orgasmic responses in her quivering form, but she simply had no way to dissipate the horrendously destructive forces within. He decided she needed a touch more, and as his hand turned the control still higher the face changed to a deep purple with the remorselessly escalating effort. Veins stood out in throbbing profile on her forehead and her body started to resonate with quivering tension. Now she was really humming; and Sven was pleased, confident that she wouldn't be able to vent the pent up power of her massively contained orgasms. The woman was adjusted to the level of an unexploded bomb of carnal feeling and she could do absolutely nothing to relieve the mounting carnal pressure. Even the most violent orgasm would be unable to engineer any muscle movement now. 

"Whatever your name is, you really are some kind of special woman." He looked at his watch and then spoke to Yoran.

"Well, I'll leave you two love birds together for a couple of hours, then we best get you extricated from her and cleaned up before Braka gets home. He'll not be pleased to find you buried in his new house woman." He tossed the knob from the control mockingly in front of Yoran's face, then he was gone.

Yoran tried to reach the switch a few more times, then slumped down from his efforts. Even if he managed it, it was doubtful he would be able to turn the smooth knobless shaft. The arched bow of womanhood beneath rocked slightly as if made of wood, her form jolting fiercely as the motion broke her nipple contact with the floor momentarily with each rock, then re-energised her as they touched back down. It was like riding a bucking bronco, as she was savagely re-energised three times in quick succession. 

“UUUUUMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPHHHHHHH!” 

“UUUUUMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPHHHHHHH!”

“UUUUUMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPHHHHHHH!”

In an effort to comfort her Yoran reached around to cup her bulging tits, forgetting that in full punishment mode her nipple caps were removed. A savage jolt jerked his arm and for the first time he understood her sacrifice, having just a small taste of what she was experiencing all over. 

There was nothing he could do other than lie on top of her rigid form and enjoy the sensations of being deeply buried in a woman who was plugged into a socket and turned up to maximum punishment level.

To pass the time he talked to her, stroked her insulated rubber covered areas and watched her purple hued straining face in the mirror tiles opposite. Guiltily he found the image of her crushing steel gag cinch exciting, and loved the way her face seemed to bulge over the top, all puffy and bloated. Then there were the eyes, those beautiful eyes, for all the world looking furious at the abuse due to the eye-popping trauma of her electrification. Yet she was unable to make a single twitch in her defence, and he quickly deduced that the look of fury was in fact a look of strain created by her predicament. Almost every time he glanced at those mirror tiles, his manhood developed a mind of its own and exploded into her time and time again. His only consolation was in remembering that this was what she wanted.

Sven returned as promised and looked down into her face.

"Time to unplug you, you wicked little female." As usual there was no response, the face was as frozen as was the rest of her. Sven just smiled, tweaked a quivering cheek and reached down to flip the switch. Be ready for this Yoran. If I'm right you'll see something very special.

Yoran leapt clear as her body went soft, probably afraid that Sven was going to switch her back on.

Then his eyes opened wide as the female sex bomb exploded into a ferocious thrashing column of orgasmic eruptions. It took ten minutes for her to fully release the boiling lava of lust stored in her body, until finally she was still as the last detonating feelings fizzled out.

Sven said nothing. He just smiled at Yoran's expression of total disbelief. Sven's promise of her reaction to the abuse seemed preposterous, and yet he'd seen it with his own eyes.

Between them they dismantled her punishment mode and quickly returned her to the safe keeping of her Rog-Reamer. Yoran was all over her with sympathy, and Sven couldn't help but comment.

"Yoran old boy. She had a ball. She doesn't want sympathy; she wants a bloody hug and a cuddle, man. For the first time in her life she got a chance to do something she wanted to do. You ask her to do it again tomorrow and I bet she'll say yes, mainly because you are giving her a choice."

Yoran did ask her as they swung the figurine to a vertical mode and balanced her on an unsteady mono limb.

"You don't have to agree. Only if you want to."

The woman looked him full in the face for a second or two then gave her answer.

"Mmmmmmmmmm!" The head even managed a small nod despite the strict control of her tall steel posture collar. Yoran reached out and hugged her, so tightly that her Rog-Reamer form was lifted clear of the floor. The tightly bound female shuddered uncontrollably in his arms as spontaneous feelings of pleasure raced through her body.

"You'd best take her for a spin round the block to shake the kinks out Yoran. That was a pretty strenuous session she had. Take her now before your Dad gets back. Once he arrives she'll have to make the supper and then he'll want her plugged back in on punishment mode.

Sven watched through the window as the transparent sheathed female bounded obediently along behind her new master. Somehow there seemed to be an altogether more sprightly willing motion to her travel. She was a stunning woman and no mistake. Junior was made for life if he handled her right. Suddenly Sven's mind flashed back to some ancient earth vids and the picture of a club female called a bunny girl came to mind. Yoran's female would look nice with a little furry bobble on her rump. In fact he made a mental note to have Roger knock up a nice white bunny tail for her.

As surmised, supper was duly finished, and Braka took the house female down to be plugged in. Sven and Yoran kept away. Both were feeling a bit guilty, and neither wanted to see her suffering punishment for the sake of it.

As it turned out, Sven did see her again before morning. At 3 a.m. he suddenly sat bolt upright as he remembered the level control. No one had turned it back down. That poor woman would be frying down there. Without the hand of her chosen man on the control, or his throbbing intrusion, it would be pure punishment.

Creeping downstairs, he sneaked into the kitchen where his worst fears were realised. Rog-Reamered and fully arched by the new adjustment level Junior had designed, she was shaking violently with the massive muscle contractions of full power. Quickly he fitted the knob, turned it down to slightly below normal settings and felt her subside to a low vibration.

"Sorry, whatever your name is. But I'll make it up to you. I promise." He didn't have the translator with him, but he was sure she understood. He gave her a good stroking and then returned to his room.


CHAPTER FOUR
GUESTS OF THE STATE

The first public prisoner devices were delivered from the workshops later that week. All three of the planners were eager to see them. The house female made up the third. Since that first incredible session with Junior she had become part of the team, albeit a silent partner who added incentive simply by being there and sharing her beauty. As often as not she was fully Rog-Reamered, but Junior on occasion had taken to allowing her to hop round in only her banding. There was an ulterior motive, in that he could have her sitting on his lap whilst he worked. The woman seemed to enjoy that, and more than once Sven heard a muffled giggle escaping the gag and turned to see her wriggling a shapely rubber sheathed butt in the lap of his red faced colleague.

In a way he envied them. Both were discovering the joys of close contact like a pair of school kids with a new toy. All that was required now was to keep an eye on Yoran and make sure the woman's natural genetic program to use her sensuality in a bid to take control was never allowed to get out of hand.

So the crate was opened and the gleaming new equipment laid out. A cursory inspection revealed that it was made to exacting precision and ready for action. Yoran rang up the local lock-up, and as it happened they had a convicted prisoner about to be transferred to Gazra prison. A call to the office of corrections gave them permission to use her for the test. He rang the police station back with the authorisation number and they agreed to meet the law officers at the Town Square.

An hour later the police appeared with a bounding Rog-Reamered maiden in tow. It was Sven's first sight of a black Thyron, so that made it special. She was a beaut, an ebony column of scintillating curvatures and shapely thrusting breasts. The glinting venomous eyes merely added to her attraction. This was one very pissed off lady who was clearly not a convert to the ways of Thyron men.

Sven made some inquiries and discovered that her crime had been to break free and slice off her owner's manhood before she made her escape. The punishment was life imprisonment. She was a perfect test subject. If there were any defects in the new device, a woman like this would be sure to find them.

Sven circled the woman as if deciding something. They had both intended that the prisoner wore a black weather sheath of the new heat insulating rubber covering, but this beauty had her own colouring. A transparent version was selected instead. Unfortunately she was a size bigger than the only transparent suit available, but Sven didn't see that as a problem. He wasn't going to be spending the rest of his life in its crushing embrace. She was!

A small crowd gathered and avidly they watched the struggle continued for a half an hour as a seriously dissenting female was taken out of the Rog-Reamer and maneuvered into the suit with great difficulty. In the end Sven had to fetch one of the original Anno guns that had been instrumental in subjugating the Thyron females one and a half millennium previously.

With her body temporarily paralysed it was an easy matter to complete the installation.

The frame of the attached moving component looked similar to a Rog- Reamer. It ran full length down her back, had the same yokes and clamp fixings, but differed from the normal design in that it had no telescopic flexible component, and the dildos were firmly and deeply implanted on a permanent basis. In addition they were hollow and served as servicing ducts. Yoran's new design didn't require the prisoner to be removed. All her functions could be serviced whilst fully contained. A prisoner once installed could be kept on it for life, as was to be the case for this woman.

A loud clicking echoed across the square as both Police and Sven watched Yoran adjusting the frame. The woman was recovering, but her desperate efforts to escape were ruthlessly being eradicated as the rear-stiffening shaft shortened and arched her into a vibrant straining bow of seething impotence. The dural strapping bands were corrosion proof and tightened to a bone crushing inescapability. Yoran used a special tool that fused and permanently sealed them. There were no adjustable straps on the lower limbs. This woman was to be banded for good. In addition all the Rog- Reamer sections that would be carrying electrical current were rubber coated. Public safety had to be considered, and some were bound to want to touch and torment the prisoner.

Nearby, the house woman, fully Reamered and tethered to a lamppost, watched with wide-eyed apprehension. Yoran noticed her reaction, and walked over to her as the police took over and lifted the prisoner.

"Don't worry woman. This is not for you." A tremble of relief passed through her body and Yoran pinched the curvaceous bottom playfully and moved back to direct operations.

"That's it, just slot the heels in and lower her down."

He watched as the vertical column of silently exploding, yet fully controlled woman had her feet located in the base of the static stand component and felt a thrill as her titanium heels slid firmly down into the receptor sockets. The superb ebony form was a mass of rippling effort as she tried to escape the inevitable, but to no avail. The new shafting held her rigid and unmoving.

Heels fully engaged, her form was pushed back until a clicking noise advised them that the collar was firmly coupled to a vertical support shaft.

All was ready as Yoran gave the whole assembly a final check. Straightening, he looked toward the Police officers who indicated he should go ahead. He cast a nervous glance at Sven as the moment of truth arrived. This was the first public test of a Yoran Daskatt invention. Sven nodded approvingly to encourage the young man then looked to the prisoner's face. There was still venom, but now it was tinged with fear. She had already been enlightened as to the main features of this device, and knew that in a few seconds all hope of ever escaping would be gone forever. She faced a life as a rigid tormented pillar of public ridicule.

Yoran reached down to the base, inserted the police key and turned, then straightened and pointed the controller at the prisoner. 

“UUUUMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPHHHHHHH!”

The ebony figure exploded into a startling, inflexible profile as her eyes froze into a locked stare. For a second or two her loud expulsion of sound echoed around the silently watching square, then was drowned out as the crowd began to clap. They approved. Yoran beamed happily. His first commercial invention was a huge success. Even the police who had been skeptical were nodding approval. Yoran handed them the keys and hand- held controller.

"She's all yours, gentlemen. At least that's one you'll never have to worry about again. She isn't going anywhere, and you can be sure the State will be exacting its full measure of punishment.

Yoran collected his female from her tethered position, and all three circled around the prisoner studying the result from all angles. It surely was a winner. Not only was it powerfully effective, but aesthetic as well. The quivering black statue of femininity looked divine. The hopping house female was eyeing the prisoner with a mixture of both fear and fascination. Yoran gave her butt another reassuring squeeze for good measure.

"MMMPPPHHH! - MMMPPPHHH! - MMMPPPHHH! - MMMPPPHHH!" - MMMPPPHHH!

All eyes became riveted to the column of jerking womanhood on the new device.

Image 5

The black figurine was exhibiting a stunning display of repeated explosive stiffening motions. Exercise mode had just cut in. Normally it would be on a four hourly basis and run for fifteen minutes, but Yoran was running a test program.

The device was switching the woman on and off at regular intervals, with the result that she was forced to undergo massive muscle reversals of tensioning and relaxation. This was Yoran's secret in designing a device that didn't require removal of the incarcerated female. The woman was destined to serve her full sentence without ever having the need to be removed. It was a diabolical punishment, and worse still, a fully public display of what to expect if any woman crossed the line. Sven eyed the thick insulated pole vanishing into the stretched rubber sheathed pussy and tried to imagine the pulsing current flowing up into that helpless juicy love hole. It was a sobering thought.

Yet again, Yoran felt his manhood stiffening, and contented himself with sliding a hand behind his female and massaging an appreciative buttock. She responded with a gentle tensing that could only be construed as welcoming.

It was a happy trio that finally returned to the house. Yoran was clutching an order from the State for the first 500 of his new devices. Braka who had arrived home previously, was ecstatic for his son, and for a while they didn't realise that he was hiding some bad news.

A party spirit prevailed, and Braka didn't even comment when the house woman was released from the Rog-Reamer and allowed to bound around freely. Neither did he comment when Yoran placed her face down over his lap and playfully spanked her. Only then did Yoran realise that something was wrong.

"What's up Dad? You seem worried."

Braka's forced smile melted into a deep frown.

"Bad news son. The plant went bust today. A big order fell through and it was what we needed to keep going. I'm out of work." Yoran's Dad manufactured home generators, but the advent of the Gazra-3 had wrecked sales. Yoran looked stunned.

"But you can get another job surely?"

His father shook his head. "Not much chance son. There's a depression on and I'm one-hundred and ninety-eight now. Nobody wants middle aged managerial men.” Yoran looked distraught and at a loss for words as Braka spelled it out.

"I'm afraid it'll mean cutbacks around here. She'll have to be sold." He nodded in the direction of the rubber-sheathed plaything lying across Yoran's lap. "But we'll only get trade in price for her. The Gazra-3 will have to be sold and Wife 2 can take over from her again on the house duties. We can repair the old generator and run the house from that." A silence descended as they all absorbed the connotations of his revelations. Sven, who had remained silent throughout, finally stepped in.

"Maybe we can sort this out another way Braka. I've been thinking of asking Yoran to become an understudy and part of my team. As for the woman, he'll need an assistant and I'm prepared to pay top krel for her. I'll give you what you paid for her. Now if Yoran comes with me, he'll need a competent manager to look after manufacturing and sales of the new PP-1s here on Thyros. Seems like someone with your experience would be just the guy. We'll finance it and leave you to set up the plant and get everything running."

Braka looked at him wide eyed as new hope for the future just came right out of the blue. Yoran meanwhile, noticed that during all this the woman on his lap had become still. She was listening with trepidation as her fate hung in the balance.

"My God Sven, that's a fantastic offer. Are you sure?"

Sven nodded. "I'm sure. In fact, I'm the winner. I'll have your son working for me, and with that woman as his inspiration he'll go far." 

Braka's eyes were moistening with emotion and he turned away. He was choked up. Sven looked to Yoran and winked. The young man was ecstatic. His idol had just offered everything he could ever want and in addition skillfully maneuvered this fabulous female into his ownership. He was truly a great man.

Secretly Sven was hoping that Rampant Roger was up for the task of manufacturing the millions of undetectable forged krel they were going to need.

The lap draped female gave a sensuous wiggle and after inching herself back, ground her thrusting tits against his hardening manhood. That made it four yes votes. It was unanimous.

"You don't mind me taking your woman, Dad?" Yoran looked at his father questioningly. Braka's face slowly creased into a grin.

"Son, I'm not stupid. I don't understand your feelings towards women, but what the hell. Perhaps your way will turn out okay. Perhaps Thyros needs a new approach from the next generation. I don't know. I have to say that woman has been acting very strangely towards you in a way I've never seen a female react to her owner." Yoran made as if to speak but Braka held up a hand to stop him.

"Did you really think I didn't know what was going on here whilst I was away? I heard Sven sneaking down into the kitchen in the middle of the night to turn her down. In fact I was surprised it took so long and even more surprised it wasn't you. It all makes no sense to me; she's just a female. Don't try and explain. I'll just get Wife 2 in from the garden and we'll take up where we left off. She knows the score. I'll be able to keep the Gazra-3 due to Sven's offer, and I can re-install her anytime I want. It'll all work out son. You go and enjoy yourself with that female and your new friends. Just remember old Dad back here and send me a few new designs to sell once in a while.

The female writhed urgently in Yoran's lap as she tried to convey a message, and suddenly he understood.

"I think my new woman wants to tell you something Dad.” Braka looked puzzled as the woman got up and bounded over to the door. Sven and Yoran grinned as she looked back expectantly to Braka. "Go with her Dad, maybe you can learn something. Old dog new tricks maybe?"

Sven and Yoran helped install the willing female and Braka stood nonplussed. She didn't make the slightest protest at being prepared and plugged in, she even seemed to be helping them by shaping her body to ease various adjustments and fittings. Meanwhile, Yoran connected the new trailing control switches that would prevent the previous debacle that had put the selector switches out of reach. He explained it all to his Dad, patted the woman's rump affectionately and they left them to themselves. 

Two hours later Braka reappeared looking drained and somewhat shell-shocked.

"Son, I've got to hand it to you. You really might have hit on something there. That was incredible." Yoran beamed back at him, then looked concerned.

"You left her plugged in?"

Braka nodded.

“On pleasure mode. She earned it." Yoran's face was a picture of joy. 

"You tried full punishment mode then?" His father's face was a picture of ecstasy.

"For an hour, son. I had her charged up to full, tensioned so tight and vibrating for an hour she couldn't even twitch. Fantastic! I never realised how fabulous a woman in that condition could feel. That damned current just turns her into a solid sex toy. Every time I turned it to pleasure mode she complained. Mmmmpppphhed and grunted till I switched it back over to shut her up. She was enjoying being set to punishment mode." He paused in thought. "I think I'll get Wife 2 back in this evening and see if I can't get her to perform like that."

Down in the kitchen a beautiful humping female endured yet another shattering orgasm and then allowed her mind to drift to the frantically jackknifing woman in the garden. She felt sure that her demonstration of willing obedience would pay dividends for that poor woman. Who knows maybe others would follow suit when Braka spread the word. Getting him to leave her in pleasure mode was a major milestone. And he did it without any coercion from anyone.

The shift in direction Sven had hoped for was already under way. It was just that none of them knew it yet. Only prisoners would be reserved for the old style usage as unfeeling objects, and soon the streets would be lined with dozens of them to cater for those darker carnal feelings. 

The last orgasm waned and in a brief period of reflection, Yoran's woman thought of the horrendously punished black prisoner. Maybe she deserved her fate. How could that woman have cut off such a wondrously pleasurable instrument as a male's pride and joy. It never occurred to her that the ebony statue had probably never absorbed a throbbing male sword under the same circumstances as she had. Without warning her electrified pulsing crotch exploded into another searing burst of indescribable pleasure and engineered a stiffening of her own making as she strained mightily at the crushing bands. In another room the faint muffled sounds of extreme pleasure escaping the gag were heard by all. Braka shook his head in disbelief.

“Unbelievable, son! Unbelievable! I just never would have believed it.” Yoran just smiled.

“I think we can safely leave her switched on for the rest of the day, don't you Dad?" Braka grudgingly nodded approval.

It was early days yet and his Dad was suffering a massive cultural shock that might take months or even years to come to terms with. One thing he was sure of, Wife 2 was going to be a very pleasantly surprised woman when Braka released her from the Gazra-3 for her new duties. No doubt her life would still be strictly controlled, but with a difference. Braka would probably allow her to offer her services occasionally in the hope that she could match the performance his own newly acquired woman had so effectively demonstrated. Yoran had no doubts that the experienced Wife 2 would be equal to the task once she realised the rewards.

Sven was also thinking about that as well.

"How about you bringing in Wife 2 as soon as possible. I'll have a word with the chief of Police. I'm sure I can get that big black woman to replace her. It'll be a shame to see the Gazra standing idle." Braka's face was a picture of happiness. He'd be the first to have a black powered Gazra, and that furiously angry, fully contained, ebony amazon would look spectacular as she was forced to bound around endlessly.


CHAPTER FIVE
PAIN AND PLEASURE

Roger returned later that week, and was introduced to Yoran and his woman. Instantly his eyes lit up as his vid-peepers scanned the stunning apparition. Sven caught his drift immediately and was just in time to forestall an appearance of the flashing neon monolith from his crotch.

"Down boy! Down! This one is private property. She belongs to Yoran. A momentary flash of disappointment shaped the plasti-metal features, then he was all smiles again as he strolled around the nervous woman. It was her first sighting of the powerful looking droid and she could feel the carnal menace in his manner. This metal man creature could stuff her unmercifully without needing a rest. It was a daunting thought. The cultured voice Roger adopted came as something of surprise to her. 

"Very nice, master Yoran. A prime specimen." He was speaking in Thyron which a recent upgrade had loaded to his memory banks. "What's her name?" Sven and Yoran looked at each other with some embarrassment. Neither had thought to ask. The woman solved the problem as she hopped over to the utility rack and changed her gag fixture. Sven understood and slipped a pen into the offered claw gripper.

Balanced expertly on tiptoe and thrusting a fabulous rubber encased rump towards them, she bent over and wrote with amazing skill. Her stance spread her full bottom as she bent at the hip, and arched her back, thus drawing the already tight rubber to a high sheen as it stretched to accommodate the blooming rump. The superb lobes thrust themselves powerfully between the steel cinch bands in an eruption of scintillating curvatures. Sven was really impressed. His entire field of vision was occupied by a feast of gift wrapped female butt. Despite the banding and sheathing, her rump cheeks were parting provocatively to reveal a tight little sphincter nestling in the fleshy valley. He forced himself to glance past the inviting spectacle and watched her writing.

Not many people could write that well using their hands, whereas she only had one useable member, her oral tool fixture clamp. It was amazing to watch the poise and balance she'd developed in such a short time. Standing on tiptoes, legs crushed together by both monosheath and overbands, arms crushed into a stringent back prayer; she was as stable and confident as any of them, despite the fact that she was basically armless, streamlined and reduced to a sleek compacted column of exciting curves. It was as if she had been born in that configuration. Forced to remain semi stiffened in limb and torso by her bonds, she could only bend by forming a delightful figure '7' yet was perfectly counterbalanced at all times. Sven reached over and picked up the paper as she finished and straightened up.

“Well hello, Tebb. Pleased to meet you." The woman flushed coyly. No one had ever used the name listed on her ownership logbook document, and it sounded strangely exciting to be referred to by name instead of 'the female' or 'woman'. For the first time in her life, three male figures were regarding her as some sort of person instead of an item, and that, for some indefinable reason, made her feel good to see their eyes feasting on her trussed form. She didn't realise it but she was experiencing power over men.

Sven felt his crotch exploding with feeling. She looked so incredibly erotic standing there like that, blushing, all tightly bound and trussed from head to toe, completely revealed and helpless in the shimmering see through rubber sheath. She was a surreal vision of sculpted mature womanhood.

Image 6

All her female attributes were easily accessible and ripe for picking, and although she was relatively mobile, her tight bondage ensured that the limbs required to protect her virtue were thoroughly deactivated behind her back and she could never outrun even the slowest owner whilst reduced to a monoleg creature. She was arranged as the perfect sex toy, a soft warm easily controlled plaything whether she liked it or not.

Sven asked her to stand straight and she instantly complied. The balance was impeccable as she stood effortlessly to attention on the tiny point of her toes, her powerfully contained nubile body bursting from the cinches in superb rubber sheened extrusions. She looked like a nail waiting to be driven into a block of wood. Even without the horrendous punishment current to flush and erupt her face, she looked so adorably attractive with those long lashed doe eyes and massively cinched lower face. Yoran added his bit and commanded her to remain that way, confident that no matter how long he left her, she would faithfully continue the staggering pose; an obelisk of lustful curvatures, marred only by the minutest flickers of muscle movement as she maintained her balance. A slight push sent her pirouetting, and for a split second the form wavered, then she corrected her balance and for the entire world mimicked an ice skater. Slowly she spun to stop facing away from them but still stiffly erect in her attention mode. As the face passed during her rotations, Sven could clearly see that she was enjoying being a plaything. An almost imperceptible clenching in those magnificent buttocks was instantly recognisable for what it was. She was secretly massaging her crotch with muscle tensing.

