Gromet's PlazaTransformation Stories

The Ship's Queen

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2020 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: M+/f; D/s; bond; scifi; transform; M2f; chain; bodymod; space; cuffs; susp; sold; naked; cons; X

Continues from

Part Six: Sampling A Foreign Brew

...Once the Xlant was safely under way the captain came down himself to collect my shipping container, he got an eyeful as he opened the top and looked down at my bound and naked form. His position over my own exemplified our relative size difference, and while he was larger in the flesh than on the bridge's view screen, he wasn't so big as to be inhuman to me.

"I'm a little disappointed that they didn't ship you over in that dress I saw you in. I rather like that one's cultural implications and ordinarily like to unwrap presents myself, but I suppose we'll just have to improvise" the man said with a smile as he rolled his eyes.

I was completely taken aback, I had half expected a ship full of sex starved barbarians based on the man's appearance alone, and here he was making small talk and using humor. I still needed a man as it had been nearly an entire standard day since my wonderful shower with the first officer, but I had allowed myself to anticipate being passed around by the Begorian's like a toy for their orgy, and as a result my internal furnace was burning away at full power thanks to the doctor's self serving modifications of my manufactured body.

The man was muscular and large as I looked up at him, and it was easy to sense his physical power, let alone the power of command that radiated out from him. His voice as well had a deep base to it that the speakers on the bridge of the Fortunate failed to accurately replicate. It penetrated my body in the flesh - frail by comparison to his own magnificent one - and I felt myself melting before him.

Once the man had my straps undone - his large hands not entirely suited to the task - he helped me out of the box with his warm hand fully encompassing my own as he looked me over once again. I felt like a delivered commodity being unpackaged and inspected by the end user, but shipped for a purpose that I desired however.

"How rude of me, I don't know what has happened to my manors. I am Captain Farok of the Xlant, and welcome to our humble cargo ship. You are?"

...I didn't ever recall being asked my name in female form before, I being easy to distinguish on the Fortunate and not needing a name. It was impersonal, but probably necessary in light of my temporary and unique service to the crew for their own sanity bearing in mind my magnificent body's origin. I hesitated, not wanting to use my male name for obvious reasons, in reality I never wanted to use that one again. I then thought of my captain's antique doll collection...

"You could call me Barbie sir, and thank you," I managed while making eye contact with the large Begorian, his big brown eyes boring into my own.

"Well Barbie, we best get you something to wear less you distract the junior men bad enough to crash my ship into some uncharted asteroid. As much as I would like to conduct your tour of the Xlant myself, I must sadly assign this chore to another as I have duties that require my attention." Again more humor to go along with his eye roll, Farok not at all the barbarian I expected, instead rather charming and gentle for one of his obvious physical strength.

Farok pulled his outer uniform shirt over his head and handed it to me, I put the garment on and realized his body temperature was several degrees warmer than my own. What had been a shirt for the large Begorian fell to my thighs, but if I could keep it on my shoulders it could still make an acceptable but baggy dress. Not lost on me either was that I now wore Captain Farok's name and rank insignia, possibly a message to his crew, or just a gallant gesture to a naked guest with a host of conflicting emotions racing around in her head. Farok's shirt had a coarse texture and smelled like him, and the association in my mind was a pleasant and masculine one, even though it's texture agitated my sensitive buds to the point of distraction.

"Your captain has told me that you are up for this little adventure and in no way are here against your will despite your unique form of delivery, but for my own conscience I must hear this from your own lips."

"I sir am here of my own accord having not the pleasure of meeting, nor even seeing a Begorian in the flesh before. I am therefore curious to experience this little cultural exchange for myself as this is my first deep space voyage, and I wish to get all I can from the experience."

...The "get all I can" part I thought was rather nuanced, but my first officer had told me that Begorian's in general, and Farok specifically had high language skills with regard to our language. I thought rather cynically that some of those skills likely were put to use charming the panties off of the first ship's queen, but such thoughts were at the same time hypocritical. Part of this acquired language skill was due to our language being universal to space travel and the necessary navigational commands issued, and the other was that ours was also widely used in unofficial trade, meaning smuggling. I had just learned this hours before, but it made sense with all I now knew about the Fortunate and her other more profitable mission...

"We will of course try not to disappoint you then, but first you must be properly fitted for your stay with us, both for your safety as well as our own."

"Fitted sir?"

"Yes fitted, our engineer's apprentice will see to it. I can't chance one unaccustomed to our ship wandering about unattended, if you were to open the wrong compartment in search of whatever you might be curious to find the entire ship could potentially be lost. The Xlant is nothing like the Fortunate, there are few redundant safeties, and I suspect you don't fluently speak, nor read Batchi as this is your first time with us. The few warnings about this ship are obviously in our native language, not your own, and my primary duty is to the safety of this ship over that of her guests ability to wander about freely."

Was 'fitted' something universally understood that I was missing? It didn't really matter in the big scheme of things as I was going to have it done whether I liked it or not, this fitting apparently designed to keep me from wandering about unattended. They were words from my