"Roger, get Tracy and Fiona in the same rig as soon as possible, and have Tebb give them some lessons on moving properly on tiptoe. They might find it difficult at first without the Rog-Reamer. The change in balance and centre of gravity will throw them off. And while you're at it, get some of those sockets installed on Starburst. We'll need at least three. On second thoughts, make that five. Major Boscomp and Yelda need kitting out as well.

Yoran glowed with pride that his woman had inspired the great Sven. He reached forward and tweaked a prodding nipple affectionately. Tebb's breath hissed and her nostrils flared with a sudden gasp as his touch sent a searing feeling of pleasure through her captive body. Suddenly she could see no other future, other than as a tightly bound silenced toy for her beloved keeper. Whereas before it was a menial task, it had suddenly become something she wanted with all her heart. It felt so secure to be a trussed, controllable package of willing femininity, a wanted creature. Secretly she hoped Yoran would lend her to the great Sven, the man who had steered the young owner away from accepted norms on Thyros.

The thought of having Sven buried deeply in her body and then to have him switch her to full punishment mode set her crotch ablaze with desire. She wanted to be impaled and rigidly helpless just to show him how much she appreciated his efforts. Besides, the thought of having her electrified buttocks clamping his rod of maleness sent shivers of pleasure dancing through her crotch. There was something special about having a huge, hot, throbbing male shaft stuffed deeply into her body and then being mercilessly energised so as to clamp it tight.

Unfortunately she would have to wait. The great Sven intended to test four of his own females first. And after that he had plans for twinned females undergoing the same levels of control. Tebb had an interesting life ahead of her, that was for sure. Meanwhile, he was studying her arms, the tight pocket of folded crushed limbs nestling against her spine.

"How long has Tebb been back prayered Yoran?" Yoran frowned and thought back.

"Sine we got her, three or four weeks back. She stopped straining to get them loose and crying after about a week I think." Sven nodded thoughtfully.

"We'll have to get her out of that soon otherwise she'll lose the use of them for good. As it is they'll probably be completely useless for a month." Yoran looked mystified.

"Why bother. Normally they just wither up and drop off after about a year. She doesn't need them. They look better without them anyway."

At that moment Yoran's mobile chirped and Sven was unable to carry it further. There followed a short conversation after which he flipped the cover shut and turned to Sven.

"It's the Mayor, Sven. He's ready to take you out to see the other two Earth crew members if you have the time." Sven nodded eagerly.

The drive took twenty minutes in all. Turning into a stadium of some sort, Sven saw the two women from Earth. Thyros had not been kind to them. A tapering inverted cone pedestal formed the entrance turnstile. The pedestal terminated at waist height. Sprouting from this solid block were the two women from the Federation ship. From the waist down they were permanently encased in some form of resin, whilst their upper bodies were held stiffly erect by a steel spinal former rising from the same block. Clearly they were plumbed in and completely serviceable without removal. However, the ornamental quality was secondary to the design function. Placed back to back, both women had their ample tits cinched to an excruciating bulbous extrusion that stood the mounds out like footballs, resculpted and rigidly offered. Given the horrendous size, Sven correctly suspected some sort of plastic surgery.

The inventive Thyrons had converted the crew members into a turnstile by applying a football shaped caging over the tits, and root cinching them savagely to make sure that the steel resisted any attempt to extricate them from their caged confines. At the outermost extremity and immediately over where the nipples would be, long steel tubes were screwed onto the tit casings to extend outward like the bars of a normal stile.

Image 7

The sculpted tit atrocities were forced to spread at forty-five degrees, which when installed as a back to back arrangement produced four jutting arms of thrusting breast-mounted steelwork. Opposite the pivoting cone was a steel grid fence. It was cleverly designed so the mass of each spherical tit was outside the barrier, whilst the narrow neck that joined cinched tit to body, entered a thin guide in the horizontal rails. The root cinches ran between twin parallel curving bars, thus following the radius of the stile. Spherical root gripped sliding tits had no choice but to follow the path dictated. As if that wasn't enough, the tit mass beyond the guide entered a track that basically just formed a guide of wider circumference for the bursting spheres, except that it narrowed and forcibly squeezed the footballs to an ovoid flatness. In the centre of that outer tit guide arc, and diametrically opposed to the public walkway was a section where it widened into two round apertures. Sven quickly realised that this formed the latching to hold the style in position after each person passed through. The root cinched tits expanded from the undersized section as they entered that region and two spherical boobs latched the stile in two round holes. It required a shove to start the tits into the next narrow pathway. Clearly it took some considerable effort to force the style around against the resistance created by the tits on the opposite side. But the people entering didn't seem to mind. Sven watched as more people arrived and put the device to good use.

It was a humiliating fate that ensured thousands of hands pushing sideways at their horrendously abused tits as the crowds passed through. As he watched upwards of a hundred people pass through, the circulating pillar of misery performed many tit-crushing, nipple jolting rotations in rapid succession.

Sven noticed that they were rubberised in green latex, but each dagger- shaped nipple was gripped in a metal cone beneath the stile spoke bars, which in fact were secured by through-nipple rivets. Again there were visible tiny sparks as the women spun and the tit bars contacted a metal plate at the backside of the turnstile. The very tip of each bar had a pick up plate, which fed the current through the core of the main arm straight into the pinned nipples. Current feeding up from the feet into the women was making a connection and operating a counter somewhere. It was a clever device, in that as they swung towards the public, the electrified bar caps were covered by tiny spring loaded over caps. Only as the tits were squeezed down did it operate an internal cover release. There was no way the public could come into contact with the surging current the pillared women experienced. Then he understood another diabolical feature. If the turnstile was left unused for a while, the woman at the rear with her tits latched into the twin circles was in constant contact with the electric plate. It was sheer potluck as to who ended up suffering the surging current whilst waiting for the next customer.

It was a masterful usage of women, and so clever in the design concept. Each woman facing the crowd would feel the jolt through her back as her partner suffered the counter plate contact. Then as the turnstile continued round they would be helplessly carried towards the same excruciating breast compression and searing nipple jolt as the electricity surged into the deeply buried spring stiffeners.

Comprehensive torso banding and neck clamps ensured that the luckless women could only watch as they spun towards the next ordeal, then it was back round to have their tits shoved sideways and mauled by the next passer by.

As if that wasn't enough, a badly sited kiosk inside the back fence was too close to the thrusting tits and bar extensions, travelling helplessly in their inescapable guides. With each revolution the bars were smacking against the cabin, levering the caged spherical tits sideways, and then springing clear as the turn continued.

The women could do nothing to avoid it as they watched their own prodigious breasts slide into the guides with the bulk rotating on the other side of the fence.

Sven could hear the whump whump of cabin whacking tits even from twenty yards. It was fortunate that the internal cores were flexible and allowed them to bend excruciatingly sideways with each impact.

Whump whump - whump whump - whump whump - whump whump. Two youths ran through and set the style spinning madly before the tit drag slowed it down and an unfortunate latch woman felt her tits engage and hold her in contact with the plate. It was a bit unlucky really, as she had been the one doing that task before the youths went through.


CHAPTER SIX
NEGOTIATIONS

The Mayor seemed pleased at Sven's reaction to the usage of the women, but before he could talk further, Roger arrived with two high-ranking army generals. Introductions were made and formalities quickly dispensed with. 

"So you want Thyros to supply you with troops to mount an assault on Trylon-31?" Sven nodded. "Out of the question,” replied the senior general. "The reputation of those amazons has spread even to here. It would be a nice prize if it could be done, but as far as we know every culture that tried to invade was beaten. Including your Federation."

Sven conceded the point.

"Yes General, but then they didn't have what I have. I have a team of Trylon amazon subversives who will be going in first to do all the groundwork and in effect cripple their defences before we go in. As it happens, Trylon natural gas will do most of the work for us. All the metropolises use gas as the main source of fuel. It's free and comes from the ground." The generals started to take more than a cursory interest, so Sven pressed on.

"The gas they use is a naturally occurring nitrous oxide." A slow dawning spread over their faces and one even murmured the other name for it to himself.

"Laughing gas, an anaesthetic gas. Rupture the main gas lines and the whole place will go to sleep." The senior general looked more concerned. 

"More likely go up in flames. One spark and the whole planet will smell of crisped women." Sven grinned widely.

"On Earth or here, yes," Sven explained, "but Trylon has a high content of inert gas in the atmosphere called helium, and also their atmospheric oxygen content is two or three percent less. It's quite breathable for us, if you don't mind speaking in a high pitched voice after prolonged exposure, and don't try to get too energetic, but the lower oxygen content makes the whole place a very difficult planet to get any sort of blaze going. However, being a lighter atmosphere works for us again. The nitrous oxide will rise much slower than in a denser atmosphere like here. It wouldn't work here, as it would go straight up once released. But on Trylon it will hang around at ground level for several minutes before it starts to rise. Long enough to put all those nubile beauties to sleep for a half an hour or more. We'll work it town by town, cutting communications between each first so that word doesn't spread."

For an hour or more they talked. At Sven's suggestion the discussion moved to a restaurant overlooking the stadium entrance, from where he could watch the desperate plight of the two turnstiles.

Basically the Thyrons, although willing to help, wanted to know what was in it for them. They had an abundant supply of females and couldn't see the need for more. They didn't have Sven's drive to see every female in the known galaxy under restraint. Admittedly the Trylon amazons were hardly the average catch, but the risks far outweighed the advantages as far as Thyrons was concerned.

That's when Sven played his masterstroke. Their literal time bomb, laid way back on that first visit to Thyros, set Thyrons on a specific course. Roger's intervention and the subsequent industrial revolution were geared to run along lines that would lead them to a specific point. It worked perfectly. Rich and powerful, their planet's females fully controlled, Thyrons found themselves running into a problem. Their entire energy network was based on dilorian crystals. Thyros was mining itself out of that mineral. The only other resource for energy was a pitiful supply of carbon fuels, mainly in deep coal seams. It wasn't a viable option. Thyrons were way beyond coal fired power.

"Of course General I see your point, but you're forgetting one small thing," Sven said. "Trylon-31 has vast deposits of dilorian crystals. Take Trylon and you have an inexhaustible energy supply." Both generals suddenly became attentive.

"How do you know this?” the senior general asked. "No one ever got close enough to Trylon to do a survey, and the prisoners Thyros took from the Federation plot to subvert our culture never broke under questioning. They all died in Gazra prison a thousand years ago."

Sven grinned.

"Oh no they didn't. In fact they are all here, and all ready to help us." Roger sent a tele-transfer to Dhelia who was waiting out of sight. All eyes turned as a gasping sound approached. It was Dhelia with the unmistakable figure of the statuesque Yelda bounding along behind. 

She was sheathed and banded, but the Rog-Reamer was missing. She didn't need it with the two neural exciters Roger had stuffed into her lower orifices. The advantages were that she could move faster and provide a more flowing vision, and in addition, be adjusted to any level of carnal activity required by remote. Sven had her set for medium level at present. The Trylon woman stopped by the table and both generals seemed a little perturbed by the lack of a gag. It seemed like their mentor the great Sven was getting lax. Sven smiled.

"The collar gentlemen," Sven explained. "She doesn't need a gag with the neural neutraliser around her throat. Her vocal cords are frozen. She can't make a sound until I switch it off." Just for the hell of it he pointed the remote at her and wound the orifice exciters a little higher. Instantly the gasps of breath and her sensuous writhing intensified as her crotch caught fire. The generals seemed impressed.

"She'll be my commander in charge of the subversives. This is Yelda. She lives for sexual enjoyment and she's completely addicted. We'll be sending her and all the others we converted down to Trylon with the same neural inserts. Once a day, if we send a signal, they get their daily dosage. Apart from that, she was one of the dissenters on the old Trylon who wanted to see an end to the all-female population. She's the perfect leader for our operation. Aren't you Yelda?" Red faced, nostrils flaring and hips pumping madly to gain more feeling in her throbbing pussy, Yelda nodded to the generals. The senior officer watched for a while and then turned to Sven.

"Intelligence told us that you were experimenting with a new method of control, pleasure control in females, and quite frankly we thought it was all a big scam. But it seems you might have something here Sven. Thyrons in the old days were a tough bunch, but they never did get one of these amazons to crack. Now here you have one eating out of your hand, so to speak." Sven decided a demonstration was in order.

"Yelda, down on your knees. Roger wants to fuck your brains out." The amazon dropped instantly and arranged herself with butt rearing and ready. It was hardly the act of a woman doing something out of fear. She was waving her charms like a bitch on heat, and the slick gleam of lubricated love lips was proof enough that her pussy was eagerly awaiting the impending insertion.

They all watched as Roger's monolith sprang into view and with a true devotion to duty, shafted the woman with powerful strokes. Yelda exploded into a frenzied writhing time after time, until Sven finally called a halt at the ninth or tenth orgasm.

As Roger backed off she crawled over and lovingly kissed Sven's boots. Sven gave her a stroke and indicated his lap. She rose instantly and arranged herself face down over his lap.

"Point proved I think gentlemen." He gave the squirming butt a slap and ordered Yelda to stop working her tits against his cock. She complied but he could feel her urgent need to do something with his hard throbbing shaft. She was desperately trying to please. Eventually he relented.

"If you'll excuse me gentlemen, she needs refueling." He eased her up, unzipped his suit and allowed the throbbing shaft to spring free. Instantly she seized on it like a ravenous beast and engulfed the whole length in her sensuous, hard working mouth.

Sven continued talking as the bobbing head worked feverishly in his lap. Both generals just sat stunned at the ease with which he controlled this ferocious female.

"She has to please me at least once a day orally or else we don't allow her a full ration of neural exciter fun. Yelda gets hers anyway, she's my personal pet, and -!" Sven's conversation stumbled in mid-sentence and his face went red as the amazon extracted a massive response from his exploding cock.

"As I was saying gentlemen-!" It was minutes later and he was in the process of pulling Yelda away and stowing his depleted shaft. "Oh! Sorry, would you like Yelda to serve you as well?" Neither said no, but were too embarrassed to answer. Roger gave him a sideways nod. From his position he could see that both men had massive bulges in their tight service uniforms. So Sven took the initiative.

"Yelda go and service the generals. General Aangat first, he's the senior officer." Yelda almost flew around the table and whipped the offered zip down with her teeth. Skillfully she teased the male shaft out as the general sat stunned and unable to react. The poor man lasted a whole five seconds once she swallowed his sword, the other officer did slightly better at seven seconds.

Task over, a heavily breathing Yelda returned dutifully to Sven's side and stood shaking with barely controlled anticipation.

"You did well Yelda. I'm sure the generals won't mind me treating you after that." He gave orders to Dhelia who towed her to a quiet corner, and then pointing the remote, he set Yelda to maximum excitation.

The distant column of womanhood exploded into a frenzy of sexually explicit gyrations as Sven placed the remote in his pocket and turned back to the jaw sagging generals.

"Well gentlemen, do we have a deal? I take care of the assault, your men help me pack the unconscious spoils, and you get control over all Trylon mineral reserves. I control the female stockpile?" Both men nodded emphatically.

"Deal Sven. Now we'd best discuss details on how we keep it. The Federation is going to be mighty pissed once we take Trylon."

Sven agreed.

"You have the technology and manufacturing capabilities to arm Trylon defensively, Starburst has the cargo capacity to carry your troops and equipment," Sven said. "Once Thyros type defences are installed on Trylon, the Federation is stuffed. I'll need eight thousand men initially. Then once we've taken Trylon, you decide how many you need to garrison it. I can supply in flight entertainment for four hundred of your men, but Thyros will have to supply the females for the rest."

General Aangat was feeling magnanimous. "No Sven," he said, "we can't use your stock. We'll supply each soldier with his own army issue female. There's no feeding problem, the army females have a strapped on nourishment injector. They can last without recharging for two years." 

The general clicked his fingers and his personal guard soldier doubled smartly forward and came to an immaculate stop.

"SIR!"

"Show Sven your survival pack soldier," the general instructed.

The soldier spun smartly on his heels and came to attention with the pack on his back fully visible. Sven's mouth dropped open.

The torso of a woman coloured by a khaki camouflage latex was tightly strapped to his back. She was limbless, and her massively bulging breasts marked with undecipherable letters. The general explained.

"These are volunteers. Women who were born deformed and opted to have tidy up surgery to get rid of useless limbs. They serve ten years in the armed forces as survival packs and then we give them the best in artificial limbs for the rest of their life. There's a big demand for the models with take off limbs, so they usually end up in a plush house where they live well. We even had fully operational females trying to get in on the scheme by pretending to be crippled." The general went on to point out her other attributes.

"The breasts are food and water supplements for the soldier. The food is in liquid form of course, and she dispenses them in the normal way, suckling that is. We found that the soldiers don't tend to miss meals and feed regularly with this system. That's important for a fighting soldier. The average backpack can sustain a soldier in the field for a month without being recharged. Of course there's the other most important point. A soldier who has a good screw once a night fights better."

Sven rose and went over to study the backpack at close quarters. She was superbly packed, her stunning torso crushed and sculpted by a powerful, steel-boned, basque style mounting that detached from the back frame easily. He also noticed that the frame, if left attached, could be unfolded and used as a stand to arrange her pussy upwards or at a variety of angles in between. The breasts were hard and pumped full, nipples oozing slightly due to the pressure, but clamped tight with a metal circlip to prevent loss of the vital food supply. Sven couldn't see her face as the head was completely engulfed by a crushing skull-hugging hood that bore the regimental crest. The neck was giraffed by a dull metal collar that held the sealed head rigidly erect. Closer inspection revealed that it was in fact a collar over a collar and the outer part was a free rotating tube packed with the standard Thyron mini rounds of neural disrupter pellets. It was in effect an ammunition belt feeder for the soldier's hand held standard issue mini-gun. Once he started firing, the tiny rounds feeding off would whip the collar around at a prodigious rate, as the gun demanded six thousand pellets a minute. It was hard to imagine the gyroscopic effect on the woman when her outer collar was emitting a high pitched whine of overworked bearings and rotating at something like five-hundred rpm. If she lowered her chin a fraction the spinning drum would quickly teach her the error of her ways as it removed tender skin tissue from the underside of her jaw. 

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Apart from all that, a ringed nose supplied a handy clip point for two stun grenades, as did the twin pierced clitoris. Sven eyed the dangling pineapples of steel and tried to imagine the effects of having half-pound steel weights bouncing around as the soldier doubled across a battlefield. It didn't bear thinking about. Bending down revealed that her lower orifices had also been pressed into service. Both were stuffed to bursting point with two disposable mini rocket projectiles, the evil business like points peering dangerously from the crease of her crotch. Only then did the full genius of the pack's frame come to light. Apart from arranging the woman for nocturnal duties, she could be used as a mini launcher, which explained the steel heat shields curving around her butt. He had no doubt that the projectiles were mounted in similar, easily removable steel sockets buried deep in her body. It was a diabolically callous usage of a soft sensuous female. Yet so logical when one realised that their lower body had two perfectly sited launch tube recesses. As a utility pack, he had to agree the Thyrons had really come up with a winner. The soldier and his living backpack formed a formidable fighting unit. As it happened, the Federation attempt at crushing Thyros had been beaten back many times by batteries of the crotch launched missiles. It only took seconds to reload and launch again once the backpack was set up and angled for launch.

The general, seeing his interest, explained some of the finer details. 

"Fine adjustment to the launch is by remote. Set the thing up and then stand back with the remote. The launch angle can be altered to five degrees either way by sending a current through the spinal cord. She'll either arch or bow, depending on which way you want the deflection." Sven nodded with understanding and then walked around to the front.

"Nice turn-out soldier." He complemented the man.

"SIR!" The man snapped to attention, saluted and marched away.

The general grinned.

"These guys get attached to their packs and really look after them. We've had a couple of cases where they got so attached they wanted to buy them when they were discharged at the end of their service contract. That was especially a problem when we had the wars with the Federation. Guys who survived felt that the packs were a part of the experience and wanted to keep them for souvenirs. But we were short of packs and they had to be recycled. Lots of guys rejoined so that they could keep their old packs. 

Sven felt pleased. Thyrons weren't as hard-nosed as they seemed when it came to females. It boded well for the future of the race. He could now foresee an ordered culture where females were an integral part, albeit enslaved, but cared for. But then he had yet to see the army in training before making a final judgment.

"I've got a few hours spare," the general started, “and if you're interested we can go to the army base a few miles from here. There you'll be able to see that females are an integral and essential part of our fighting forces." Sven's face lit up. It sounded interesting, and he quickly took up the offer. Roger declined; he had work to do back at Starburst preparing for transportation of the Trylon invasion force. The general, not one to hang about once a deal was struck, had put things in motion by radio.


CHAPTER SEVEN
LETHAL WOMEN

For the second time that day Sven stood with his mouth gaping. They were standing on a grassy knoll overlooking a mock battlefield. A full division of the Gazra 1st Militia was defending a command post against the attacking forces of a female suicide squad. Well it wasn't actually suicide, but when they activated their body weapons, they went down with the enemy for as long as the nerve gas kept them paralysed. Rubber sheaths and respirator gear protected them, but invariably the suits got torn or masks knocked off as they struggled towards their objectives. 

Sven watched avidly as a platoon braved almost certain destruction from the defenders and launched a full frontal attack. It was like watching legged canisters running, for that was all one could see of the women other than the spherical helmeted head and her body from the waist down. 

One by one they were cut down when a hail of neural pellets hit the legs and turned them to rigid impotency as they fell and rolled. One brave soul, in a last desperate gesture before her motor nerves failed, activated her body-mounted cargo. The canister gushed a green gas, which formed a cloud and was blown down valley. It was carnage. The battlefield was strewn with inert canisters of womanhood frozen into helplessness and destined to be prisoners, were it not an exercise.

Sven turned his gaze to the defenders entrenched along the ridge, and his eyes were drawn to a heavy machine gun like affair. The lethal weapon was hosing a stream of neural pellets at the attackers at the rate of 6,000 rounds per minute. But being a heavy weapon designed to maintain a constant withering field of fire; it required a massive supply of ammunition. Behind the crouched soldier was his mobile armoury of ammunition. A woman, encased in the rotatable belt feeders from neck to waist, stood rigidly behind him as the second drum slowly emptied. It was far bigger than the standard ammunition feeder backpacks around their necks and probably held some twenty thousand of the mini-pellets. The drum was screaming at a ferocious rate as the snaking belt unwound.

Seconds later as it emptied, the soldier decided to change position. Prodding the female gun carriage into motion he sprinted along the ridge. Sven watched avidly as the kneeling woman straightened from her chin to the ground position. The gun, its pivot buried in her ass, followed her up to lie arranged neatly up her spine, muzzle safely pointing to the ground. He could see even at a distance that the back prayered arms formed a convenient stabilizer for the weapon whilst she was mobile. The heavy ironmongery was snugged tightly into the valley formed by her forearms and the butt end clipped into a retainer on the collar. Once she was set up, the soldier merely had to lift the rear of the weapon from its collar mounted clip cradle and it was fully traversable on the butt pivot.

Their ammunition carrier struggled to keep up, the empty second reel still spinning madly and exerting massive gyroscopic loading on her body. Both gun and ammunition carriers were connected via long clit chains to the belt of the soldier. Where he went, they went. It was a method that left both his hands free for any possible physical hand to hand combat. The sprinting gun team reached the objective. Instantly the well-versed gun female dropped and assumed the position, thighs spread to form a stable tripod, her camouflaged ass towards the enemy. The gunner slid to the ground kneeling with a knee each side of her face and her hooded head clamped between his thighs. He fiddled in his crotch for a split second then the gun was once more spitting pellets. Sven could see the sumptuously juddering bottom absorbing the tremendous recoil from the air powered weapon.

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In fact the whole living tripod was a mass of vibration, spongy squashed tits working madly like resilient rubber engine mounts and torso a jellified mass of shock waves. A question fired at the general answered his query about the fiddling.

"Oh! He shoved his dick in her mouth and she has orders to take it right in and suck like mad. The veterans do that. Some even stuff their balls in. They learned that it keeps the woman in the right position for accurate shooting if she has a command to stay attached. It gives the females a reference point to offset the recoil effect that can move them around. They'll self adjust if they find his cock is slipping out.

Sven almost shot his load at the thought of having a savagely recoiling female mouth clamped onto his dick and sucking like mad; not to mention what a cyclic rate of six-thousand butt fucking recoil jolts a minute were doing to the female as the anal mount did it's devilish best to convert her to frothing orgasm. He couldn't see from his position, but in fact the ass plug was only part of it. The entire pivotal assembly was in fact clamped using two dildos that squeezed the bridge between her two holes. War on Thyros looked like fun, and he could see why none of the soldiers seemed to display the normal resentment directed at maneuvers.

Missiles streaked towards the attackers, bursting on impact and emitting more body anaesthetising agents. He swung to seek out the source and saw a battery of missile launchers set up behind the first line of defence. 

Twenty backpacks were arranged in a row and were being reloaded, asses angled skywards. In a swift single movement the soldiers jammed two fresh rockets into each rearing crotch and stood back with their remotes. 

"Increase range one hundred 'Tals'." Twenty backpacks arched as the remote signals commanded another spine format.

"Fire!"

The backpacks skidded backwards, noses ploughing the turf as multiple rocket launches used their torsos to absorb the thrusting recoil effect. It must have been fun to be simultaneously shafted in both holes by a force powerful enough to shove them along the ground.

"Reload! Fire! - Reload - Increase range fifty 'Tals'. Fire!"

Salvo after salvo of the streaking missiles left the hot crotch tubes, and the attack became a route as the running canister women went down like flies. The major finally called a halt to the carnage.

"Cease Fire! Make weapons safe. Dismantle and clean weapons. Well done lads, that showed them not to take the Gazra Militia for granted." 

Sven was ecstatic. A full fierce battle had been enacted and yet not a single woman had been hurt, other than to wake up with a splitting headache some time later. Normally the neural pellets gave no after effect, but those that went down early had also been lying paralysed in a cloud of gas as the rocket attack came in.

It was good to think that his prime directive all those years ago had been heeded. The cardinal sin in the Good Book of Sven was to kill or harm a woman permanently. Thyrons, guided by this, reasoned that an enemy might also employ women on the battlefield. Therefore their entire war machine was of non-lethal weapons. Non-lethal to the body, but just as effective in stopping an aggressor. The Federation had badly miscalculated the effects of Thyron nerve weapons. Rather stupidly they had put all their faith in bio-suits, thinking that they would be protected from the Thyron gases. As it happened, the molecular particles of the neural gases were very different to those known on Earth. Each molecule was so small it simply passed right through the material, and in fact became concentrated inside the suits. It had been the biggest military disaster in Federation history that terminated in some three-hundred thousand battle hardened troops being sent home, stripped of weapons and disgraced.
Sven moved his gaze around the busy scene. Everywhere he looked there was legged equipment on the move. At first glance one would think it was a ponderous way to make equipment, incorporating a curvy female form into the design. But upon reflection Sven realised that all the gear was self-propelled. The soldier had no heavy stands and tripods other than his personal multi purpose survival pack. The backpack torso probably only weighed fifty pounds without the limbs. Women were the engines of war. It seemed that Thyrons had never really developed any all terrain vehicles for the battlefield. Why bother when a piece of equipment could be built around the ultimate all terrain carrier. Shapely female legs and cavorting buttocks were far superior to any tracked or wheeled device. They could negotiate almost any obstacle, looked good when they were doing it, and there was an abundant, free supply of living equipment. It was even rumoured that during the Federation attacks, some bits of equipment actually used the daggering stilettos to protect fallen Thyron men. One unfortunate Federation soldier was found with hundreds of puncture holes after a horde of angry weapon females attacked him to protect a Thyron soldier. He had been stomped to death.

Rumour had it that the injured Thyron soldier was rigged like a Gril in the crotch region, which may or may not have had some bearing on the frenzied unsolicited defence of his life by women who lusted after his gargantuan dick. The general had already mentioned that the men became attached to their equipment and fought like demons if the equipment looked at risk. There were cases during the Federation wars where Thyron males had thrown themselves over the backpacks to protect them from shrapnel. It seemed that the Federation in desperation had resorted to some ancient weaponry, outlawed by most of the civilised galaxy. Sven felt ashamed that he in fact originated from a society that was now considered to be the filth of the universe. He made a silent vow to do whatever he could to take the Federation down and install his own somewhat bent ethics regarding females.

The General called for his field radio so as to complement the Major. A dial and knob encrusted box with legs ran towards him. Sven surveyed the smart khaki tights, pert rump and flaring female hips projecting from the underside of the heavy box like equipment. Calf length high-heeled combat boots completed her lower visible human parts. Then he noticed a lead connected to the tights.

"Clever! Very clever," he exclaimed to himself as he examined her tights which were woven with tough flexible steel strands so that the whole superb shape of limbs and butt served as a long range antenna. It served a dual purpose in that the same tights formed a steel cage to keep her superb limbs under control. The antenna almost certainly was capable of carrying a punishment current should she try to escape. A relatively short hobble and ballerina tiptoe format ensured she wouldn't get far anyway, and the steel net tights limited her leg flexibility as a secondary method of control. 

A swaying whip aerial sprouting from the rear of the encased head supported a low frequency, short range, coded message facility, and completed the aesthetic appearance of her as a radio. Her head was buried in the box up to the underside of the nose, but the positioning of the hand mike gave a clue that it must be thrust through the box and into her mouth. One feature Sven could not figure out was a tight steel band that encircled her upper thighs and was pulled up tight into her butt-thigh crease. It was held in place by two vertical straps that extended upward to the base of the box. Other than that she was a plain box of knobs and dials except for the two thrusting tits bursting from the front. Generals were allowed perks and his personal radio had all the comforts of home. For practical purposes her thrusting, pert nipples sported heavy rings. With those attached to her general's belt she was assured to stay ready for use and within arms reach at a moments notice. A nose ring allowed her the only self-engineered act possible. It was connected to a ring in the top of the torso casing. Moving her head upward by the fractional amount possible would pull a pin and activate an emergency beacon. If the general went down she could summon and zero-in a search and rescue mission within seconds. However, as her radio had electronic data storage capability, it was also set to detonate in- built explosives if she looked to be falling into enemy hands. The explosives were not actually in the radio section, but were in fact packed into the massive tubes buried deep into her lower orifices and a hidden collar of explosives that would surgically remove her head if detonated. It was the only instance of a female being put at risk of death, and even then it had to be an act triggered by herself as she gave the nose ring a second jerk. She had been carefully chosen for her loyalty and was assured of a much better future for her patriotism at some time in the future, assuming she never had to self-destruct.

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Clearly the electronically entombed woman was a stunner of exceptional proportions. Those tits looked firm and full. The fact that they were pulled through holes in the casing that were far too small to comfortably accommodate their generous size ensured that they remained vibrantly hard and spherically shaped with the trapped blood pressure. Such an arrangement always met with approval from Sven. There was nothing so uplifting for him than to see a woman used in a way that ensured her tits were enhanced and displayed in such a ridiculous manner. It was a guy thing, he surmised. Stripping a female of any semblance of modesty and converting them into a blatant male sex toy was par for the course. Hard balled tits jutting out like purple melons certainly fulfilled that fantasy image.

The general pulled the mike from her hollow gag receptacle and proceeded to praise the distant Major. As he spoke, Sven looked into the eyes of the woman, the only visible part of her face. She was studying him with interest. Apparently word had filtered down to the equipment stores about this Earthman who was enslaving females with pleasure instead of force. Equipment being serviced was occasionally left ungagged and it took no time at all for rumours to spread.

Aghast, Sven stared wide-eyed as the radio woman gave him a sly wink. The general turned in time to catch Sven's appreciative look, and laughed. He had also heard the rumour and also knew that many Thyron women wanted to become females of the great Sven.

"You can keep my personal radio if you want, Sven. Think of it as a gift from the Thyros military. I'll just requisition another."

Sven was momentarily stunned by the generous offer and made as if to refuse. Then, prompted by the general's suggestive eye indications, his eyes caught sight of a twitching khaki netted mons, leaking fluid and enduring some clandestine thigh squeezing.

"Why thank you, General," Sven replied. “And you can be sure I'll look after it. In fact I'll use it for the Trylon campaign." The general winked as he led the way back to the transport.

"I think your unorthodox approach to females might pay dividends by the look of it. She's got the tightest pussy I ever experienced and she's a real humper. But make sure you fit the safety, the head clamp that is, and tighten her head into the lower face socket otherwise you'll blow the pair of you to bits when she orgasms and yanks at the nose ring. Sven decided he'd rather have her deactivated until the time came to go to war and watched as her safety was slipped into position and clamped down. It was a simple steel inverted 'U' that framed her head and had a screw press in the middle. A shaped cup rested on the apex of her skull and was rubber lined to ensure grip. The general spun the clamp screw down without a second thought to its effect on her, and she stood stony faced and let him do it, but Sven could see she was furious.

It was fantastic to see her face, in fact her whole head, being remorselessly jammed down into the tapering pre-cast lower head socket with her nose slowly vanishing into the recess. She didn't look all that amused, but she looked great with her upper face and sheathed head erupting from the top of the radio as it swelled out from the massive all round reduction and compression of the head socket. The eyes glared at him impotently as the visible part of her face assumed a deepening shade of crimson and bulged more and more with each turn. But the general just kept winding and her upper facial expression became an eruption of expanding cheeks and bulging eyes as more head vanished from sight. The face continued to be inexorably jacked downwards and there was nothing she could do about it. The power of the screw jack was irresistible. Out of sight in the bottom of the moulded recess her jaw was being forced shut and biting down on the powerful springy mike tube. Her tormentor paused to pull the mike back from her descending teeth, but it was only a temporary respite and the winding soon continued. It was a slow process due to the fact that the screw thread was very fine so as to exert maximum thrust with minimum effort. Only then did Sven understand the significance of the thigh ring. At the same time as her head was being jacked down, the thigh ring was moving upward. Her bottom was being massively compressed and the juicy lobes extruding into a startling profile as they were forcibly compressed against the underside of the box. In fact her whole hip and bottom region was being expanded into a surreal swelling of femininity by the pressure. The design was perfect in that it prevented any compression of the head being negated by her body moving out of the bottom of the box. Her entire torso region was being compacted tightly into the confines of the box. Sven stooped to inspect her lower regions and could see the end of her explosive charges. Her butt hole was stretched tight and shiny by the massive tube bomb. The pussy bomb was slightly less visible due to the swelling of her generous peachy love mounds, but no less ominous in portent. She was packed with enough G-76-Tenol to level a city block. Sven straightened from his inspection and looked her in the face.

Despite the display of anger, he still got the impression that she was enjoying the thought of being handed over and probably figured that this was the last time she would endure being 'made safe'. The general stepped back to reveal the woman had been fully deactivated from radio self- destruct mode. Only her eyes peered out from the jutting half dome head and the visible cheeks looked set to explode. She was really deactivated, and as a bonus, humiliatingly silenced. All around she was jammed tight into the recess and the edges cutting deeply into her head. Her skull was solidly embedded with no chance of triggering the explosives no matter what was done to her. The general inserted two safety pins that locked by passing through holes punched in her earlobes, now located in slider slots and buried deep inside the mould. It was amazing. Her whole torso had foreshortened between the super tight thigh clamp and the forcibly descending head. Some of the effect manifested itself noticeably as the larger tits bulged menacingly from her front. They had even changed colour and were now a deeply veined crimson due to the pressure. Sven gripped one of the throbbing orbs and was pleased to find that it was hard to the touch. Of course her hip region was compacted and delightfully enhanced to an unreal swollen caricature of womanhood. The fact that the woman was feeling total humiliation didn't help her colouring either. Many of the other military women had remarked how ridiculous she looked when deactivated and she could almost hear their sniggering.

"You know, General, I think she looks better like that."

The general studied the glaring eyes for a while and then replied, "I think you're right, Sven. She does look good with her head stuffed down into her body. But the fun part is if you release the head press and leave the safety pins in. I did that for a day once as punishment. It's particularly enjoyable to whip her ass when she's compacted like that. Those ballooning ass cheeks really feel it when they are all taut and rosy."

Sven studied the butt with amusement. Steel mesh tights didn't allow for expansion. They could reshape, but not stretch. The result was that her buttock flesh was extruding in a mass of swollen diamond shaped bumps. He ran his hand over the rump and felt a tingle of excitement. The quilted flesh was hot and firm to the touch, a most interesting feel. He watched the eyes peering across the top of the radio and the cheeks flush a deeper shade of scarlet as she tried furiously to protest. Only the faintest sound penetrated the mould and the head didn't move at all.

The general turned and Sven followed, indicating for the radio to go first. Walking behind that mincing net package of animated curves proved most engaging. By now streamers of pussy drool were dribbling from the masticating crotch that was massaging her deadly cargo with each step. Despite her humiliation, the radio female was deliberately putting on a rump gyrating show to excite him, psyching herself to a heated sexual frenzy in the process. She was helped by the thigh banding that lent a strange quality to her restricted movement.

It looked odd to see the fully formed lower half topped by a box with a half melon compacted dome on top. Yet again the Thyrons had produced a magnificent method of putting a woman in her place. But there was still that silly notion in her scrunched head that allowed her to think she could control men with her sexual allure. Perhaps she even thought that a licentious show would gain her a release from the present torment.

Ah, well, once back at the ship, Dhelia and a few days in a Rog-Reamer would put the female back in her place before she got any strange notions of being able to control men with her body. Sven moved alongside the mincing radio woman and gripped a handful of gyrating quilted buttock. It was pleasant to feel a shapely female butt in motion, so he maintained his grip as the boxed woman flushed an even deeper shade of red. There was nothing she could do other than to accept the humiliation of walking through a male dominated area with her bottom being used as a libido enhancer. Worse, was the fact that other women were clearly amused by her plight.

They passed the weapons cleaning detail as they left. Dozens of busy men were hard at work extracting scorched launcher tubes and servicing the fleshy female body sockets with soft sausages of cleaning cloth. 

The general saw Sven's interest and explained, "the pull-through plugs are impregnated with a special ointment. Those launchers get pretty sore after a battle like this, so the guys stick a soothing plug in. It stops them flinching and spoiling the aim if they have to go into battle again quickly."

The transport moved off, and Sven saw the first fully serviced backpacks being picked up by a platoon about to leave. They looked so good, so perfectly utilised and functional. Surely this was the true destiny for females.

In the distance the suicide females, injected with neural neutralizer drugs, were recovering from the paralysing effects of pellets, gas rockets, and the single canister that was triggered. They were on their way back to the ammo dump. It looked strange to see them mono-limbed, a whole hopping column of coffled canisters being led back to base. The leg sheaths only came off for an attack. At all other times they were reduced to hop and bounce mode like the rest.

The discharged one was being rolled in the opposite direction. She was destined to be sent to the armoury for recharging. The monosheath was back on and her legs folded, heels clipped into a receptacle in the base of her body canister. This configuration obviously designated her as a spent canister and avoided an empty weapon getting amongst loaded weapons. 

The transport left the battlefield behind, and General Aangat arranged a slight detour through the armaments depot. The silenced radio was tit tethered in the reception area, and as they left Sven could see other women, although themselves bound and utilised, staring at the deactivated radio with sniggering looks. Even the other utility females thought she looked ridiculous contained in such a way, and her seething looks of anger at the ridicule simply made matters worse. The whole visible part of her head rapidly became suffused with a red flush and gave the impression that she was about to explode without the aid of the explosives packed into her radio. Tiny facial movements betrayed the massive efforts she was making to try and thrust her head upwards. Sven and the general walked away, ignoring the daggering looks directed at their backs, unmindful of the frantic bobbing motions as the boxed woman strained and heaved. Sven had already decided that no matter how she performed she was going to stay deactivated.

Already preparations were underway for the invasion of Trylon. Cocooned equipment was being stockpiled ready for loading aboard Starburst. Piles of long featureless shipping sausages were stacked neatly, each pile bearing different markings to designate the equipment within. The suicide gas women were instantly recognisable by way of the upper end being an inflexible steel container, but from the waist down they were cocooned as the rest in high-density, resilient foam. These female warrior machines were guaranteed to arrive in mint working condition. The whole place was thriving with activity as Rog-Reamered workers rolled an endless procession of cylindrically packed females to the stockpiles.

Inside the plant Sven saw the packing process at work. Most of the weapons females didn't like the idea of being cocooned for transport and were wriggling madly in their inescapable bonds. The struggling forms were dropped into the moulding chamber, lid swung shut and then there was a hiss and wisps of steam. Thirty seconds later a fractionally flexing steaming rubber sausage was extruded and the freshly cocooned female was dispatched to the stockpile by a waiting worker. It was amazing to think of all those curvaceous, inviting bodies reduced to barely any movement at all in such a short time.

Round at the rear of the stockpiles were other workers arranging the cylindrically imprisoned females ten to a pallet, stacked to form a long triangular pyramid of tubes. Two crushing strap bands then cemented the flexing worms of womanhood into an erotic, pulsing mass ready for dispatch. Roger at the other end of the delivery chain was already arranging rows of pallets in a storage bay converted into a massive stasis chamber. Once full, the bay would be sealed and the pallets bombarded with stasis rays until the stockpiled women were frozen for the two-year journey to Trylon. By the end of that day one thousand pallets, ten thousand items of living equipment, would be straining and struggling in a huge mass of completely controlled and helplessly packaged femininity. There they would remain, impotised and ready for use, when the battle for Trylon got under way. Sven made a mental note to visit the storage bay before stasis freezing.

Walking between rows of flexing palletised women stockpiled in thousands would prepare him mentally for the victory on Trylon. Mobile packing plants would be working non-stop to cocoon some two point eight billion amazons in long term, self-servicing, life support cocoons. It might be months or even years before they cleared the backlog of new stock. His mind reeled as the enormity of the stockpile defied imagination. Later, once full control was established, they would start to whittle down the stock piles as they were categorised, trained, fitted into various diabolical constraints, or simply sold off as job lots of unseen pre-packed femininity. 

Already there had been a tentative inquiry, passed on by the Thyron State Office. The Besszran consulate had heard a whisper of the forthcoming attempted enslavement of Trylon. They were no friends of the Federation, so the secret was safe. Their bid for the supply of twenty thousand Trylon 'units' was already in. Sven tried to imagine what a race of intelligent, semi-humanoid, half serpents could do with twenty thousand Amazonian humanoids, then decided it was best not to ask. It was mind boggling to try and imagine what a Besszran could do to a humanoid female. General Aangat supplied the unsolicited answer. The Besszran sexual organ was a massive twelve-inch by three inch organ situated at the end of the coiled fifty foot tail. The technique was to coil the tail around a human female until she was totally engulfed in the muscular prehensile member and then insert the phallic organ through a cap in the coils. Once that was achieved she would be squeezed unmercifully with a pulsing motion that transmitted itself to the serpent lover. Her captive form would inwardly pulse with each contraction of the encircling snake coils and produce exceptionally pleasant sensations for the Besszran. Bending, arching, and shaping the female with the irresistible coils as she was unmercifully shafted made the whole thing even better. For the Besszran, that is.

For an hour or more Sven was given the guided tour of the supply base. Later he was to discover that these Thyron equipment women, immediately prior to them being moulded in resilient rubber, were sprayed with preservative grease as part of the packing chamber's process. Apparently the slithering sensation as they tried to move induced them to flex more strongly and attempt to maintain the exquisite feeling of an all over massage. On being released from the cocoons they were in peak physical condition due to their own muscular antics whilst packed.

Unfortunately for one woman, this was not to be the case. Sven arranged for his new radio to be packed as she was, ready for instant use. The half dome head buried in the radio socket cast fearful eyes at him, almost accusing him of betrayal and wondering where she'd gone wrong in her obviously sexual come-on signals. A smaller pallet was selected and soon she was laid out, face down, her form banded from head to foot. The radio torso kept her body raised from the pallet, with the result that her butt was bent in order to lay shins flat on the pallet. It was a demeaning rump thrusting pose that she couldn't avoid as the bands began to draw her down tight. A minute later and the thoroughly cinched woman was carted away, totally stiffened and with her glorious upward facing butt and sleek thighs ridged deeply by the securing bands. The cinched rearing butt eruptions of net clad female looked good, and Sven knew he was going to have lots of fun with that lady at some time in the future; but at a time of his choosing and under his conditions.

He was silent for most of the journey back, his mind going over the battle scenes.

"You know, General, I think we'll keep the nitrous oxide weapon as a back up. From what I saw back there we don't need to take the risk, small as it is. The Trylon amazons also have a law that outlaws the use of lethal weapons in women's warfare. They can only use lethal weapons against men. Given that your troops have been armed with female equipment, they'll be forced to use non-lethal weapons."

The general gave him a thoughtful and appraising stare.

"You sure about that?"

"I'm sure. The Trylon amazons consider female life to be sacred. Men on the other hand are expendable."

The general's eyebrows shot up. "What a strange culture. Fancy deciding something like that on the basis of what sex they are." Sven had his work cut out to stifle the huge belly laugh welling up inside. They were surrounded by the results of Thyrons doing just that.


CHAPTER EIGHT
TROOP CARRIER

All was ready. Thyron troops and their backpacks were billeted comfortably in the cavernous H/6 cargo bay. The equipment was loaded and the ship provisioned. All Sven's personal toys were aboard. Yoran and Tebb were stood in the control room with Roger. The last handshakes and good luck messages were taking place. Tebb was positively glowing with excitement and Yoran was allowing her some leeway by permitting her butt to rest in his appreciative, cupped hand. In her excited condition, balancing was a tricky task and the hand gave her just enough reference point to help out. Her first task when allowed to roam around unattended was to seek out the new punishment sockets and take a look at the surrounding features that might help to enhance her libido. Avidly, three males watched her child-like glee on a monitor when she finally located the sockets. So this was where she would be plugged in next time. They could see she was pleased. Roger had placed a vid screen directly in front of where her face would be and she would be able to watch the stars passing as she was frozen to vibrating rigidity by the punishment socket. 

Sven made excuses and vanished. Minutes later Roger spotted his boss on the monitor in the huge equipment bay. He zoomed in and smiled as Sven's awestruck face came into full focus. Even Roger felt an arousal overload whilst he was in there. It wasn't easy to take in the fact that ten thousand females were helplessly cocooned in that huge stockpile of silent writhing sausages. After a half-hour of searching row after row of pallets, Sven paused and listened. Roger grinned widely. Now he was on the right track. He knew Sven was looking for the radio and the faint sounds were leading him right to it.

Federation regulations prevented him from allowing explosives in the cargo holds, and the explosives locker was a de-pressurised cubicle vented to space. So it entailed re-packing the radio woman for transit after first stripping off the radio. Hopefully Sven would approved of his slightly modified format.

Sven rounded the pallet row marked H/6-224 and came to a dead stop. The faint noise was his radio woman going berserk and achieving nothing. As he watched, the madly straining thing went rock still and silent. Sven approved. He most certainly approved. His latest acquisition was quickly learning that life aboard Starburst was little different from Thyros.

She had been re-boxed, but this time from the upper thigh. The rectangular torso enclosure was fashioned from high density moulded polypropylene. Her luscious, firm ass was inside, or some of it at least. In addition she was fitted with punishment socket plug-in shoes and her shapely tights encased legs clamped excruciatingly from top to bottom. The whole assembly was then stood, or rather vertically plugged, in to a PP-1 prisoner socket, which appeared to be programmed for ten minutes off, thirty minutes on. Sven had arrived just as the next half-hour session cut in. 

As before her head was jammed down into a recess, but judging by the extent of the ballooning scarlet cheeks, this recess was much smaller and tighter than her radio box. The screw jack compression was gone. Roger had supplemented that with a lever press that squeezed her down in one single swift movement and was held locked down by a snap lock. 

But the redesigned longer box was a major advancement. With her mated thighs crushed into a hugely cinched format by the box opening, nothing could escape from that end. The result, when the lever was actuated, was to compress the woman into a pre-shaped form-fitting interior. In effect the box was being dragged upward until it met the round out of her buttocks, squeezing the abundant orbs yet more. The excess female being forced in by her descending head just had to go somewhere. It extruded both tits and bottom from the openings until the swelling masses were jammed tight. Sven fingered all the various mounds of fleshy, rubber sheathed eruption and felt a magnificent hardness.

He straightened up and gave the face a close look. His radio woman was really pissed now. Roger's device had shoved her head so deep into the smaller mould that the edge was barely a half-inch below her lower eyelids. She looked incredibly foreshortened in the upper body and totally out of proportion to the long, lithe legs.

The half-hour passed quickly as he savoured the view, then suddenly the box came to life as the power went off. It began a demented dance against the securing shackles connected to each corner, and the face seemed to explode with effort as the woman pleaded for mercy. She paused as Sven's hand reached up and unlocked the lever, then as he released it, her head magically popped up as the crushing downward pressure eased off. The box lip settled just below her upper lip and afforded a partial view of her widely jacked mouth. As he'd suspected, her mouth was packed tight with a horrendously oversized sponge rubber ball gag. The woman looked hugely relieved and beamed her thanks at Sven. A second later the face froze in horror and disbelief as he depressed the lever and jammed her head back down into the block in one irresistible, smooth movement. 

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRR------!"

The muffled screaming invectives seeping through the ball gag just diminished and magically stopped as her head was ruthlessly crammed tightly back down into the recess. The cheeks erupted instantly with the squeezing compression; reforming into that diabolically pleasing look of impotent, explosive fury. Fierce glinting eyes were demanding instant release, and no doubt her back prayered arms were straining madly inside the casing to reach up to the lever, but the box moulding thwarted all chance of that. The facial effect was staggering. It was as if her head was being forced through a reducing die. Deep inside the moulding, a mouth only big enough to accommodate the massive ball stopper at full jaw- jacking stretch was filled to explosion point as her jaw was forced closed and the tough rubber foam sought out every nook and cranny in an abortive attempt to escape. It squeezed her face powerfully against the inside of the head mould, and in the upper regions that were unsupported and exposed, expanded her elastic cheek flesh to tearing levels as it tried to burst out of the warm, moist oral confines. She looked like a hamster with full food pouches.

Image 11

The face assumed a deep purple as she strained mightily in an effort to push her head upwards. It was immensely satisfying to see her maximum effort so easily contained by the innocuous looking lever that had placed her in that fiendishly humiliating predicament. And all achieved with a simple effortless movement of his one hand. Mechanical advantage was a great ally, and given the fulcrum point, she would have to exert tons of upward pressure to overcome the downward thrust. When that lever went down her head was packed tight into the block whether she liked it or not. 

He playfully experimented for a while, releasing and recompressing. There was a distinctive sound associated with each operation. A sound of relief as she popped up, and another much more exciting sound as her head forcibly re-entered the face crushing die.

"UUUUUrrrr!"

"MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH!-!"

His other hand strayed to a thrusting tit and savoured the enforced growth and hardening effect of extrusion.

"UUUUUrrrr!" The head popped up.

He checked the other tit.

"MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH!"

"UUUUUrrrr!"

Then, of course, he had to check out the bottom. First the right buttock. 

"MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH!”

 "UUUUUrrrr!"

Then the left.

"MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH!"

"UUUUUrrrr!"

After that it was simply a matter of letting her know who was in control. His hand pumped the lever unmercifully up and down.

"MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH! UUUUUrrrr! MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH! UUUUUrrrr! MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH! UUUUUrrrr! MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH! UUUUUrrrr! MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH! UUUUUrrrr! MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH! UUUUUrrrr! MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH!"

It was fun to watch her performing like an angry jack-in-box and see her other fleshy body curves exploding into stark relief as they were forcibly extruded by the internal pressure. He toyed with her, easing the handle to half way and watching the relief start to spread across the revealed features, then callously eradicated all movement and sound as he jacked her down tight again. That produced an even more interesting sound effect.

"MMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRUUUUPH!"

Roger's invention was brilliant. It gave such an intensely satisfying and potent control over her.

Sven didn't know it, but there were new internal arrangements as well. Two massive tapering dildos were stretching the aching holes in her lower body. As she was forced down, the box lifted against her butt with the enormous pressure. Hard tapering dildos moved inward and dilated her painfully invaded orifices another half inch. In terms of stretching, a half- inch of insertion on the wide tapers meant an increase of one inch on the circumference. The lever was crushing, extruding, and stuffing her boxed torso with one single action.

Sven ignored the frantic bulging eyes and crimson straining face as he calmly jacked the frantically pleading head down for the last time and reset the lock that would ensure it remained silent and tightly compressed into the socket.

Taking the opportunity of de-electrified terminals, Sven nonchalantly tightened a nipple electrode that looked a mite loose, then waited patiently as the ten minute rest cycle ran out. Throughout the remaining few minutes of struggling and straining only the sound of clinking connections spoiled the silence of the bay. The bursting face and bulging eyes made a last desperate plea, then she jerked violently and was completely still. A faint trembling manifested itself in the bursting breasts, and the nipples stood rigidly to attention as the current surged through them, but that was the only sign of her enforced obedience. Sven placed his face close to the small section of hers that was still visible.

"Next time don't try to bribe me with your wiggling ass." Silently seething with anger, yet unable to respond in any way, the boxed woman realised her mistake and resigned herself to the fact that she might be kept in her compressed state for some time.

He turned and looked straight at the vid camera and Roger, slightly embarrassed at being caught out, was able to read his lips.

"Okay you voyeuristic asshole, great job, now give me two minutes to get out and start the freeze up procedure." Sven, grinning, turned for a last look at the mono-legged box with its scarlet, face bulging, half dome upper protrusion, then vanished from view as Roger set the controls that would send around five-hundred and thirty tons of traumatised female flesh to sleep.

There were some complex settings required for such a huge mass of living tissue, and a full half-hour had passed before Roger was ready. By that time Sven was back with him.

Together they watched as Sven zoomed the vid in to close up and filled the screen with a crotch-searing image of boxed female. De-energised for her ten minute break, the rectangular form was going berserk in her attempts to leap out of the fiendish socket she was plugged into and force her head upwards out of the crimping die. It was all wasted effort; the toe clamp held firm, and the cranial press didn't move even the slightest fraction. But when all was said and done, it did make for good spectator sport. When the next charge hit, her rubber sheathed head was still firmly buried to eye level, her cheeks still crimson and bulging, her legs tightly cinched into a welded mono-column, and heels still fully engaged. Her demonic struggles hadn't achieved one iota of relief from Roger's awesome re-design.

Sven stopped Roger's hand as he was about to energise the stasis. 

"You staying activated for the trip Rog'?" Roger nodded.

"Then take our boxed beauty out of stasis before we start. I want her re- sited alongside my stasis cubicle for the entire trip. You can service her daily, and she'll be a little less cock sure when I awaken."

Roger's eyebrows shot up. "Two years boxed?"

Sven nodded and smiled. "I'm sure you'll enjoy looking after her, Roger. Release the lever once a day for an hour to remind her what life is like uncompressed and then jack her down again. Perhaps you can also get Dhelia to take her for an occasional spin around the empty cargo holds. She'll travel okay in the box and she can learn to hop like the other women. Should make an interesting sight with that head jacking device engaged."

"Anything you say boss."

It didn't look as if Roger needed any more convincing.

Sven left him to it and wandered off to seek out his more obedient ladies. He found Tracy, Fiona, Major Boscomp and Yelda with Yoran and his new woman Tebb.

Yoran was in the final stages of completing their new uniforms and all were now attired as Tebb. It was a mouth-watering sight of cuties to be sure.

The moment he appeared, Tebb's face lit up and his own women bounded towards him. It seemed they were pleased with their slightly less restrictive format. Without the Rog-Reamer attached they were allowed some freedom to flex and display their erotic forms to greater effect. Tracy and Fiona had already been eyeing each other suggestively, whilst Major Boscomp and Yelda felt it would allow them more power in the battle to win favours as they used the new freedom to influence their owner. 

Yoran was pleased because Roger had arranged for a double stasis couch so that he too could rest with his favourite female lying by his side. 

The soldiers below in the temporary billet were to stay active throughout the two-year flight. One reason was to service their backpacks. The other to train and practice ready for the battle ahead. The general insisted that his handpicked storm troopers were at peak performance when they ventured forth to tackle the fearsome female warriors of Trylon-31. Apart from the mineral deposits, General Aangat had extracted another concession from Sven. He could have the pick of the bunch for his own collection, before the sales and shipping started. With that pleasure ahead, he wanted no room for failure.

Sven turned to Yoran with a suggestion. "Roger can handle the take off and all the other matters. Fancy a last bit of fun before the big sleep?" 

Yoran gave him an interested look. "What have you got in mind Sven?" 

"Oh! I just thought we could plug all of these lovelies in for some fun before we sack out."

Tebb's excited look was infectious. The others had no idea what 'plugging in' meant and were unaware of the design function of the new rigs and steel daggering heels.

They were still just as innocently unaware as their super trussed forms, converted to plug-in mode, were offered up to the sockets and plugged in. 

Click! "UUUUUMMMMMPPPPPHHHHHH!" 

Click! "UUUUUMMMMMPPPPPHHHHHH!” 

Click! "UUUUUMMMMMPPPPPHHHHHH!" 

Click! "UUUUUMMMMMPPPPPHHHHHH!” 

Click! "UUUUUMMMMMPPPPPHHHHHH!”

In quick succession they discovered what it meant to be an appliance when sequentially energised sockets jerked each into quivering profile. 

Tebb was left until last so as to increase her anticipatory arousal.

For a while the two men just stood back and enjoyed the spectacle of five rigid, impotised female forms. Then Yoran climbed aboard his woman and used the remote to switch her to butt pulsing mode. That was just to allow him entry. Then it was back to full charge for her, and the quivering cock stretching format for an hour's R & R.

Sven had a more difficult decision to make. Which one would he sample first? In the end he decided to give the senior girl first honours, and Tracy gasped as she was relaxed from the shattering, rigid format. Two minutes later it was back to work, impaled on his rampant rod and re-energised into a butt clenching cock clamp.

It took Sven four hours to service them all. But one thing was for sure. He didn't have any problems getting it back up between women. The lustfully arousing effect of the diabolical punishments sockets saw to that. 

And so the good ship Starburst broke orbit and moved away from Thyros on its historic mission. The whole of Thyros watched by relay TV as crusaders left to spread the word according to Sven the Great. 

And hour later and thousands of miles into the dark vastness of space, Roger advised all troops to stand by for acceleration and engaged sub- light Bola Drive thrusters. Steadily, building velocity, the great ship accelerated to a cool half million miles an hour. Trylon-31 was too close to engage hyper drive without zooming straight past the target planet during the acceleration phase. So they would have to use the scenic method which would take two years.

For some it was but a fleeting second whilst wedged between nubile warm female bodies; for others, a never ending round of training for the coming battle. For Roger and Dhelia it was a monotonous period of shagging women or tormenting them to distraction.

It was all work and no play for the two mechanoid crew members, but neither registered a complaint in the mechanoid complaints log.

Eventually Trylon hove into sight in the vid viewers, and Roger set about rousing the ten thousand nubile war machines, his boss, and the newest recruit, Yoran.

A half day later all were gathered in the control room as Starburst settled into orbit. The troops were ready, the equipment was unpacked from their cocoons and checked, and Sven's amazon subversives were primed and ready to go.

Yelda stalked in, at first almost unrecognisable in her Trylon clothes and unfettered in any way. She looked her old fearsome self, and it was hard to imagine the sensuous sex crazed nymphet Sven had converted her into. For a second or two he had doubts about the loyalty of his converted amazon, and Yelda seemed to sense it. She aimed a translator at him and spoke.

"There's something I've been meaning to do these last few months, but hardly in a position to do it." Sven took a step back as she stalked over and grabbed him in a powerful hug that lifted him clear of the floor. Before he could even react she lowered her face and engulfed his mouth with her wide spread, sensuous lips. For several minutes her tongue reached in and plundered his throat, then as abruptly as she'd grabbed him, she put him down and stood back.

Sven spluttered and gasped. It was like being hugged and kissed by a gorilla. Her strength was incredible. Stunned, he looked at her for an explanation.

"My pay back for that time at the court hearing, Boss. Shit it was good. You damned near fucked my brains out that night, then worse still left me all arched and available like a big pussy drooling tart on heat."

Sven wasn't sure what to say at first, then his face cracked in a huge smile. "My pleasure, Yelda. It was certainly my pleasure. Sorry about all the other stuff, the Rog-Reamers and the -!" She put her hand up to stop him, a look of worry on her face.

"Sorry? Why sorry boss? It was tough, but I had the greatest time of my life. Now let's get this little tin pot war over with so I can get back to my proper duties. And keep the Rog-Reamer ready. I'm going to be a feisty bitch when I get back so you'll need to start the training all over again. I suspect Dhelia might be able to improve on it still more. I'm getting used to the tightness now, so maybe it needs upgrading. Shit, that ball-shaped mechanised bitch gets me hot with her sadistic torment. It must have something to do with the fact that she has no feelings or conscience and that sort of fuels the totally helpless feeling. Once you are out of sight that metal bitch really has fun winding me up to maximum in any way she can. She's had me bound up tight and twitching in so many formats I've lost count. In Dhelia's hands, I really am just an enjoyable toy and she can do anything she likes to me without me being able to do a damned thing about it."

Sven couldn't believe his ears and was about to comment when she changed the subject.

"Oh! Before I forget, one of the amazon team is an undercover Chen warrior. You'll have to do something about her. We only found out this morning. She'll blow the whole thing. Those Chen warriors are fanatics, and if she appears to be going along, it's only so as to get back and ring the warning bells."

"Which one is she?" Sven asked, the look on his face changing to one of concern.

Yelda moved over to the vid screen and pointed her out in the group of amazons waiting to disembark. She was a giant of a woman, yet stunningly beautiful and fully developed. Sven licked his lips. He turned to Roger and handed him an Anno gun.

"Go put her to sleep Roger, and then give her to Dhelia for restraining. Tell her I have something in mind along the lines of our boxed female, only better. I'll drop in later and see how she's doing after the amazons are down and going to work, and let Dhelia know she has my permission to let her imagination run riot with this one."

Roger vanished from sight as Sven turned back to Yelda. There was a look of hate on Yelda's face. Seeing Sven's questioning look, she explained, "the Chen warriors are the elite. They are like your earth's secret services, evil and vicious. Chens were the ones that did all the torturing in the old days and eventually executed all the males. They're a breed on their own and hated by most Trylons."

Sven nodded but at the same time realised that betraying a fellow Trylon probably wasn't easy for Yelda. Clearly she believed in what they were attempting to do. She was hardly the sort to betray her own kind. 

"Yelda, go do your job. And thanks. I promise you I'll make it up to you, and we'll make a lot of Trylon ladies very happy in the long run." Yelda's face was radiant.

"I hope so boss. I really hope so. But let's be practical here. There are bound to be a few not so happy types at the end of the day."

Sven shrugged. "Every war has its casualties."

She turned to go, and Sven called after her. "Yelda! Take care. You take real good care of yourself. I want you back in one piece, undamaged." The big brown eyes held his gaze for a second or two, then she waved a hand and was gone.

Ten minutes later the shuttle dropped out of the shuttle bay and the first team was away. Roger appeared back on the control deck shortly after and nodded. The Chen warrior was effectively ‘neutralised'. He turned back to the screen and watched with mixed thoughts as the speeding spec of the distant shuttle began final descent and vanished into the atmosphere of Trylon.

Now they could only wait until Yelda's signal came in announcing that all was ready. Hopefully by then they would have infiltrated, found weak spots in the defences, and placed sabotage devices to cripple the Trylon defence. The one-hundred and fifteen loyal subversives would be dropped all over the globe and as the battle progressed, each land mass army would find itself cut off and disabled as their plans took effect.

Already Sven was missing that big powerful female, his personal jumbo pack of curvaceous toy woman.

The rest of the day was taken up discussing tactical matters with troop commanders, and it was late evening before the busy earth man, Sven, and his mechanical sidekick got some R & R. As it happened, Dhelia had some entertainment planned. The speed she could work at when given a task she enjoyed was remarkable.

Sven and Roger stared open mouthed as a strange bounding box entered the room, closely followed by Dhelia, who was on the other end of a control umbilical snaking down the rear of the thing.

The Chen warrior had arrived, and it was clear she was not amused. Whenever she was stationary her containment performed a frenzied jerking dance as she fought to escape. It looked most comical to see the legged box jigging up and down.

Image 12

Unlike Roger's boxed radio woman, this box was horizontal. The head press was immediately recognisable, as was the dome of a head crushed deeply into its socket at one end. At the other end was a rump bursting from the shaped, tightly fitting aperture. The umbilical led straight into twin dildos of immense size and gave an instant appraisal of the control technique.

As for the legs, they seemed to be folded with knees crushed to the chest as only the lower portion was visible. As was becoming standard, they were sheathed and clamped into a mono-limb and equipped at the feet with the twin pinned plug-in heels. In effect the Chen could only use ankle power to affect a hop. The powerful thigh and buttock muscles were unusable due to her tightly packed configuration.

This was the strange hopping object that Dhelia eventually brought to a halt in front of them after a prolonged demonstration of its capabilities. The demonstration included sending full power to the Chen's dildos. The result was an amazing display of frenzied hopping and straining as the boxed amazon was zapped and tormented. It was a masterpiece of engineering. The Chen was available for screwing or just usage as a moveable piece of erotic furniture. Alternatively she could be plugged in and left to charge in a punishment socket, or serviced by vacuum at the rear end.

Sven gave the box a shove and unbalanced it. Immediately it fell backwards off the precarious balance of the tiptoeing feet and landed on its ass with a ground shaking thump. It seemed the Chen would need some more practice before she was ready to double as a coffee table, with perhaps some serious attitude adjustment in order to convince her that coffee tables remained obediently still so as not to spill the burden.

A livid, exploding upper face was revealed as the Chen's head came into view. Dhelia used the same lever press arrangement, only she seemed to have managed to jam the head into a tighter socket, with the Chen's mouth crushed around a larger sponge rubber gag.

Sven lifted the lever, and immediately the head sprang upwards and began to emit an ungodly racket as the Chen let loose with stifled abuse.

"MMMMMMMM

Sven jammed the lever back down and locked it tight, thus terminating the racket abruptly. A scarlet bulging face daggered seething looks at him, but was silent once more and deeply buried in the socket. Sven lifted the box onto its feet and indicated the floor mounted punishment socket to Dhelia. She instantly sent a searing bolt of electricity into the butt dildo. The box got the message and despite obvious reservations, bounded forward obediently sooner than suffer another jolt up her butt hole. Unfortunately, Dhelia didn't like the Chen woman and kept the box hopping madly with random bolts of lightening exploding into her backward thrusting butt hole. Finally Dhelia relented and deftly steered the bouncing box to the socket. The Chen saw what was coming and earned herself another dose of box hopping antics. At the third lesson she capitulated to the inevitable and maneuvered herself until the heels slotted in. On went the toe clamp, and at a signal from Sven, she flipped the switch. The box jerked violently to a horizontal stance and then was still as the current paralysed the crushed amazon.

Sven eyed the quivering box and decided the positioning was right. From the control console, she was in profiled view, giving Sven a view of both ends. Another command to Dhelia and she zoomed away, her thrusters whining madly as she scurried to fetch an old fashioned cane from the containers in the storage bay. In her haste she bounced off two bulkheads before her steering thrusters located the doorway. Within a couple of minutes she was back, and the control room was echoing to the sound of the Chen warrior starting her new role in life as the ship's whipping post. Dhelia was not kind. In a very short time, the taut rump was heavily striped with angry welts, and despite her electrical immobilisation, the Chen amazon was still managing to achieve slight jerks of muscle reaction at each blow. With some relish, Sven saw the visible section of the head steadily turning a light shade of purple and he grinned at the impotent fury contained in that box.

Later Sven would re-site her in the troops accommodation and designate her as the public fuck-box.

As it came to pass, years later no one would remember what actually happened to the hopping box, except to say it was never anything else other than a bounding box, often seen with scarlet striped rump and or drooling pussy that left a trail wherever it went. Constant usage ensured that there was always something liquid left to drain. The Chen was never released, and people got so used to seeing the thing hopping around, it became a non-entity. Consequently, when it vanished, no one was even sure when or how it had gone missing.

Rumour had it that she was stolen and stowed as part of a shipment lost on its way back to Thyros. In fact, it was true. The transport filled with minerals crashed on Salond-Ras, a young planet with the first emerging signs of humanoids. They were basically thinking apes by modern standards. The crew was killed, but one strange creature survived and was found amongst the smouldering wreckage by the inhabitants. They figured out how to work the lever so as to feed the strange square creature, but kept it as they found it after feeding. It made so much noise and angry grunts with all the lower face exposed that it was quickly placed back into the box. Apart from that they used it as the soldiers had done, and regularly squabbled over ownership. As a result, the bouncing fuck-box knew many owners as she was passed from one victorious claimant to the next.

The Chen warrior spent her life with her head jammed into a tight socket and her rear end available for use by any who cared to sample the vulnerable orifices on offer. The tribesman tried to prise the strange creature out of its shell but the moulded polypropylene defeated all their primitive tools. 

She was basically well looked after, though. The box creature was always tethered near the dogs outside, and as such protected from attack by the many carnivores stalking Salond-Ras. On several occasions it had tried to run away, but a tether attached to the rear of the box soon put an end to that. For the first few weeks the box constantly snubbed at the unseen leash as it tried to hop away, and spent hours hopping on the spot. Eventually it seemed to become exhausted and fell forward to balance on the dome of its head. Usually at that point the up-ended sexual display enticed someone to make use of the offered facility. Only many years later and by accident did the moronic inhabitants realise that if it was turned on its back, the box thing couldn't get up and was unable to go anywhere. It just lay there all day with the strange single leg waggling impotently. More to the point, they realised that it could be fucked in that position to.

During the rainy season she was left out of harm's way as the flood waters raged through. A smooth branch halfway up a tree was lopped at ten inches from the trunk, and at night she would be lifted and her butt impaled on the peg. As the Sun set the elders would look out at the strange square creature mounted halfway up a tree and wonder why the creature preferred to keep its head half withdrawn into the protective box like a tortoise. And why did it complain when they stuffed its own round spongy detachable tongue back in after feeding. The gag material was viewed as part of her. It only seemed quiet and contented after they put the gag back and pushed the strange lever down, thus allowing it to pull its head back in.

Days passed without word from Trylon, and Sven was becoming nervous. In fact it was twelve days by Earth time, seven Trylon days, before Yelda's face appeared on the vid screen. It was a poor image, but then the miniature communicator devised by Roger, combined with the strange Trylon atmosphere, had a large part to play in the quality of transmission. However, it did the job. Yelda was fine, and everything was in place. The operation had gone smoothly and the Trylon had no idea that their ordered female culture was about to be decimated by a male chauvinist army from Thyros.

After a quick check with platoon commanders and Roger, the time of attack was set for dawn the next day.

Whilst Trylons were still sleeping, the first section of his subversive amazons would begin to severe all communications links by dropping high frequency disrupters into the central connection ducts. Chen doctorate was going to work for them. The ruling Chen and its secret service dictated that all communications in any major city were routed through a central exchange that allowed them eavesdropping access on any line. Take out that center and a huge area of the network simply didn't exist.

At 0500 hours T.M.T, Benat City and its entire area experienced a total shut down of communications as a strange roaring static blocked all lines. 

Early morning risers and overnight workers were stunned to see teams of three, one male with two incapacitated females in tow, darting furtively around and setting up what looked like war weapons on street corners. Other men with strange torso shaped backpacks could be seen scurrying from doorway to doorway, and then as they watched open mouthed at the events, a slight sting in the leg would herald the onset of captivity as a neural pellet slammed into them.

Sven and Roger watched the landed troops, digging in from the lofty vantage point of their command shuttle. Meanwhile the other two stand- by shuttles were busy ferrying more and more Thyron soldiers down to the surface as the bridgehead was established. Shock troops hit Chen headquarters like a hurricane, and inside eight minutes, seventy-four high ranking officers were stunned and made harmless. They were destined to fetch a high price due to their rank and rarity.

Ten minutes later, Sven hit the nearby army barracks with knockout gas as he ordered in the Thyron suicide canisters. Five minutes after that the same fate befell police headquarters.

It was a rout. Trylon had grown complacent after years of the easy life. It was ripe for picking.

By the time the town's population had fully awakened, it was all over bar the shouting.

Sealed into high-rises by troops, the Trylons were sitting ducks for the canisters that triggered themselves in the air conditioning ducts of each building. Ten minutes later it was simply a matter of carrying out the unconscious forms, stripping them, and running them through the mobile cocooning stations that were springing up all over town.

Seeing the hopelessness of their situation many opted to simply walk out and surrender.

Unable to believe their luck, Sven decided to bring the aerial command post down and direct operations from the ground.

His first task was to figure out what to do with the children. He collected together a group of matronly types from the captives, and herded them and the children into a massive army complex just north of the city. Its fortifications, designed to keep invaders out, worked just as well keeping prisoners in. It had all the facilities to cater for schooling and the like, so they would be quite well looked after there. He designated an officer in the Thyron Supply Corps to ensure that the base was kept fully stocked of foods and essentials, and that took care of the one thorny problem in his plan to enslave Trylon.

Now it was time to get on with the real work.

Strolling through the streets like conquering heroes, the earth pair surveyed the carnage in terms of women's lib. Every corner was festooned with heaps of cocoons awaiting transport and storage. Long lines of conscious plasti-cuffed prisoners stood glowering yet impotent under the stun guns of the troops as one by one they were taken into the busy packing plants. 

Nearby a bulldozer type machine was busily pushing heaps of discarded clothing into the ditches. Trylons no longer had need of body covering unless it was designed by their new owners.

As the morning marched on, news came in of the rapidly expanding area that was now secured. There were no casualties on either side, other than for a few cuts and bruises as neurally paralysed Trylons attempting counter attacks fell down under the hail of pellets from stuttering heavy machine guns.

Sven was ecstatic. It had all gone like clockwork, and by noon, an area twice the size envisaged in the first assault was secure. Better still, no one outside that area had the slightest idea that almost a tenth of their population were now in slavery.

It was in the late afternoon, after platoon leader debriefings, that Sven's thoughts turned back to Yelda. This was her designated target town, but as yet there was no sign of her. All the other operatives had been located and their hidden orgasmo-dosers triggered for their daily ration of carnal rewards. Yelda's was triggered by remote, and there was a response signal that gave information on vital signs and sexual response. They were positive that Yelda, wherever she might be hiding, was enjoying some remote titillation. Yet still her absence remained noted.

The sun was low on the horizon and Sven was returning to the ship when Yelda finally put in an appearance.

At first Sven only saw a bounding figure being led by a soldier. Only a few seconds later did the significance impinge on his brain. Rog-Reamers belonged on Thyros for the present. None had been landed on Trylon. He stopped and turned back as the silhouetted figures got closer, his heart pounding as the bouncing shape took on form. There was no mistaking that junoesque, sprightly, bounding figurine. It was Yelda.

The soldier drew up to him and the hopping figure obediently came to a stop on her leash. Yelda looked resplendent in her transparent rubber suit with the golden glow of the setting sun forming a halo of rich colour around her magnificent form.

"Sir! Found this in a building with a note tied around the neck." The soldier stepped forward and handed the note over. Sven looked down then handed it to Roger to decipher the Thyron lettering. Roger smiled as he read it.

"Property of Supreme Commander Sven. Finder please return to owner.” Sven took the leash.

"Thank you soldier. Nice work. I wondered where I'd left it." A slight envious smile twitched at the corners of the stone face, then he saluted, turned smartly, and marched away. Yelda had allowed him to play for a while before he put her back into the rig as requested. Once back in the rig and helpless, the soldier decided to play a bit more. Strangely, the Trylon woman didn't seem to mind being chained at the feet to a post and spanked heartily until she gave his pals an hour long pogoing demonstration.

Sven turned to Yelda and pulled her close. She looked slightly worried, and was probably regretting rashly allowing herself to be reinstalled in a Rog-Reamer rig, only to find that it had obviously been seriously upgraded by the vengeful Dhelia. But by the time she realised it had even more reducing adjustments, it was already too late.

The cinching bands were so tight as to give her breasts the appearance of being about to explode. Her bottom had a similar image, as did thighs and any other fleshy part that allowed super tight bands to sink deeply into her body. He noticed a small switch on her collar that was obviously new, and ignoring the flashed look of apprehension on Yelda's face, he flipped it on. Yelda did her best to change his mind.

"NNNNNNRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

But it did no good.

"MMMMMMMMMMMPH! MMMMMMMMMMMPH! MMMMMMMMMMMPH!"

Instantly Yelda erupted into an on-the-spot Gazra-3 type bounding hop. A built in nuclear power pack was supplying all the power required to electrically energize her for eons if need be. In addition, at Roger's suggestion, Dhelia had built in a powerful pussy pulser unit. Whether she liked it or not, Yelda had no say in the super powerful contractions she was experiencing in her pussy. Other unseen innovations included a pump cylinder built into the Rog-Reamer shaft. Each time she landed and squatted for the next irresistibly energised leap, the pump inflated her anal dildo to massive proportions that threatened to burst her butt hole. Then as she leapt upwards again it deflated.

Image 13

Add to this a see-through latex suit that was three sizes smaller than her original outfit, and Yelda was quite a sight to behold. She was a glistening super tight jouncing column of delicious curves that defied description. The redesigned Rog-Reamer ensured that she was maintained in a high state of semi-orgasmic readiness. Yelda couldn't move even the minutest amount without fucking herself and constantly dilating her own orifices. All of this created in Yelda a never ending arousal that was impossible to ignore. The stretching, expanding, thrusting, electrified dildos brought about nonstop contractions. The compression of her cinching, and the slithering embrace of lubricated, super tight latex, were all sensations that assaulted her body as she moved, making the amazon a helpless pillar of animated lust, with eyes half closed as she moaned softly into the gag. 

Sven left her activated for the half hour of discussion with his officers, then switched her off. Yelda stood quivering from the exertion, her breasts heaving like pulsing balloons, yet with a sparkle in her eye that told him she liked being abused by him even though it was traumatic, to say the least.

"Looks like you earned some R & R for this night's work, young lady," Sven said as he cast his gaze around the heaps of cocoons being loaded onto transports. He then felt her superb body sidle up to him and suggestively rub against his side. Sven looked into her eyes with a mischievous grin as his hand moved up to her neck. Fear showed momentarily in her eyes and then the switch clicked on. Instantly she was galvanised into a pogoing figure of eroticism.

"MMMMMMMMMMMPH! MMMMMMMMMMMPH! MMMMMMMMMMMPH! MMMMMMMMMMMPH! MMMMMMMMMMMPH! MMMMMMMMMMMPH!"

Sven grinned. Dammit! The woman looked so hot when she was doing that, and it was such a satisfying feeling to just turn her on like a light bulb.

Meanwhile, Roger decided it was time to find something to do. Anytime now his boss was going to start asking questions, like, how did Yelda manage to put herself back into that rig and clamp herself up? Who transported the rig down from the ship? Who detailed a hand picked soldier to find and install her, and other questions he'd rather avoid at this time. 

Sven watched Roger's departing back and wondered if he would ever have a better friend than that big meta-plastic palooka from Epsolon. Despite her electronic programming, Yelda managed to exert enough control to neck-jerk at the lead and indicate he should follow. Moving in any chosen direction whilst pogoing, writhing, straining and constantly orgasming was a near impossible task, but she managed to lead him to a plush hotel in the posh area of town. There waiting in the foyer, neatly tethered to the reception desk, were his other three prize ladies, all similarly attired and ready for his attention. Roger had remembered. Each one had a cute bunny tail on their rump. But as always he had to go one better. A little research provided him with details of the extinct rabbit species and as a result the four lovelies had soft silky rabbit ears attached to their heads. They looked so sweet and desirable.

Ah! What the hell. It had been one helluva day, time to relax and have a good night before they started the enslavement of Trylon proper. Tomorrow was another day.

Sven indicated the elevator and made to grab a key from the deserted reception desk. The hopping Yelda nudged his arm and indicated he should take another. It took a while to make the point as she orgasmed twice in quick succession, distracting Sven by the sight of her latexed form going into paroxysms of orgasmic convulsion. She looked so carnal as she strained and writhed in midair, her body pulsing with energy and squeezing past the super tight cinching that held her so powerfully controlled. Sven likened the effect to a huge gleaming erotically shaped latex sausage wriggling and squirming, and the sound was something else. Eventually he relented and switched her off.

"Oh! Of course. Only the penthouse suit for the conquering heroes." Yelda's eyes smiled back at him, and they made their way to the elevator. 

Stunned, Sven halted as the doors opened and a novel bellboy came into view. It was the original boxed radio woman from Starburst, still scrunched down and still exhibiting that marvelous exploding cheeks look. The eyes were a mite less angry and more penitent now though. He saw the new addition to her box torso and laughed aloud. The whole thing was a set up by his droid pal. She was equipped with a single short rod jutting out at right angles, perfectly placed for pushing elevator buttons.

"Penthouse please," Sven stated with a grin. The box strained upward to locate the prod in the top most button and shoved. With a swish the doors closed and the trip up began. Sven eyed the box women speculatively. 

"Learned your lesson now woman?" The eyes peering over the lip of the head socket looked beseechingly at him.

She'd learned all right. He doubted she would ever take a response to her advances for granted again.

The elevator arrived and four eager bouncing bunnies moved out into the penthouse. Sven made to leave and then had a thought. He turned to the ball hop and released the lever. Gratefully the crushed face rose out of its socket.

"You're out of there tomorrow, but for now we'll just leave things as they are. His hand reached back up to the lever and without a sound of protest the woman held his gaze as her head was jacked tightly back into the socket. The cheeks still bulged and the strain showed as a deep reddening, but the eyes had lost their fiery disapproval. Sven patted a hard, sponge rubber expanded cheek.

"Well done gal. Tomorrow, first thing, report to the shuttle and I'll have Roger take you out of that thing and kit you out in your radio. As soon as the campaign is over I'll have him change that to one of my bunny outfits." The woman glanced after the pogoing four and a warm glow suffused her eyes. At last the great Sven was accepting her as one of his selected concubines. Two years in the box under the supervision of Dhelia and Roger had taught her the error of her ways. Now all she had to do was suffer the indignity of serving as a deactivated radio carrier for a few days or weeks, and then she would be ensconced in one of those gleaming sexy suits and allowed to flex at long last. Her pussy twitched on the massive dildo stretching her love tube at the thought of other advantages that went with the job of bunny girl.


CHAPTER NINE
TRYLON SUBDUED

Next day a refreshed and fully serviced Sven strolled out from the hotel with his personal staff hopping contentedly along behind him. Roger took charge of the boxed woman and whisked her away for conversion back into the Supreme Commander's personal communication device. A much relieved looking radio woman was returned an hour later, the confines of the radio being a lot less constrictive and demanding than her training box format. As requested, she was deactivated and head clamped tightly down and bottom squeezed out in an outrageously provocative display. But she looked a lot happier now that an end to her face crushing format was in sight.

Sven immediately took advantage of the rapid communications link with his field commanders, only to learn that in the early hours whilst he was still plugged into one or the other of his bunny girls, the assault had fanned out and three major cities were already falling to the irresistible force of the advancing Thyrons.

Pleased with the campaign so far, he went on a sightseeing tour of the progress in the capital. Unfortunately for the radio, he decided to have her clamped from ankle to thigh so as to convert her to hop mode. Deactivated, head squeezed down, butt cheeks exploding from the rear and hobbled, the radio woman provided a spectacular display as she hopped along on the end of a leash attached to his belt.

Two-hundred and fifty thousand amazons took time to process, and long lines were still snaking from the mobile stations that had worked through the night.

He walked along lines of the nubile female giants, hands temporarily cuffed behind the back with plastic loop cuffs, and ankles hobbled with similar versions that allowed small steps.

Mile after mile of superb, curvaceous females lined his route, most glowering at him with ill disguised wrath. Occasionally there would be one who was clearly enjoying being a male's captive, and these were being sidelined, marked, and kept away from the others who considered them traitors to the female cause.

Surprisingly they were quite numerous. Sven foresaw a problem there, but Yelda solved it. At her insistent indications that she had something to say, Sven ungagged her.

"Let my team take care of the ones selected out. Some of them helped us. They are the resistance who have been fighting Chen oppression for years. Let us take care of them and show them the Thyron way, please, Master Sven."

Sven appraised her with raised eyebrows. 'Master Sven'? The amazon had obviously been primed by Roger with Earth history. He had to hand it to the girl, she was really trying to please. He was inclined to accept her offer. After all she had given him some very pleasant moments.

Thoughtfully he looked back at Major Boscomp and the two original beauties of his burgeoning loyal coffle. The Major obviously had military training which would come in handy, and the other two were complete converts to anything he suggested. His mind was made up.

"Very well, Colonel Yelda, but with conditions." She listened intently as he re-gagged her.

"One, your prime function is as my play girl. Two, you accept these three hellions into your team. Three, your entire team are to accept the bunny girl bounder outfits as standard uniform. Minus the gags during working hours of course. Agreed?"

Yelda needed no prompting. It was a dream come true for all of them. They would have control over thousands of sumptuous amazon females and yet still be able to enjoy the pleasure of being pets for their beloved master. Sven glanced back at the others. Shining happy faces greeted his gaze.

"See, Major Boscomp. The Fed's did you a big favour when they kidnapped you and slipped you into Starburst's cargo. Soon you'll have the chance to screw them royally. I'll be putting you in charge of all negotiations and sales with Earth Federation, and I expect you to screw the bastards on prices. Of course, the sales side is extra to your basic duties of pleasing me and arranging for indoctrination of the selected Trylons." He glanced at the other two, Tracy and Fiona. "And as for you two, ah! What the hell. Do your job properly and you can have as much free time together as you like. So long as I get serviced regularly," he added as an afterthought. 

Suddenly Sven found himself in a crush of sensuously cavorting female bodies trying to rub him down to a matchstick with thrusting offered breasts. The massive Yelda had her tits massaging his face. He stood on tip toe and spoke to Roger.

"Looks like that went down well with the girls then. I suppose you could say it was a unanimous yes vote." He grinned at four very happy faces. "Get away from me you insatiable lust-buckets. I've got a world to conquer." They reluctantly backed off, but none sensed any malice in the order. Master Sven was in a buoyant mood.

A week later Trylon was theirs, except for one small pocket of die-hard Chens in the southern continent. They were holed up and fighting dirty. The Thyrons were incensed as a soldier and his backpack disintegrated in a lethal flash of disruptor fire. The Chen knew that women were being used as backpacks and yet still they had employed weapons reserved exclusively for fending off male aggressors. In the eyes of Thyron commanders and Trylon captives alike, they were war criminals.

Sven called a conference of field commanders. There was a strong feeling amongst all that the strong hold should be blitzed with Starburst's immense photon fire power. One burst would exterminate the Chens in a searing blast of high energy particles. The smoking crater would be a monument to mark the end of their evil regime. But Sven was against it. For one, it would make them killers of women, and for another there were female prisoners in there. Amongst them were the female commandos of the abortive Federation assault who were serving life sentences in Exstata cocoons. The Thyron commanders grudgingly agreed, but were still seething with anger at the killing of a backpack. They agree to find another non-lethal way to capture the fortress, but insisted on some form of horrendous punishment for any captured Chen.

Sven was in full agreement. However, there was a problem. The Chen had bio-warfare suits that, unlike Federation suits, could protect them from the Thyron anaesthesia gases. The neural pellets couldn't breach the thick walls, and besides neural machine guns had a range far shorter than the Chen's disruptors. That meant Thyron troops would be killed as they tried to get in range. Roger and Dhelia worked through the night to come up with an answer, then by dawn they had a weapon that would work. A simple thinning additive common on Trylon-31, if mixed with the suicide canister gases, was able to pass through even the suits of the Chen. That posed another problem. To send in suicide canisters would mean they truly became suicide soldiers as they faced disruptor fire, and being female that put the suggestion out of the question. To drop them by air left them vulnerable to the same fate. Unfortunately, the canisters were non detachable. Thyron installation made the women an integral part of their devastating cargo of gas. Their own bodies were plumbed in, so to speak, and the gas was maintained at blood temperature by synthetic vein channels running through the canister. The Thyron gas was of a biochemical nature that had to be kept at body heat to stay effective up to the point of release. 

It seemed like a catch twenty-two situation, until Yelda came up with the answer. She had already been at work vetting the incoming ex-resistance fighters, and as they all sat pondering the problem, she hopped in with a map tucked into one of her leg cinches. Sven took the map and ungagged her as envious Thyron commanders drank their fill of her superb exposure. 

"Master Sven, I think I have the answer," she said excitedly. "A resistance fighter who's sister is in there told me that there are some old forgotten access tunnels under the Chen stronghold. They were construction tunnels, sealed off after building, but she says we can break through into the prisoner block easily. They were going to use them themselves, but we dropped in before they had a chance." Sven and the commanders eagerly spread out the maps and gazed at the network of tunnels.

"Here. That's the best point boss." Roger's super fast electronic brain had computed all the options in a split second. "Least chance of discovery, maximum gas distribution throughout the complex. Look the main duct runs straight through the Exstata holding cells. We get the prisoners out and then activate three or four suicide canisters and it'll take out the whole rats nest in ten minutes."

An hour later a small charge blew a hole into the Exstata room, and troops armed with neural rifles stormed through. Three Chens on duty, who were in the process of torturing an amazon strapped to a diabolical rack device, went down without a sound.

Sven followed through as soon as the area was declared safe and his face lined with anger as he saw the horrendous plight of many soft sensuous females undergoing interrogation by the Chen.

Two of them, from his own subversives team, were instantly recognised by Yelda who hopped over to give them hope as they awaited release. 

The Chen stored their prisoners in inverted cone shaped glass tubes. It was an evil cell to put any woman into. Inevitably as the prisoners struggled, their own body movements caused them to slide deeper, and in doing so, the women were subjected to an ever increasing pressure on the chest as they slipped further into the narrowing tubes. If left long enough they would finally reach a point where the tits and chests could no longer expand and they would die of suffocation. The room was full of inverted tubed women at various stages of descent into the claustrophobic confines of their terrible containment.

Troops set about swinging all the cylinders the other way up and assisting as the bound forms slid out gratefully. Some, already at the point of near suffocation, required a pull to extricate them from the taper.

Meanwhile Sven sprinted for the Exstata banks.

Six of the cocoons were turned to maximum torment. At last he'd found the luckless female commandos left to rot by the Federation. For a second or two he just stood and marveled at the writhing forms undergoing continuous, excruciating sexual arousal. For twelve earth years they had known no other existence. He was about to switch them off when Yelda's swinging butt knocked his hand away. She was still ungagged.

"No, Master Sven. You must reduce the Exstata slowly after all this time. If you switch them off in one step it will kill them with the shock." Sven instantly saw the sense in that.

"Thanks Yelda! Roger! Take a look at these, will you. Can they be moved in the cocoons?"

Roger gave the glowing tubes of torment a look over. "Sure boss, power packs included. I'll get them to Starburst right away and instruct Dhelia to start bringing them down slowly."

It took another hour to shift the cocoons out and release the hundreds of grateful prisoners from their various forms of incarceration. Most seemed stunned and unable to comprehend what was going on. They were being rescued and yet the Thyron troops were immediately plasti-cuffing them and adding hobbles. They recognised Yelda as being one of their own, and despite her bound fully contained condition, she managed to convince them that it was all for the good. The sight of Sven squeezing her butt affectionately whenever she came within range probably confused them even more. They could see she was a formidable Thyron woman, and her dialect, although rather ancient, indicated a high born family status. Yet she seemed quite happy to be flaunting her transparently sheathed form, and to be bound into a hopping streamlined figurine that was clearly owned and controlled by the male Sven.

Finally the huge dungeon was devoid of suffering Trylons, and Sven was the last to back out as the suicide cylinders moved in. Sven asked the Thyron commander to pass a message to the valiant women. When they recovered they would be given a heroes welcome and then reassigned from the duty of human gas weapons.

As they sprinted down the tunnel, Sven caught up with the bounding Yelda as the whoosh of discharging cylinders sounded behind. Already the canister women would be paralysed. He scooped up the struggling Yelda, reeled momentarily as her giant figure weighed heavily in his arms and then ran for the exit with his sumptuously warm cargo. He couldn't help but admire her staggeringly statuesque beauty.

Yelda was staring into his eyes with a strange look as they exited the underground passage and her voice came clearly through the lapel mounted translator.

"You're just a big softie at heart, Sven Olafsen, aren't you?" Sven didn't answer but had a hard job suppressing the smile bubbling up inside. He looked her in the eye as he replied, "we'll see. You might have different ideas when you find out what I have in mind for you tonight."

Yelda maintained her eye contact and wriggled provocatively, and wondered what he had seen in the Chen prison wing that sparked his imagination.

"I can't wait. I hope it something diabolically testing."

Sven gave up. The woman was incorrigible. No matter what testing ordeals he threw at her she just soaked them up, converted them to erotic input, and came right back for more. She was truly a matched addition for the rest of his personal toy team. Still it remained to be seen how she accepted the notion of becoming a giant cocktail swizzle stick.

Image 14

Sven turned his attention back to the battle. Thyron's troops were moving cautiously towards the Chen stronghold. There was no answering fire. Four brave canister women had done the trick. The gallant sacrifice had not only freed hundreds of suffering prisoners, but was about to bring the evil Chen to a reckoning with galactic justice.

It took two hours to secure the fortress, and then Sven and his entourage joined the group of officers entering the compound. The troops were obviously under orders not to be kind to prisoners. They needed no urging on that score. The vaporised backpack was a well loved unit who had seen two tours of duty and served her soldier well. The Chen were going to pay dearly for her loss.

Sven stopped as the full contingent of defenders came into view. They were arranged around the compound in a circle. In all there were eighty- four of them. Stripped naked, torsos and arms strapped tight with multiple plasti-binders, they hung like sides of meat. Each had her legs spread to a perfect straight line and then were fastened along the length of sturdy poles by many tight binders. The poles were then notched into makeshift 'Y' sticks so that the Chen hung head down and fully exposed. Many had rough, hastily made stick dildos shoved into their widely stretched crotch holes, and all were gagged with standard mouth bursting service expando gags.

They didn't look so tough now. However, Sven did notice that like the boxed Chen traitor, they were the largest of the Trylon amazons. Pity, really. Seven foot nubile toys could have proved most useful. But it was pointless asking. The Thyrons were out for vengeance and these killers of females were destined for the most diabolical fate Thyron ingenuity could concoct.

Meanwhile night was drawing close, and hopefully Roger and Dhelia had managed to complete the fairly simple arrangement he had decreed for his four prize females that night. It wasn't a matter of making a whole new pile of equipment, just a case of converting some items seized from the Chen stronghold.

He arrived in the Captain's quarters onboard Starburst to find four nervous women eyeing what looked to be four of the Chen's prison cones. In fact that is just what they were, with some subtle modifications.

Roger had already prepared the women who were lying down, still encased in the fabulous see through rubber, and with a new addition. A long pole with a fancy end was protruding two feet beyond their stilettos, and a cursory inspection revealed that it traveled right up between re-banded legs to vanish, dildo wise, into the salivating love tubes.

Sven glanced over to Yelda.

"Yeh! Big softie huh?" he goaded. She didn't look quite so sure now. 

Sven motioned to Roger who immediately lofted Fiona, the nearest woman, and carried her towards the horizontally arranged prison tube. Without further ado he jammed her in head first and returned for Tracy. Inside two minutes four women were installed, and Sven gave the signal to proceed. 

Slowly at first but gathering speed the cone tubes rose to a vertical and stopped. Muffled cries from the gagged women floated from the open tops as they slid down and wedged between the glass. But then the major difference between torture and torment was to be seen. After leaving them to wiggle a few minutes and engineer their own deeper and tighter insertion, Sven adjusted a screw on the bottom of each tapering prison. Inside, a padded disc rose and connected with each head. In effect the women were balanced on their heads and unable to slide any deeper. Roger then completed the scene by actuating the final modification.

Each woman was contained in two cones. Roger had slid one over the other till they were spaced off each other by a half inch overall gap, then fixed them in position and cut the tops level with a laser knife. 

Tinted fluid flowed into the double walls and for all the world it looked as if the inverted women were being immersed, when in fact they were perfectly safe and dry in the inner cones. Roger topped them all up with different colours and then both men stood back. It was an amazing sight. Four giant cocktail glasses complete with nubile, exciting swizzle sticks adorned the whole of one wall. Tiny air jets between the walls provided a steady flow of rising bubbles.

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Sven walked closer and studied each glass in turn. His magnificent women looked stunning. Almost every inch of their bodies were in contact with the glass walls; the bounteous tits and firm asses looking spectacular in their compressed, glass flattened condition. Already the inverted pussies pressing against the sides were leeching syrupy liquid onto the glass as they performed like sensuous lips kissing a window pane.

Sven decided he needed a night off, so waving goodbye to the helpless, frustrated females he retired to bed as Roger left them alone.

Exhausted by the hectic events of the past days, Sven fell into a deep sleep. Even the waggling cocktail swizzle sticks, rising from the exotic glasses, was insufficient to hold his attention.

Four living cocktails squirmed and wriggled in hopeless captivity as they desperately tried to manipulate their voracious pussies on the invading swizzle sticks. Eventually their own carnal secretions would provide the relief they needed. The inner glass became coated with their own hot lubricants and finally worked its way down to their glass moulded tits. Slippery tits and smoothly sliding pussies powerfully pressed against glass produced a series of spectacularly sensuous displays as each erupted in turn. Once started the process became a chain reaction as pussies exuded more liquid and the bodies steadily coated themselves with more and more super slippy love juice.

As Sven slumbered, the walls of the cabin became a mural of constantly dancing colours as cavorting, writhing shapes altered the back-lighting shining through the tinted liquid containers.

Sven was a big sweetie after all. How could they have thought anything different when he had arranged such a fiendishly contrived plight for his favourite ladies.

Sven awoke to find two inches of viscous fluid filling the bottom of the cones. The women were still exploding violently within the glassy prisons as he watched, and he summoned Roger.

"Roger, the work seems to all be done for these gals so we'll give them a day off. Leave them in there until the pussy juice hits four inches." Roger nodded in agreement then looked at the cocktail glasses with amusement. His boss Sven hadn't bothered to take into account the increased cubic volume as the cone flared out. By his reckoning another two inches meant that the squirming cocktail women were about 25% done at this stage. He left them to percolate and exited the cabin to a chorus of wavering wails of ecstasy.


CHAPTER TEN
SENTENCED TO LIFE

A military tribunal, assembled under section QTX-22329 of the Thyron Articles of War, tried the Chen captives. With some ten thousand witnesses to the atrocity, namely the vaporising of backpack unit Number PJX/ 070997, there wasn't much point in bothering with a defence. They were found guilty as charged within five minutes of the tribunal sitting, and duly sentenced to the maximum punishment Thyros could hand down. 

Sven listened as a bystander when the Field Marshall read out the sentence to the sullen audience of inverted Chen war criminals and silent Thyron officers and troops.

"Under article seventeen of section QTX-22329 Thyron Articles of War, the entire contingent of Chen defenders of this outpost are sentenced to the maximum penalty this court can pass down. You will be taken from this place under guard and will serve a life sentence at a place yet to be decided whilst undergoing a Thyron "Level One" punishment. May the God Zven have mercy on your souls."

There was a hiss of breath as the sentence became known. All of the gathered Thyrons felt it was entirely justified, but that still didn't lessen the impact of such a sentence. Many almost felt pity for the Chens. It might have been kinder to execute them. The last prisoner awarded a 'Level One' was a Gril driver who had dragged a Rog-Reamered woman to death when he fell asleep and she lost her balance behind him.

That was some nine-hundred years previously. Since then no woman on Thyros had ever died from anything other than natural causes. However, the male version of a 'Level One' was somewhat kinder than that decreed for a female. For a female to kill a female was considered the ultimate sin, and the sentence accordingly more diabolical.

The Field Marshall turned to Sven and on his instructions an officer approached with a diagrammatic plan.

"Sven, will you be able to transport these animals like this if we start the sentence immediately?" Sven gazed down at the Thyron device and sucked in his breath as he saw what was destined to be their fate. He did a few mental calculations and then nodded. We have two spare cargo bays on 'N' deck that should hold them," Sven replied.

The Field Marshall turned back to the assembly. "Then let the sentence begin," he proclaimed. "General Gehta. Instruct your men to start construction of the containers straight away. Major Clet. Take four squads and start to prepare the prisoners for punishment immediately. The sooner these beasts are fully contained the better." His contempt and disgust was clearly obvious.

The Chens meanwhile began to strain frantically at their bonds as their fate was decided. They knew what was coming. Their intelligence network had informed them years ago what a 'Level One' Thyron sentence meant. The Major ordered his men at the ready and a hail of neural pellets whacked mercilessly into offered bottoms as each in turn was targeted by a marksman. Shooting ducks in a barrel was an understatement, given the impossibly contorted leg configurations. Not a single ass managed to move more than an inch in the vain effort to dodge a pellet. It ended the futile struggling and left the Chen hanging and paralysed to await their fate.

The preparation of the containment vessels took seven days in all, by which time some of the last prisoners to be moved to the court facility had endured contemptuously fired neural pellets eight or nine times as the effects of the last dosage began to wear off. No sooner did they manage to achieve a modicum of returning movement, than a stinging pellet zapped into their vulnerable asses yet again. It was a good indication of their coming ordeal and the amount of mercy they could reasonably expect from Thyrons. A 'Level One' meant that it was unlawful to extend to them any thoughts that they were women, with the exception of the death ruling.

Soon all was ready. The prisoners had been examined by Trylon doctors and pronounced fit for punishment, injected with longevity drugs that would ensure their lives, if inactive, would span of three-hundred years or more. With that formality over, the troops bound them into the preparation position. They were certainly going to be inactive. Another course of injections eradicated further hair growth forever on the shaved hairless women.

Meanwhile Trylon acrylics factories were producing containment vessels to the exacting specifications of the 'Level One' requirements. Strangely there had been no attempts at sabotage by the defeated Trylon work force, and rumours were rife that most felt the Chens were deserving of their fate. Many families on Trylon had suffered losses of their mothers and daughters as a result of a night call by the Chen Secret Police, watching in horror as they dragged their kin screaming into the night.

Sven was formally asked to attend the incarceration procedures, and although he had no real wish to see female forms undergoing what they would be experiencing, he felt it his civic duty to uphold his own cardinal ruling of not killing women and to see justice being served.

He arrived at the factory designated as the place of sentencing and took his place amongst the silent court members facing the awesome machine. The first empty container was placed by the base plate ready for use and the insertion clamps and press tool made ready.

The first of many trussed Chens was brought in. As it happened, it was the garrison commander who had authorised the use of lethal weapons against troops equipped with female backpacks. It seemed only fitting that she should be the first. The Chen arrogance was gone and her thoroughly trussed form looked rather less formidable now. Hands were forced into a back prayer, and legs folded up, knees to chest and heels pressed into the folded butt region. Yet despite the enforced configuration she was clearly an astonishingly well shaped woman. He had been there when she was stripped for the first time and without any aids or binding her body was as if shaped and sculpted by a powerful basque with uplift bra.

Two soldiers marched in carrying the bundled woman between them. She wasn't paralysed. Sven could see her pathetic struggles to escape the powerfully compressive binding as they placed her butt down on the base plate. Thyron rules dictated that a prisoner had to be fully active during any punishment. No exception was made for the 'Level One' procedure. 

One soldier remained to keep her steady as her frantic struggles threatened to topple her from the base. She shook her head frenziedly in an attempt to eject the huge mouth filling ball and perhaps plead for mercy, but it did no good.

The operator pressed a button and with a hiss two curved plates descended at front and back of the straining form. Another button, another hiss,and the plates moved inexorably together squeezing the eye popping garrison commander into an impossible folded compression. Her head movements became almost demoniacal as she made one last desperate attempt to escape the terrible punishment. Already her fate was sealed. There was no escape once the process started. The powerful press arms lifted and carried the crushed bundle upwards for ten feet. Sven looked up and was treated to a perfect view of her tautly folded crotch region. She had a tight puckering rosebud butt hole and a perfect pair of smooth, inviting, peach segment mons lips. The rounded buttock lobes were superbly firm, fleshy mounds of desirable female rump, all the more desirable for the tight flaring curvature produced by her enforced configuration. Sven considered the clamp and its burden and thought it would be so nice to lie back beneath the device and simply have that helpless bundle lowered and press fitted onto the stiff flagpole of his manhood. It seemed such a shame that it was all going to go to waste.

Image 16

The soldiers moved in and put the first of many 'Level One' containers on the pad. Each one was numbered and matched to a specific prisoner so as to ensure a perfect fit.

They stepped clear as the clamp descended and powerfully forced the female into the stubby open-topped acrylic cylinder. It was shaped rather like a coke bottle, and for a second the press speed slowed as the swell of her rump encountered the inward curving mid section, then with a change in sound, continued down as the butt compressed and slid past the restriction. A tautly folded butt hit bottom and flattened as she was forced down. The clamp arms then released and withdrew. The compressed female expanded slightly as the clamp shells slid out and her body eagerly took up the slim space left behind, her prodigious ass swelling delightfully to fill the bottom of the vessel as her waist was nipped neatly by the narrowing shape. Without any further additions to her containment, she was already in an inescapable form. Next the soldiers carried in a split cover with an odd half cupped flare on the top. As they arranged it Sven could see that it formed a full shoulder encasing dome and neck stiffening shape once the halves were placed together.

The press descended again, this time with a different tool that dropped onto the dome. It began to hum as it retracted and its function became clear. The split section had been fused into a solid moulding that guaranteed the Chen was sealed irrevocably into her container. The flaring neck of the bottle now made sense. Presently, her face was loosely cupped within, clearing the interior by a couple of inches. Soon it would be compressed into the tight, premoulded face socket, engulfing the lower portion of her face. The hugely ball-gagged mouth emitted faint pleas for mercy, and the head that still had space to move bobbed with a frenzied urgency inside the upper taper of the lower cup. But the prisoner's desperate entreaties were ignored as the final assembly component descended.

In a way Sven was fascinated. The clear acrylic punishment cell allowed him to actually see the effect of an extremely severe head press on a captive woman. The press was descending with a closure dome moulded to the exact shape of her upper head and the frenzied struggles became demoniac as the impending full enclosure bore down inexorably from above. The dome slid over her features then paused as it snugged down onto her shaved cranium. There was still a three inch gap between the upper and lower mouldings although only the chin tip of her gaping ball-jacked jaw was touching the bottom of the lower section. Something in the press control switched to a high pressure, slow press speed, and then it began to move downward with an inescapable inevitability. The head was crushed downwards, her body expanding tightly into the lower chamber as her folded form frantically tried to find all available space. With irresistible force the dome moved downward. Sven saw her chin thrusting harder and harder against the bottom of the facial mould, her mouth starting to close on the hard rubber insert. He'd tested one of those gag balls and found it impossible to crush flat with his hand. In fact it took all his strength to even dent it. It was a good indicator of the force being exerted on the prisoner's jaw as she was powerfully thrust downward. As was normal with head pressing, her cheeks began to bulge outward in scarlet hemispheres as displaced rubber searched out and inflated any available space and inflated her fleshy cheeks. The expanded lower face balked momentarily as it was forced into a lower container that was even smaller than the expanded diameter of her face. A cleverly designed bevel on the leading edge of the lower head socket eventually allowed the cheeks to surrender to the downward pressure and squeeze down as they were powerfully reduced by sheer force. The press paused again and a soldier moved forward and prodded the bursting over-edge facial bulges with a stiffened finger. With a sudden rush they capitulated to the downward force and slipped into the moulding. The press immediately resumed the descent.

The final faint pleas were snuffed into nothingness and the encased face assumed a scarlet hue as the separation gap between the two shapes narrowed and the closing jaw pressurised the fully contained cheeks with explosively contained powerfully compressed rubber. Her entire lower face was as if welded to the acrylic and her colouring was rising in proportion to the escalating compression. Then two halves met and a precision machined locating step in the acrylic mated. Whilst the main ram held the skull cap compressed, the fusing gear slid downwards around the outside of the main shaft. A second later there was another hiss as the two half head capsules were fused. The deed was done. The prisoner had finally started her life sentence in an inescapable, one piece, seamlessly welded container of excruciating compression. For the rest of her life the garrison commander was sealed into an unyielding, inescapable, transparent prison that would easily contain her body's never ending attempts to expand and find new space. After a few months she would be shaped forever. Her body would always retain in the same shape even if she were to be released.

Sven knew from the design specs that the first two months feeding would be a diet of super high fattening nutrients to increase her muscle bulk by altering genes. The process was permanent. Once initiated, she would grow to fill every millimetre of space and form an explosive living component impotently contained forever and pressurized to an impossible level by her own expansion. Worse still, it had all been explained to them, so they knew what the future held. Knowing didn't alter the fact that it was going to happen no matter what they felt about it.

It wasn't obvious from his position, but Sven knew from the design drawings that the three-inch thick base of the containment housed her life support system. It consisted of a nuclear power pack that could easily supply all the power she would need for her three-hundred years of life expectancy. At this very moment sharp needles, initiated by the final sealing, were thrusting into the large muscle lobes of her tautly compacted butt. These would re-oxygenate her blood and feed her intravenously with high energy concentrates. Two massive tubular insertions were also jacking themselves into her orifices and would service her waste requirements. Or at least one would. The other merely stuffed her pussy and provided a connection to the sensitive inner surface of her womanhood. A much smaller catheter invaded her urethra and took care of liquid wastes. Despite that unseen violation and daggering needle insertions, the encapsulated form showed no signs of movement nor made a sound. Yet there was an interim period after installation in the bottle where the prisoner was unable to breath due to the massive chest compression, and the trauma of having one's face sealed into a super tight capsule. It took almost two minutes for the blood oxygenation to take effect. The resultant short term lack of oxygen probably added to the facial colouring which was commonly associated with the initial stage of this punishment.

Although he'd studied the drawings, Sven still could not believe the enormity of the Chen amazon's sentence.

As the press retracted fully, all that remained to be seen of the garrison commander was a shaped acrylic bottle filled with terribly compressed female. A once impressive amazonian senior officer had become a creditable facsimile of a giant bowling pin. For the most part, it was a squirming sea of rosy pink that was becoming less animated by the second as she was internally pressurised. The exception in colouring was the domed head section that was now a deep purple. There was virtually no movement and no sound whatsoever. Ninety percent of the acrylic containment vessel displayed sculpted flesh pressing tightly against it and the percentage was increasing as her womb was steadily inflated by the small pump in the base. It was like putting a deflated balloon in a small bottle, then blowing it up. Unfortunately for the contents of this bottle, the balloon was a living woman, and she was limited in her space for expansion by the unbreakable confinement of her prison.

A soldier detailed with the task of removal tipped the female filled container callously onto its side and began to roll it out. He paused as the next bundled prisoner was carried in and made way for them by halting the trundling bowling pin with his foot.

Eyes fixed hypnotically to the pink filled bottle of the garrison commander, the next desperately struggling prisoner was carried past. Immediately they had passed the soldier, kicked the container into motion, and rolled it back to the preparation room, where eighty-two remaining prisoners were left staring at their own fate. Back in the sentencing room, the next one was placed under the press and prepared for joining the garrison commander.

Deliberately, that first salutary example was placed where all could see it, and the room became filled with straining sounds as the bound Chen amazons looked at the tightly bottled woman they would soon be emulating. 

Stood humiliatingly on a small, slowly rotating pedestal to ensure all could see, the garrison commander closely resembled a preserve flask full of strange pink pickles. The horrendously tormented face, squashed buttock cleavage, container filling rump, and glass suckling mons were amongst the few items recognisable as being those of a living woman. A rear view of crushed back prayered arms and flaring hips did little to ease the trepidation amongst Chens who were viewing their immediate future status. Each was probably remembering her as the junoesque, stunningly beautiful, and ruthless Chen officer they all knew, and in some cases, feared. It was hard to equate that mental image with the pitiful flask of pressurised womanhood she was reduced to.

The soldier returned to the sentencing room and the press hissed fiercely as number two completed the final fusing of her containment. A second bowling pin trundled away. Sven just couldn't believe that only moments ago that hard excruciatingly contained shape had been a vibrant woman. As it rolled away he stared down at the rotating purple tinged face and bulging eyes. Profound shock showed in the eyes as the bottled female experienced being rolled around like a solid object for the first time. It was a shattering preview of the rest of her life.

Only one other prisoner varied in configuration. A Chen lieutenant, sentenced for other crimes as well, was selected to be the example specimen for public display. Her bottle was longer and much more narrow, almost a slender barrel shape at the bottom that would accommodate the folded knees and flaring taper of mated thighs tightly once she was pressed down. She was bound in a hog-tie before insertion, thus ensuring full frontal exposure.

Image 17

The press hissed the final time in its sequence and the example specimen was lifted clear. Sven almost lost control as he stared down at the cylindrical containment. Her huge breasts were literally smearing across the front of the bottle in massive disks of super compressed tit flesh that almost reached around to her upper arms. The nipples were twice normal size and blunted cruelly by the pressure. An arched, forward thrusting pussy was mashed and spread like the underside of a huge clefted leech. As the bottle rolled, her back was exposed to reveal the cause of her powerfully thrusting compression against the frontal area. Elbow-touching upper arms were formed into a compacted bundle in the centre of the spine, and her ankles and upper heels rested in the natural valley receptacle of her abundant bottom. The tightness of the tube squeezed the bottom so effectively as to almost engulf her ankles in a mass of compacted and cylindrically moulded buttock flesh, whilst her feet were mostly covered by palms crushed around them from the pressure, thus forming an unmovable gripping vice. As with the others, the facial features exhibited all the same flushed colouring of super compacted and well stuffed oral facilities, and a straining pictorial image of a woman exerting the supreme effort associated with a desperate wish to escape her plight.

Back in the prep room the straining and muffled pleading from the remaining prisoners was deafening as the line of tightly filled bottles grew longer, and each trussed prisoner found herself moving closer to the point of collection. The ultimate terror for each came between the taking of the next in line, and her return fully bottled. As the collection crew gathered each new prisoner for processing, the realisation that there was truly no escape bore into each woman's mind. Their turn had come, their awful fate could not be altered.

Carried past the silent line of bottles, they could not resist exerting titanic effort against the bonds as they passed by the images of what they would become within the next two minutes.

Three or four minutes later they found themselves incapable of even the tiniest movement as they stared bug eyed through the inescapable acrylic containment, watching the next in line go through the same terrifying routine. They'd wondered what it was going to be like, and now they knew. It surpassed their worst nightmares by a quantum degree. Each newly returned bottle came in for ribald comment and mocking inspection by the Thyron soldiers. For the first time in their lives the stunningly beautiful Chen warriors were discovering what it was to be silent, solidly compacted, objects of ridicule as they listened through the solid walls of their bottle prisons to the Thyrons taunting them.

Perhaps somewhat callously, half the prisoners were left facing the bottled variety for an hour as the court called halt to proceedings and retired for lunch. The last half were obviously deeply moved by the experience of being able to study their immediate future for an hour.

It must have been horrendous to stare at those encased forms and detect no movement; to wonder what sort of pressure and torment could create a crimson hued head, bloated cheeks, and frantic, bulging eyes. No doubt they were picturing what they themselves were going to look like within a very short time under the same circumstances. It made it worse in that they all knew each other, and to see someone they knew leave the room as a soft bundle of femininity and return like that after only a few minutes absence was a diabolically graphic demonstration of what would soon happen to them. Many had been lesbian lovers, and could only watch helplessly as their sensuous, warm, silky smooth partners re-appeared in front of them like hardened inanimate bowling pins. Some awaiting processing were placed right opposite their bottled lovers. Locking eyes with the contents they could only weep to themselves as the bulging eyes inside the containers started to fill the head sphere with tears of frustration and torment. The compressed women obviously recognised their lovers as their staring eyes and crimson features peered out through the acrylic, knowing they would never enjoy each other's passionate touch again. Meanwhile the unprocessed partners awaiting their turn could only watch in horror as the squirming contents were inexorably inflated to press tightly against the transparent walls.

Soldiers were quick to notice signs of paring, and when the partner returned after processing, their bottles were placed face to face and they were marked as a pair.

The trussed Chens carried in for sentencing after the lunch break seemed to bulge and pulse with much greater effort as the press jammed them forcibly into their new homes. It was wasted effort. The bottling of convicted prisoners progressed without a hitch. It was a smooth running military operation that converted sensuous women into compressed, silently screaming atrocities with monotonous precision.

Five hours later, the sentencing had been carried out and Sven walked through the prep room with a sense of awe. Eighty-three standard sized, silent, crimson-topped bowling pins were all that remained of the 7.5 tons of nubile, lusciously curved females they had captured. To one side stood the 'example version' destined for public display.

The room seemed empty now that the mass had been reduced to almost half the space requirements of before. He was alone. The Thyrons had no interest now that the job was done. The Chen women could stay there unmoving and unattended for three-hundred years and they would be exactly as they were now, no matter how much they strained, pleaded, and prayed for release. As self-contained, self-servicing, inescapable units they were not in need of a caretaker, as they would soon find out.

His estimate of two cargo bays was way out. The entire bottled garrison would easily fit into one now, with room to spare.

Close inspection of the flushed crimson head spheres at the top of each vessel revealed the only sign that a living female was actually in there. Bulging eyes followed him through the transparent acrylic of their prison in a desperate appeal for clemency. Even at close quarters it was hard to locate a space inside that wasn't filled with compressed female flesh. In the head section there was none at all. Yet despite the horrendously compressive contortion and trauma, these diabolical bottles of preserved living female were totally silent. It was almost eerie. Only if he pressed his ear to the warm acrylic could he detect the vocal cord vibrations generated by screams for mercy which each and every one was begging for.

He counted fourteen recognised and marked pairs placed a foot apart and facing each other. It was a pitiful sight. Suffused, scarlet, tightly packed faces and steadily filling tear drenched eyes told stories of longing beautiful women, who at a time of needing each other most, were galaxies apart due to their confinement. They couldn't move, twitch or even wriggle. Nor could they even turn their eyes away from each other's terrible plight. They had no choice but to accept their terrible fate and study that of their lover.

A transport backed into the huge bay and Sven watched as the heavy acrylic atrocities were thrown callously into the back. There was no stacking or placing, just a pile of haphazardly heaped totally imprisoned amazon Chens. As solid indestructible objects that could be stored in any position, the Thyron troops hardly cared. No matter what they did to them, the bottles of amazon female couldn't make the slightest response. That was proven twice as badly loaded bottles rolled off and dropped the three feet to the ground with a dull thud. Nothing moved inside, and no sound was heard, although the impact to the occupant must have been horrendous, made more so by the fact that they were unable to move in any way as their container rolled inexorably towards and over the edge.

Once Starburst finally left Trylon-31, the eighty-four Chen bowling pins would be ferried to the Thyron moon and placed in neat rows on the desolate, virtually airless surface. From there the Chens would be able to watch the beautiful sight of many dawn Thyron rises as they served out their life sentences in silent, compressed isolation. The exceptions would be the paired lovers. They were being placed facing each other, yet far enough apart for each to see the full top to bottom image of their one time significant other. They would spend a lifetime studying their bottled lover, horrendously contained and reduced to a silent, pressurised jar of preserved womanhood. They could never age and would stay mentally active till the moment of death as a result of the longevity drug. It was a body that they could never again touch or see as a shapely, soft inviting woman. Probably they would squirm and struggle, their faces deepening in hue with the efforts to escape, and each would see the other's desperate longing. The folded form presented the women lovers most effectively for maximum diabolical effect. Taut folded crotches were thrusting and flattening the denied pussies against the wall of the containment vessels. The awesome stretching inserts were only partially visible due to the angle of insertion. But the voluptuous frontal peaches of womanhood and squashed clitorises were clearly exposed.

Slick with the juices of need, the fleshy love mouths would slither and squirm as a desperate carnal need set them twitching with unattainable demands for fulfillment. Each would watch the other's love lips demanding the touch of ardently skilled female fingers, so near and yet so impossibly out of reach. If they tried to work against the massive vaginal invaders, the power pack control would sense an excess of movement and moisture and send devastating shocks into the offending organ to break concentration. Sexual enjoyment was forbidden as a means of passing the time of their imprisonment.

They would only watch hopelessly when their partners changed colour to an all over scarlet hue as a result of their pitiful struggles and the unavoidable retribution of surging current. Despite the internal torment, their bottle containers were destined to stay infuriatingly unmoving and silent no matter what they did as the pressure reddened faces stared back at each other with total impotency and mind bending frustration. 

They were going to pay the price for killing a woman in full. It was a terrible waste of such fantastic creatures. Sven made a note to visit the moon every few years just to remind himself of what happened to woman killers. He'd heard that women placed in 'Level One' for shorter periods actually lost the colouring to the face as they accepted their fate. However, it was noted that whenever the bottles were approached the colour returned. Observers concluded that the rise in colour was due to strenuous effort and desperate screaming pleas to be noticed and perhaps released.

Unfortunately, the screaming pleas were relegated to a vibration of the vocal cords and were heard only by the occupant. The rubber mouth expander and the acrylic bottle absorbed anything else and the silence outside remained unbroken. If they thought the frantic straining might attract attention they were mistaken again. No matter how desperate their efforts were, it was all internal organs on the move. The only sign on the outside was the occasion minute squirming of compressed flesh. That was the diabolical nature of a 'Level One' punishment. Once incarcerated, no one seemed to look upon the objects as human, and therefore felt no compassion or urge to alter the status of the contents. And the content knew that. Once sealed in, they were there for good. Any means of influencing the outside of their world was eradicated.

Sven wondered if they would all turn purple when he visited them on that cold twilight moon in a few years. Probably the paired, facing bottles would always be coloured with the hue of desperation. They had good reason.


CHAPTER ELEVEN
MISGIVINGS

Sven ferried up and returned to his cabin in a pensive mood. The exhausted women were just being tipped out of the cocktail glasses amidst a flood of viscous love juice. Roger had forgotten all about them and by the time he remembered they had added four inches to the quota of lascivious secretions.

Listlessly, Sven watched as Dhelia tended to them and Roger washed them off and returned them to their normal bunny format. But as Roger worked on them, the girls became sensitive to Sven's mood.

Roger motioned for Dhelia to leave and quietly left himself. It wasn't often his boss was in a mood like this, but when he was he new he was best left with his toys.

The women hopped over and settled around him, and almost absent- mindedly Sven stroked and caressed them as they wriggled and squirmed in a comforting manner. Eventually Yelda indicated she would like to speak. Sven responded by ungagging them all.

At first they were silent and exercised stiff jaws that, with the exception of Yelda's, had spent a long time stretched and plugged tight.

Tracy spoke first.

"What's bothering you, Sven?” He looked at her for a while and then reached out to caress her latex sheathed cheek.

"Waste, Tracy. Waste! Today I watched eighty-four superb women be reduced to bottled preserves." He stroked her cheek with even more feeling. "They'll never feel the touch of another human being or enjoy the closeness of another woman, ever." Yelda moved closer.

"You mean the Chen?" Sven flipped the translator on and as she repeated, he nodded.

"What a damned waste." Yelda seemed strangely unmoved and Sven suddenly realised that her family may have suffered under the Chen. "Sorry Yelda, I know how you must feel about them. You must look on them as monsters. But I just keep thinking, if only they'd not been so stupid as to infringe galactic laws. If only they'd been brought up differently and -!" Yelda leaned over and stopped him by gently kissing his mouth. 

"Sven, they deserved it. They killed a woman and they tortured people. Probably killed other women in the past, but no one witnessed it like this time."

Sven swung to face her.

"Yes! They did," he replied. "Because their damned parents didn't know better than to change an age old tradition. That's how they were brought up. They believed what they were doing was right. Just as the Thyrons believe in the 'Level One' life sentence."

Yelda was thoughtful. She could see that Sven was really disturbed about this. "If you really feel that strongly, maybe I can help. Given a few years some of the old Trylon hierarchy may be employed by Thyros to help run the planet. I had influence in my day and family lines hold the same power for millennium on Trylon. Maybe I can get their sentences reviewed after ten years or so."

Image 18

Fiona piped up then. "Surely Tebb's owner, Yoran, will be able to help. After all, he is going to be a great inventor." Sven smiled at her girlish notion of power, but then she did have a point. He sighed. The Chen would have to wait for many years. Maybe, just maybe, he could do something to alter their plight in the future.

"Nice try girls. I know you're trying to cheer me up, but do you mind if I miss servicing you tonight?"

The women were silent for a while as he lay back and closed his eyes. Then there was a gentle movement all around as they wriggled and squirmed for position and sandwiched him in a warm vice of female curves. 

Tracy's voice permeated his semi sleep, "mind if we service you then?” He shook his head dreamily and felt teeth tugging at his zipper. A few moments later female mouths and chins working as a team teased his drowsily awakening manhood out and began to suckling the rising staff. Rubber sheathed breasts stroked it and cajoled it into responding. There was no mistaking Yelda's massive firm melons. Sven lay totally relaxed in body and yet fully aroused in the crotch as they steadily began to milk him dry with a relay team of hard working mouths and tongues. How many times he exploded into a mouth he didn't know. It was morning when he finally became fully conscious to find his body buried in nubile bodies all gently slumbering themselves.

He looked down at the sleek feline shapes, trussed and banded, sheathed bodies gleaming in the soft cabin lights. They were all curves and soft inviting valleys of womanhood, and he thanked the lord for inventing women.

Roger appeared with a steaming pot of coffee. The damned vendo' was still busted by the look of it. Never mind, perhaps it was best. At least it got him real coffee instead of the muck that vendo' spewed out.

He nodded at the girls.

"Sit them up, Roger, and bring four more cups. The girls did well last night when I was really feeling like crap. I fancy having a little cozy chat with them before we gag them up again."

Roger grinned and prodded the slumbering forms. Sleepily they stirred and he hoisted their disabled forms one by one and sat them against the headboard as Sven switched the translator on and placed it nearby.

They looked like a clutch of staggeringly beautiful dolls in a youngster's bed.

Sven took the cups as Roger returned then waved his pal out. Nothing was said and the girls looked on with amusement as Sven demonstrated another facet of his inner man.

He offered up the coffee to each in turn and watched with delight as they sipped demurely. Even the huge Yelda was all sensuous feline woman, despite her immense strength. Sven finally got to the point they were all nervously waiting for. Women's intuition on any planet was a female trait that spanned the galaxy.

"Look girls, I just feel bad about the way we are treating you all. After seeing - !" His voice trailed off as looks of shock and horror lined the pretty faces.

"What's the matter? What did I say that was so terrible?"

Yelda spoke fiercely, her voice sounding clearly over the translator.

"It isn't what you said, it was what you were about to say. What the hell has gotten into you, Sven Olafsen? What happened to the insatiable womaniser I knew a few weeks ago who planned and executed a planet's total captivity?" Sven looked stunned.

"But I thought - ?" He stuttered to a halt under the hostile stare of a really pissed off amazon. Trussed like a chicken and helpless she may be, but she still commanded respect and caution.

"Don't think, damn you. You have responsibility now. You've started something that will one day place all women in captivity. It'll sweep the galaxy like a forest fire. You have an obligation to trillions of women, now and in the future, to put in place laws that will protect their basic rights and maintain what you already started. Just because one law you made fucked up a trifle and got the Chen into deep shit, are you going to leave the rest of us to fend for ourselves and go all soft? Think of all the women on Thyros your basic laws protect from harm. Then -! "AAArrrrgghhmmmmppph!"

Sven jammed the ball gag back in with considerable force, and before the others could react, stifled them and returned them to normal status: Silent, bound, and gagged. And in this instance, a mite angry. For a second they were shocked and afraid at the ferocity of his gagging. Then he grinned. 

"Right! Back to normal then." He rolled them over and gave each a hearty spanking till their rubber sheathed rumps were glowing pristine pink. 

Rising, he strode to the door with a parting comment that Roger would be down for them soon. It was another day in the cocktail glasses by the look of it.

Four pairs of eyes followed him out and then the waffled sound of giggling co-conspirators echoed through the cabin. Life looked like getting back to the normal round of mind boggling sensations pretty damned quick. 

Roger entered and the fun started all over again.

Meanwhile, many decks below, Sven arrived at the shuttle receiving bay and watched as the unloading of eighty-four bottled Chen was completed and they were moved to the designated cargo bay. The handling crew left and in the silent vastness of the bay he searched out the garrison commander.

Thyron soldiers had a sense of humour it appeared. The standard bottles were arranged as troops standing in two smart ranks. Out front and facing them was the bottle containing the garrison commander, whilst off to one side was the example bottle, no doubt to represent an officer. Each now bore an identity picture of the contents, taken at the time when they had just been stripped, cuffed, and hobbled. They were each captured on film at a time when their great beauty was revealed for all to see.

He approached the lone bottle at front, studied the picture of the stunning female enclosed within, and then raised sad eyes to look through the acrylic head section. Her face was slightly less coloured, but as soon as he peered in, the face went purple with effort. Sven ran his hands over the acrylic and marveled that such a superb body could be so thoroughly contained. A tap with his knuckle produced a dull rap. There was no ringing of glass. She was packed tight, oh, so fabulously tight! Her bodily pressure robbed the vessel of all acoustic values. Only the eyes moved, begging, pleading, beseeching, in a last desperate attempt to gain freedom from the crushing, claustrophobic confines of her prison. His mind was in a turmoil, torn between the diabolical fate of the women, and the intensely pleasurable sensation created by seeing such beautiful and dangerous women so mercilessly punished.

Titanic efforts by her magnificent body squeezed and flowed the sensuous flesh inside the rapidly vanishing space afforded by the bottle. It was futile. Her prison remained silent and unmoving. Sven ran his hands over the acrylic yet again, stopping as they rested on the area that was sculpting the superb rump to a flat based circular mass of luxuriantly compressed female ass. Then suddenly he realised that her body could probably sense his touch, so near and yet so far. He decided to cut the unintended cruelty of his visit short, and with a last backward glance at the pleading eyes and purple straining face, he left the garrison commander to her appalling fate. There was no point in giving her false hope by telling her of his future intentions to try and get their sentences commuted. It would be kinder for her to loose hope and accept the fate handed out.

Dozens of eyes followed as he walked past row after row of silent, impotised desperation. Only as he moved along did it register that some of the ranks were facing backwards. The paired lovers were still looking at their one time bed mates, arranged opposite them in the rear ranks.


CHAPTER TWELVE
POST WAR TRYLON

Starburst remained on Trylon-31 another five years. In that time the defeated amazon inhabitants were processed, electronically tagged, packed, or placed in holding pens. There was a logistics problem in that being a planet entirely populated by females, there were no men to take over once they were subdued. Starburst's contingent of Thyron troops were enough to run skeleton operations in each city and set up defences against the expected Federation backlash. Yet no matter how one looked at it, they needed more hands. Sven had always considered this to be the weakest point in his ambitious plans, and in the end Yelda came up with an interim solution, which eventually became the long term answer.

The percentage of willing females ran out at about ten percent. In addition, another twenty percent were undecided. They hadn't liked the old Trylon male free society, but were not exactly enthralled with the alternative either, which entailed being enslaved and controlled by the male victors. Yelda reckoned she could win most of them over to a reasonable level of co- operation. Sven, on the other hand, saw danger in allowing such a large contingent to be in positions of power. In the end they reached a workable compromise. The selected Trylons would be semi-restrained by various means and wear trustee collars as a mark of their office. These collars would serve several purposes. In the first instance they were to be designed to be irremovable without triggering reprisal. Secondly they would have a coded electronic signal unique to each woman. Roger came up with another idea to make the collars programmable, in order to allow women with different work patterns and different tasks to be able to function with relative ease of restriction during those periods. Sven became very interested and prompted him to expand on the idea.

"Well I thought that instead of just a collar, we fit them with wrist, ankle and waist bands as well and make them interconnectable and impossible to remove. We'll also have a mini-memory chip in each." Sven started to get the idea and his face lit up.

"I got you. Each has a daily routine programmed in and she has to link herself up after work to comply with the program. The control collar releases them when the program dictates. Now, how about if we make the collars give steadily increasing punishment shocks if they go over time before connecting up?"

"Good plan," Roger said eagerly, as he began adding yet more ideas to the plan and the whole thing began to take shape.

"Any attempt to remove them immediately triggers an injection of anaesthetic into the carotid artery and sends out a homer signal telling the goon squad where they are and basically saying 'come pick me up, I'm a naughty girl"."

Yelda, standing nearby, cast a frown in his direction. If she hadn't been re- gagged by then, Sven felt sure the comment would have been something like 'typical chauvinist male'.

So the idea took root, and factories were turned over to Yoran's design department for manufacture of the devices on a massive scale.

Three colours were made. Red, silver, and gold. Red was for non co- operatives, or NC's as they later became known. silver was for grudging co-operation, and gold for willing converts to the Sven regime.

A new class order quickly fell into place and as the control sets became more numerous, it could be seen that a new elite was being forged. The Golds were privileged people, whilst the others were the workers. Some Silvers began to convert and earn higher status, but in general the Reds were always red. They became the more heavily controlled and saleable merchandise.

The control sets steadily became more refined until at free time, a woman simply appeared to be wearing wide metal bracelets on wrists and ankles, with matching waist belt and collar. They could be worn with normal clothes and in many cases almost completely disguised. Reds tended to try and hide theirs, whereas Golds flaunted their owned status.

Belts and collars had numerous socket holes, whilst cuffs and anklets had stubby machined pegs. Come the end of the programmed free time, a woman had to restrain herself or else suffer the escalating strength of punishment shocks from the collar.

A ten minute warning beep from the collar reminded them to resume restraint. A minor tingling shock at five minutes was the final warning. During that time they had to place the anklet and wrist cuffs together or against other designated metal bands and engage the pegs in the sockets. Instantly mini locks snapped shut and they were held in restraint until the next designated free time.

The Golds were granted optional positions. Silvers could earn that right for diligent service, but Reds always had the full de-activation position. Reds in fact wore additional thigh bands under their clothes. When the beep came they had ten minutes to lie face down, pull heels up to thighs and engage the ankle band pegs into the thigh bands, then reach behind their heads and lock the wrists into two locations at the back of the collar.

After five months every Trylon female was equipped with the devices, except those women who had been previously cocooned or placed in some other inescapable bondage.

Life generally went back to it's pre-invasion bustle, but with major differences. There were no Chen to fear. Females were creatures protected by law, and of course there was always the occasional bonus sight of a locked up female littering the pavement after she got caught out late and had to restrain herself before she could get home. The only other option was to use a street pole equipped with lock up slots.

Image 19

Sven came up with that idea. A woman running short of time and unable to reach home before the punishment cycle started could negate the program by either putting herself in standard lay down bondage, or, if dressed in smart clothes, she could back up to the nearest overnight pole, spread legs and engage her ankle pegs into the slots at either side of the base. Then it was a case of reaching back and plugging the wrist manacle pegs into waist high slots behind the pole. Once those pegs were inserted and locked the system only required her to search around with her collared neck and insert the final locking peg at the rear into a collar jack. Five engaged pegs instantly switched the punishment mode to override for that cycle of her programming. At the allotted time next day, a central control computer would read her personal coding from the collar micro chip and release her at the correct time.

Of course, as with any public appliance, the poles were subject to vandalism. Many times women would engage all of her other restraints and be locked in, only to find that some asshole have stuffed chewing gum into the final neck lock that would disengage the punishment timer. In such cases, passing collection patrols would stop by the screaming jerking figure, dig out the chewing gum, thus allowing her to complete the sequence and end the punishment.

The method of street punishment was a matter of personal choice and both options had good and bad sides. The pole saved wear and tear on clothes and there was no collection and storage fee. But it left the captive woman extremely vulnerable to any drunken groups of Thyron soldiers making their way back to barracks. The lay down method meant that they were quickly picked up and stored in safe storage by Trylon Police where the worst they might suffer is a thorough mauling by a dyke Trylon. Again, it had a down side. Clothes were ruined, the pavements were often cold, and if the patrol was busy it could take an hour or more to reach them. Then there was the automatic debiting of work credits to consider.

Red patrols usually cleaned up most after the usual late night parties, and by dawn the streets were clear. There was no punishment other than the cost of the uplift and overnight storage fee. If a woman complied with the directive, Sven ruled she should not be punished. Besides, it was nice to see the odd stunning female all locked up on a main street.

Yoran and Roger came up with another idea. By programming the central computer it was easy to load a program for making sure a Trylon chosen for resale was available when they needed her. It was just a matter of inputting her code number and selecting the 'hold' option. The first thing the woman would know about it would be when her free period arrived and the restraints refused to release. Meanwhile, an auto tracker beacon would inform the collection crew exactly where she was.

Sven's favoured four became the supreme commanders, and they basically worked out and engineered the whole thing. In addition, they continually updated rules as new problems appeared. Yoran and Roger simply took care of technical requirements whilst the women decided policy. 

Their female intuition proved to be invaluable. However, they opted to stay as they were, and it was Sven who finally instructed them to wear the new suits befitting ruling class. The pure transparent latex sheathes were replaced by a version impregnated with gold flakes. The results were staggering. As they moved in their now well rehearsed bounding mode they flashed and sparkled like the jewels of womanhood they were.

Roger altered the gags and added a neat head frame. Whenever their duties required them to speak, a tiny finger switch activated the removal mechanism and they could ungag themselves. Of course there was an override switch that would deactivate that, and whenever they were around Sven their gags were locked in the non-removable mode. If they wanted to speak they had to ask by making the appropriate gestures.

Many Golds started to envy the four stunning bounders who were often in the public eye, and before the end of the second year, boutiques had sprung up, offering various copied models of the suits and bounder equipment. Thyron soldiers who had chosen a Trylon amazon took their women there to get kitted up. Other more inventive fashion houses developed new more restrictive outfits. Trylon was rapidly turning into a Sven Olafsen utopia of nubile jouncing curves and restrained bodies that looked set to surpass even the excesses of Thyros. In the big cities, even the Reds were diminishing as more and more strove to be upgraded. They could see the benefits of being co-operative subservient sex objects and, in many ways, it seemed a small price to pay for the perks they got in return. A whole new culture was forging ahead with ever increasing pace.

The old days of Trylon-31 could never return for many. They had sampled males for the first time in their lives, and scrap heaps became littered with redundant Exstata machines.

Sven and Roger soon had little to do other than to tour departments under their control and make appearances as the great rulers.

Major Boscomp was doing well. Sales of Reds and other dissidents were booming. The Besszrans took possession of, and paid cash for twenty- thousand of the most fiercely objecting Trylon amazons, thus solving a huge problem for the Major. The Besszrans had insisted that all the amazons of their consignment were forcibly constrained conscripts with major attitude problems. Major Boscomp was only too pleased to get rid of almost her entire stock of fiercely resisting Trylon amazons who would never be able to make the change to willing subservience.

To a Besszran, opposition to sexual advances was a major come-on. The more a female said no, the more she obviously wanted sex.

It gave Major Boscomp the shudders having to deal with the giant, slithering, serpent-like, and on one occasion a Besszran considered her revulsion most attractive. Helpers managed to pry off the encircling neck to toe coils of her would be rapist just as he was trying to jam a massive dildo shaped tail into her vulnerable crotch. Banded and sheathed in her working clothes, she'd made and easy catch for the fifty foot alien. Afterward, she admitted that it was strangely exciting to be completely encased in a pulsing crush of coils and held powerfully arched for servicing. Sven looked at her sideways and wondered if at some future date a more arranged match with a Besszran might prove an interesting spectacle. 

Things continued to progress at a quantum rate of acceleration. For years Trylon females had suffered secret suppressed desires under the controlling regime that outlawed all thoughts of submissive behaviour. Generally the recently extinct social order had frowned on a life revolving around sexual orientations. Under the new Thyros regime, they were discovering the sometime dubious pleasure of being controllable females. There were the die-hards, usually of the older generations, but in general it was becoming fashionable to find one's self put on a short list of saleable produce. 

Some Reds who had administration talents sorely needed by the new order dodged the upgrading to silver status in anticipation of being sold. 

Sven, for his part, was becoming accustomed to being dwarfed by the average 6'6" Trylon female. Eye level contact with thrusting tits became the norm, although he had to admit that he was developing a severe neck ache when trying to assess facial assets.

Yelda seemed intent on proving her worth by supplying Sven with a never ending supply of towering goddesses to play with. Turning them away became a chore. She liked to try and please him and if she spotted a particularly spectacular female, the unsuspecting amazon who caught Yelda's eye would suddenly find herself surrounded by a collection team, her collar program switched to manual and restraints snapped into deactivated mode. Red, silver, or gold, it didn't matter. Yelda had the authority to take anything she desired.

Usually Yelda's gifts arrived parceled in fancy wrappers. On opening they were found to be cocooned in ultra tight latex of varying colours. Sven graciously accepted most as he didn't want to upset her. But generally he waited until she had gone and then slipped the gift to an ever eager pair of ladies waiting in the wings. Tracy and Fiona had a lot of fun with the helpless gifts, and on occasion when Sven was feeling benevolent he would even free their arms and allow the mermaid like females to inflict awesome stimulation on their victims.

Weeks fled by as they tried new sales gimmicks, and Yoran was actually seen to appear from his den-like development department as a new idea worked out. Most of the time Tebb was plugged in and ready, but only switched on when the whim took him, or when he needed inspiration. The morning of the 36th was one such occasion when Yoran finally tracked down a problem in a new prototype device and asked for them all to come to his laboratory.

Sven was a little annoyed actually, and made an excuse to postpone it till the afternoon. He'd already planned one of his many visits to the cargo bay. Of late, they were becoming more numerous. Only Roger knew. Sven usually switched off the vid cams in that bay to mask his clandestine visits. Occasionally Roger peeked in and saw Sven talking to the silent bottles, especially the one out front who he knew to be the ill fated commander. Roger was getting worried and was considering letting Sven's four women in on his secret. Sven still couldn't get over the Chens' punishment, and Roger was afraid that his boss might do something stupid and try to rescue the women from the punishment decreed by the Thyron judgement.

Roger flipped the cargo bay vid viewer on later in the morning, and sure enough, Sven was there in front of the commander's containment. Unlike most of the other bottled Chens, he containment was free of the thick layer of dust that the others had accumulated over since they were last serviced. Clearly she was receiving constant attention on a daily basis. Sven was toying with the woman, no doubt trying too ease her plight by inducing sexual pleasure in the bottled creature. He'd found that flicking fingernails against the acrylic area that compressed her pussy transmitted the vibration straight into her denied sex mound.

The silent, compacted contents of the bottle performed a chameleon like colour change whenever he did it. The entire surface of her body suffused with a rosy glow of arousal and rising blood pressure, and then what he assumed to be an orgasm was represented by her turning scarlet from neck to toes, supplemented by eyes that grew hugely round and a face that went almost purple. He'd forgotten all about the electrified moisture and movement sensitive dildo engulfed by her pulsing, sensation hungry pussy. The rosy glow was indeed sexual arousal, and, in part, an instinctive titanic effort to escape or gain sympathy as soon as anyone appeared outside her prison bottle. But the ensuing deepening of colour was a direct result of the shattering energy of reprisal pumped into her pussy as electronically perceived sexual enjoyment was ruthlessly turned off. The well intentioned tapping fingernail vibrations designed to keep her in orgasmic bliss for as long as possible merely maintained the leeching labial liquids at full flow and continued her pussy frying torment.

On a rotating basis, Sven always tended one of the other vessels in the same way at each visit. But with the exception of the example version, the commander was the only one assured of attention every time Sven entered the cargo bay. It was some four years, eleven Earth months now since the Chens had been bottled and stored. Nothing had changed, they still stood silent and unmoving as they collected dust. Dhelia dusted them off about once every six months, gloating as the eyes watching her from within followed her every move. There was something about seeing these human type women tightly bottled that excited her pleasure chips. Often she rolled them around and re-arranged them just for the hell of it. Once she even arranged them as groups of Ten-Pin skittles and used her own spherical shape as the bowling ball. But apart from that, they were alone except for Sven's visits.

Despite his sadness at the plight they had brought upon themselves, Sven found that the special hog-tied version generated feelings in himself that were purely selfish and yet undeniable. In fact, unbeknownst to him, due to her method of installation she was the only one not equipped with an electric arousal suppressor. His tapping manipulations of her bottle produced a genuinely frenzied orgasmic response. In this case the red hue of her colour change was purely rocketing blood pressure and possibly a frantic desire to escape and get closer to those tapping fingers. Sven simply couldn't resist the imagery of her squashed tits and flattened pussy squirming and leeching against the acrylic containment wall. In addition, the unhindered rise to maximum arousal resulted in a copious gushing of love juice. By the time each session was over the entire bottled form was slithering in a sea of self-marinating juices as her desperately confined struggles spread the hot liquid evenly over the acrylic interior. The explosive results of orgasming under such conditions were spectacular as the entire bottle assumed a scarlet hue and demonstrated a sensuous, smearing, throbbing pulse. If he happened to be in front of her and the massive bulge in the crotch of his suit entered her field of view, the effect was doubled. He could actually see the pulsing leech like pussy lips slithering and performing like a mouth trying to gulp food. Her crushed clitoris looked for all the world like a pink slug slithering up and down on a wet window pane. Despite her titanic struggles, her clit only moved a half inch, but it was enough.

Clearly the woman had altered her opinion of the male gender as evidenced by her salivating pussy was desperately trying to entice a massive throbbing rod of manhood into its sex starved interior. Those slavering love lips were lusting for the feeling of being stretched wide and penetrated; craving the chance to suckle on a hot hard shaft of rampant male arousal.

On occasion, Sven would keep the scarlet hued example bottle in a state of pulsing, slithering activity for several hours. It was fascinating to imagine the enormity of the frantic power inside the vessel, and yet throughout the ordeal it never managed even a tremor or emitted the faintest sound. It was a great toy, and no matter how long he left it, or how tormented the female contents became, it would always be there, silent and unmoving, unable to resist whenever he chose to return and play. In fact it got to the point where he only had to approach it and the bottle began to change colour all over. Sven came to look on it like a pet dog wagging its tail every time the master appeared, and took to patting the bottle affectionately. The purple face always seemed about to explode with anger and frustration, but he took that to be an effect of the pressure. 

Roger watched the current performance for several minutes, then after some thought, he contacted Thyron Command. 

"General Aangat! Roger here. Er! - you might be able to do me a small favour. Yes, fine! I'll meet you at the officers' mess in an hour." He flipped the channel closed and then contacted Dhelia.

"Dhelia! Get the four girls together and meet me at the officers' mess on base 404 in an hour. Oh, and bring Yoran and his woman along. We have things to discuss."


CHAPTER THIRTEEN
POLICY CHANGES

General Aangat listened patiently to Roger, but small shakes of his head were already indicating that a decision had been made and he was only listening out of courtesy.

"I'm sorry Roger, and sorry for the women," he nodded at the four silent bunnies. "If that's how Sven feels I'd like to help, but the law is the law. The sentence has to stand. If you won't deliver them to the moon, we'll find a way to do it ourselves."

Roger looked frustrated.

"We'll do as we promised, so will Sven. But won't you even consider an alternative, at least for one or two of them?" General Aangat sat back and interlocked his fingers. Not only was Roger concerned about the problem, but so were two Thyron citizens, Yoran and his woman, and the other three women whom he knew were highly prized by Starburst crew. The General found himself mildly amused that he should be seriously considering the opinions of a droid and five toy females.

"I'm listening."

"How about the example becoming Starburst's mascot," Roger suggested, "and perhaps the garrison commander serving part of her sentence aboard Starburst. Just until we can sort things out with Sven."

Aangat pursed his lips and his brow furrowed in thought. "Well, I suppose I might swing the example model. But the commander! I just don't know. There would have to be all sorts of agreements and safeguards to ensure she served her sentence properly, not to mention the piles of red tape required to organise it. I just don't know." He looked up to see Roger's pleading look. Aangat gave a big sigh, passed a hand over his brow, and slumped back.

“Okay, okay! I'll see what I can do,” the general contended. "After all, Thyros owes you guys a lot of favours. Leave it with me. But remember, I'm promising nothing. So I suggest you don't tell Sven and get his hopes up." He shook his head. "I just hope those evil bottled bitches realise what you guys are trying to do for them. If I had my way we'd spray the damned things so no one knew what was in them and use them for street bollards. I don't see why they should even be allowed to see out." 

Roger's meta-plastic features shaped into a huge grin.

"Great! I know you'll do your best General, and I appreciate it." Roger left with a feeling that things would get sorted one way or another. General Aangat was a man who knew how to get things done. Meantime, they were late and Sven would be wondering where they were. Dhelia was sent ahead to tell him they were on the way, and Roger urged the bouncing entourage to greater effort as they tried to keep up with their hurrying masters.


CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE SOLUTION

Sven was pretty down at the news. Soon they would be setting all the bottled Chen down on the surface of the moon, and there was nothing he could do about it. If anyone interfered with the Thyron ruling, it could screw the whole galactic project forever. He just couldn't understand their intransigence over the Chen. But then, he hadn't lived by their age old strict codes of practice, codes that in fact he had instigated in the first place.

Alone and half drunk on Trylon Pagga ale, Sven hardly noticed as Roger came in. In fact, Roger had been speaking for almost three minutes before it registered that his droid pal was even there.

"What? What was that?"

Roger started again, "boss, we have the answer to your problem. I know how to get the Chen off that moon and unbottled without starting a war with Thyros." Sven didn't answer for a minute or two as his befuddled brain tried to digest the information. Finally the semi-stupor began to evaporate as Roger's words took effect.

"You figured a way to do it? You really know how we can rescue them?"

Roger nodded, his face a glow with glee. He loved to help his boss out of these tricky situations, especially when it highlighted higher droid mental capacity.

"You're damned right I do boss. At worst the Chen will have to complete three weeks on the moon. No way we can alter that. But then, we sneak in and steal the bottles by approaching the moon from behind so that Thyros space defence networks don't pick us up. Once we are inside the moon's disc, we leave Starburst in a geostationary position behind the moon and then go down with the shuttle to pick up the bottles. The shuttle is too small to pick out against the moon if we use a low orbit and ground approach to the area."

Sven waved Roger to a stop.

"Yeah! Well we could have always done that except for one small snag. The annual fly-over by Thyros police would immediately spot them missing, and before you say use dummies, I already thought of that. Their bio-sensors would spot that scam straight away."

Roger grinned. "Not if there was a smoking crater three-hundred miles across and four miles deep where they used to be."

Sven shook his head as the fuzziness returned and he tried to grasp what was being said.

"Crater? What crater?"

"The one blasted out by a five mile wide asteroid that at this moment is some forty-two million miles away and heading straight for the moon. I didn't want to tell you till we'd checked and cross checked a dozen times, but now we are sure. That asteroid will impact right on top of the site chosen for the Chen. Well! At least, it will impact after we adjust its trajectory a week before it passes by Thyros and its moon." Sven's face was a picture as he slapped his pal on the back then snatched his hand back.

"Shit! You fucking hard skinned pratt." He grimaced and nursed his stinging hand. "Fucking marvelous Roger, fucking marvelous! How sure can you be that it will work?"

Roger calculated the odds of a fuck-up. “99.902238% chance of success, Boss. As it happens the timing works out great. The annual inspection will be two days before the impact. The Thyrons will be convinced that the Chen were still there at the time the crater appeared." Sven did a quick mental calculation which, given his condition, was remarkably accurate.

"And the other 0.097762%?"

Roger shrugged. "We screw up. We get there late. The Chen end up as instant subterranean toast when a gazillion tons of rock travelling at 30,000 miles per hour lands on their bottled asses." Roger fixed him with a sort of matter of fact look as Sven's mouth twitched with a barely controlled grin. Roger's vocabulary was certainly taking on a colourful new style. Too much twentieth century video archive repeats by the sound of it. 

Sven pursed his lips as he thought it over. Given the two-hundred and ninety-five years they had remaining in those bottles before death claimed them, he doubted the Chen would really give a shit which way it went. 

"So it would be reasonable to inform the Chen and at least give them some hope?" Sven looked up as Yelda bounded in. She was ungagged having just completed some business with Thyron ground control.

"You know about Roger's plan Yelda?" Yelda confirmed she did with a nod. She could understand Earth language now, but speaking it still defeated her. Sven flicked the translator on.

"Sure! Seems like a good plan." Sven looked her straight in the eye.

"So you have no problem with us cutting the Chen punishment down?" Yelda shook her head.

"They'll have been bottled for nearly five years. That should have given them the urge to preserve female life I would think. However, I have one condition."

Sven's eyebrows shot up. "Condition? You're laying down a condition?" 

Yelda nodded. "I get to have some fun with the Chen bitches for a week before we un-bottle them."

Sven looked at her more amused than anything else. "And if I say no?" 

It was a challenge. Yelda fixed him with a glare. "If you say no, the other girls and myself are going to become very annoyed. We just might not perform as well as we normally do. We could really become uncooperative and refuse to put half as much effort into being uncooperative!"

Sven laughed aloud. Yelda and the girls really had no hand to play. It was a request and they all knew it.

"Deal! You get the Chens for a week before we un-cork them. Now my condition. I get to watch every single minute of it. No private sessions." 

Yelda grinning widely. "You got it, Master Sven."

"Roger gag this giant scheming bitch before she talks anything else out of me, and throw that damned override switch just to make sure she stays that way till morning." Roger did as requested and smiled at Sven, who was muttering to himself.

"Where did I go wrong with these gals. Shit! Next thing I know they'll have me fucking Rog-Reamered!"

Roger was doing his equivalent of frowning as he listened, and Sven queried the look.

"What's bothering you Roger?"

The droid faced him squarely with a serious look on his face.

"You realise of course that you can never completely un-bottle the Chen don't you? If you take a way the acrylic support after all this time, they'll die. They can never resume their normal shape again."

Sven's face was a picture of misery as the reality sank in. Roger continued. 

"However, there's no reason to suppose that the head section can't be released, so long as the bodies stay bottled." Sven's face started to change as another thought entered his head, but Roger pre-empted him. "And of course, there's no reason to believe that making a hole at pussy level will be detrimental to their health either."

"Great minds think alike, Roger old son."

Roger looked a bit perplexed at the 'old son' bit. His memory chips were still having a problem sorting and catagorising all the strange language anomalies of humans. But what the hell. Human chicks were great fun to play with. Then his thoughts were brought back to the present by Sven's furrowed forehead. Obviously the boss was pondering something.

"Roger. What do you suppose those crazy broads can do with eighty-four bottled women? I mean, they're hardly soft cuddly playmates one would want to take to bed with you are they?"

Roger shrugged, making a sort of puzzled gesture with his hands.

"You're asking me how humanoid females think Boss?" Sven narrowed his eyes. Roger knew something and he wasn't letting on. Goddammit! Now even his faithful droid was being manipulated by these women. He decided to let it roll for the time being.

"So let's get the show on the road then. I suppose we'll have to make an excuse and pull Starburst out of orbit after we dump the Chen on the moon so that we can go meet that asteroid."

Roger confirmed that they would need to head out within a day of the Chen delivery in time to meet the asteroid at a distance that would require minimal effort to alter its course. The closer it got, the more radical the change, and the greater the chance that observatories on Thyros might notice a change in trajectory that could only be an engineered act.


CHAPTER FIFTEEEN
THE MOON AND BEYOND

A week later, Starburst's cargo shuttle blasted off from the moon. The lifters raised a huge cloud of dust that hung around for an hour or more as the weak gravity slowly dragged it back down. Finally, from an orbital height of some fifty miles, the crew of Starburst were able to see the Chen. 

It was a forlorn site. Row upon row of bottled womanhood stood like bowling pins on the bleak airless landscape of the Thyron moon. Sven hadn't found a way, or even had the time to communicate the plan to them. So as far the eighty-four women were concerned, they only had another two-hundred and ninety-five years to wait until the end of their sentence.

Sven and Roger joined General Aangat in the cargo bay and bid him farewell as he boarded the VIP shuttle. Dhelia was programmed to pilot him back to Thyros and then return. The general had already been appraised of the fact that Starburst intended to visit and spy on a Federation outpost set in the Nimbus galaxy, so he had no suspicions of what the crew were really up to. Or at least if he did, he chose to turn a blind eye.

Wasting no time at all, Starburst blasted out of orbit as soon as Dhelia returned, engaging in hyperdrive immediately. Unfortunately, the warp core decided to have a minor epileptic fit at that moment, and Roger informed them that they would only be able to use a tenth of the normal power. Starburst was reduced to a slow trundle as they battled to fix the defect. A week later the ship was keeping pace with the ominous asteroid. The warp core was fixed and ready for full power, but the delay had eaten away at the safety margins of time for the whole operation. Roger had almost finished the tractor beam modifications, and they were ready to start altering its trajectory. To ensure it hit the right spot at this distance required an infinitesimal adjustment that could be achieved by a sustained two hour, three minute, and sixteen second burst of the engines at full throttle. Roger was on top of the situation, monitoring and recalculating as soon as the tractors engaged. As it turned out, his original calculation was one hundredth of a second out, but he compensated as the trajectory slowly altered.

Finally it was done. Nothing stood in the way or could exert gravitational pull that would divert the asteroid before it hit the moon. Eighty-four bottled and completely unsuspecting Chen were right in the path of a couple billion tons of speeding rock.

Starburst wound up to full power and unleashed a level of hyperthrust acceleration that had never been tested since she was tested during commissioning. There were a few anxious moments when a warp core baffle started to vibrate, but other than that, she quickly achieved a half light speed that would see them back at the moon in something like sixteen minutes, give or take a few minutes. Starburst was capable of seven times light speed, but at this short distance, any acceleration sustained beyond the time taken to get to half light speed would pulp them with the acceleration and deceleration. Even so, the gravity adjusters barely managed to reduce the discomfort to acceptable levels.

The Thyron moon loomed hugely in the view ports as Dhelia took command, and Sven accompanied Roger to the surface in the shuttle. It all went smoothly, but Sven felt the hairs standing up on his neck as he stepped onto the surface with the knowledge that a five mile rock was above and heading their way.

In less than an hour, all the Chen had been rolled up the loading ramps and were dumped unceremoniously in the cargo bay. Roger quickly lifted the shuttle off, and within ten minutes they were docked in the Starburst. It was time to get the fuck out of Dodge as they say. If Starburst was anywhere in the vicinity when that rock hit, she might be damaged in the colossal shock waves generated by the impact.

They performed a huge loop in space once clear. There was no rush. Starburst needed to be seen to be approaching Thyros from the right direction to ensure the scam was believed. If they approached from any direction other than the Nimbus galaxy the gig would be up. Besides, it would take time for the debris produced by the impact to clear so that they could be seen.

Using long range visual, they watched as the asteroid streaked in. For a heart stopping second or two, the angle made it appear as if it would be a moon miss, and a Thyros hit. But Roger's calculations were spot on. 

The Chen prison site vanished in a superheated flash of incandescent energy dissipation as the asteroid impacted. It was an amazing and awe-inspiring sight. The Chens were also witness to the event thanks to Roger opening the bay doors and turning the prisoners so that they could see the explosion. They were completely protected from the vacuum of space and sub zero temperatures thanks to the Thyros prison flasks.

Two days later the dust settled. Where once had been a flat plain was now a colossal crater of staggering proportions. Within minutes of the moon dust clearing enough for Thyros telescopes to penetrate, the airwaves and news channels of Thyros were buzzing with the news that the Chens had been vaporised. Starburst's crew listened with glee as their plan came together.

Sven gave Roger a hearty clap on the back.

"Shit! I keep doing that, don't I?" Roger raised a mocking eyebrow as Sven nursed a stinging palm that had just contacted the androids tough metaplastic skin. They had no more time to discuss the success of the mission before the girls came bouncing in. They were still gagged, but it was clear that they wanted to claim their Chens for the promised period.

Sven grinned and nodded approval. He was interested to see what they had in mind, and was only mildly surprised when Roger excused himself and began to follow the girls down to the cargo deck.

Now he knew for sure that the android was involved in some sort of skullduggery. Late that evening, wondering where all his playmates were, Sven ventured into the workshop section, and lo-and-behold, the results of the conspiracy were there for the taking.

The first twenty Chen's had been unbottled. Or at least re-bottled. Roger had found a way around the problem of removing what had become an exo-skeletal support for the prisoners. Without the tough acrylic to hold their cruelly reshaped forms, the Chen would have simply expanded in to horribly deformed shapes and probably died. Super-tight tough rubber bottles solved the dilemma. Unlike the acrylic they were black and pliable, but quite strong enough to hold and support the women. In addition the hog-tied example Chen was tightly banded along her entire length with powerful rubber cinching bands.

Yelda was already enjoying the use of one Chen, whilst Roger and Dhelia were bouncing another like a beach ball. Although still encased in her own mono-legged bondage, Yelda had coerced Roger into fitting her with a double ended dildo. With the luckless Chen clamped horizontally into a device set at waist level, she was busy fucking her new toy like a woman possessed.

Sven moved around the orgasming Yelda and studied the Chen at his leisure. It was the garrison commander, her face crimson and bulging over the top of the deeply indented facial gag strap. Sven was hard put to decide if her expression was one of contained anger or exploding orgasm. It hardly mattered. There was nothing she could do in either case. The new rubber containment held her firm and helpless as she bulged and strained like an oddly shaped sausage. The rubber afforded her no protection. Roger had seen to that. All her orifices, with the exception of a gagged mouth, were available through the sphincter-like holes on the encasement.

Across the other side of the bay, many of the re-bottled Chen were standing like arranged pins in a bowling alley, albeit not as still. They were all squirming and writhing demonically. Only on closer inspection did the reason become apparent. Sven's girls had requested a series of punishment sockets to be set into the deck. These in turn had double dildos plugged in. The Chen were then mounted so that pins in the base of their confinement plugged into the sockets. The result was a row of incredibly restrained women struggling to control the ravages and unending arousal created by their electrically convulsing pussies.

It was a sight to behold as every one of them gave an awe-inspiring demonstration of orgasmic eruption on a regular basis.

Suddenly, Roger lost his rapturous glazed-eyed image and became intent. His built-in alarm link to the ship's computer was downloading an incoming message. Quickly he withdrew from the Chen he was pumping full of metaplastic dick and turned to Sven.

"Boss! We've got a problem. The Bezzran ship with the shipment of twenty-thousand Trylons has been intercepted by a Federation vessel and the contents impounded. Worse still, the Bezzran's got off a message before the ship was boarded. There's a huge fleet of Federation ships headed straight for Thyros, and a smaller force on its way to Trylon-31.” 

If he was expecting Sven to show some reaction, he got one, but not the one he expected. Instead of concern over what appeared to be a major set back in their plans to convert the known universe into a female hypersex slave auction, Roger saw Sven pause in his sexual capers as a slow grin spread across his face.

"Hah! I wondered when they would get around to it. Now let's see if they figured that I would expect that and pre-empt it?" His eyes narrowed in thought, and then he turned to Roger as he muttered under his breath, "let's just see if the Federation can out maneuver something that I put in motion seven-hundred years ago."

Clearly Sven was still smarting at the thought that they had dubbed him a bumbling fool and originally sent him out on a Federation mission that required his perceived incompetence to succeed. Well now it was payback time.

Two-hundred and sixteen light years away, aboard the Federation flagship 'Galatier,' the commander in chief of Earth Central Command glowered at the recording of his captive Thyron daughter for the tenth time that day. Thyros sent out a constant galactic news broadcast of daily events, and the program always opened with a view of the capital's municipal centre, and a clear view of the never-ending humiliation and torment of his once proud diplomatic offspring.

Seething with anger he swung his gaze to survey the weapons control array on the port side of the bridge. Twelve neuron cannons, fifty photon torpedoes, four high-energy plasma projectors, two magnagflux disruptors, capable of tearing apart the molecular structure of even the toughest dural steels. In the hangar bays nestled four-hundred fighter scout ships, each with more destructive power than was expended in all the wars ever waged on Earth. The Galatier represented the most powerful force in the known universe. It could destroy a planet the size of Thyros in a calculated thirteen seconds and reduce it to a mini sun. Sven Olafsen and the Thyrons were going to pay dearly for their indiscretions. But first he would rescue his daughter, then and only then would he continue with the plan to seize the empire Sven Olafsen had so kindly created for the Federation.

A movement to his side broke into his thoughts, and turning his head he reached out for the offered electronic log. Briefly he scanned the daily report and signed it.

"Thank you, Captain Boscomp. You have the bridge. I'm going to my quarters to rest. Call me as soon as we are within striking range of Thyros, will you."

Captain Boscomp saluted smartly and stood aside as he rose to leave. The commander in chief's eyes momentarily fixed on the thrusting curvature of her tunic, but the captain pretended not to notice. It was hardly a novel event for her. At six feet tall, blonde, and built like the Greek goddess Venus, she had become accustomed to the stares of males, especially when she was attired in the skin tight uniform and polished calf boots required by Federation rules.

"By the way, how is Admiral Boscomp these days? I heard she was thinking of retiring soon." The captain smiled as she formed a mental image of her tough-as-nails mother, the only woman ever to rise to the rank of admiral in the Federation.

"I wouldn't write moth-uh, Admiral Boscomp off just yet, Sir. She's got a lot of fight left in her." The commander in chief nodded in agreement. The disappointment in his eyes showed clearly. That old spitfire Boscomp had always been a major thorn in his side and it seemed that she was destined to remain so for the foreseeable future. But then, once the Federation ruled the Olafsen/Thyron empire, any female was fair game. Already the upper echelons were planning the instant removal of all female personnel from the Federation staff who would then be trained and sold to the highest bidder. An old fart like Admiral Boscomp wouldn't fetch much, but it would sure be fun to see her reduced to a bound, gagged sex slave after all the hassle she had given him over the years.

As the commander in chief vanished into the turbo lift, Captain Boscomp turned back to the monitor. The Thyros News opening was still playing, and she smiled grimly at the images of a traumatised bounding woman encased in a Gazra-3. It was going to be fun visiting Thyros. After all, it was going to be her first chance to come face to face with her revered ancestor, Major Boscomp. Back in the mists of time, rumour had it that the major was once a respected Federation officer, before the scheming hierarchy deemed her expendable, packaged her up like a piece of meat and included her in the cargo of 'Starburst One.' The Federation version of her kidnap by Olafsen and his gang had never held much water in the Boscomp family. The truth is out there, and Captain Boscomp was looking forward to discovering it.

To be continued in
THE FEDERATION STRIKES BACK
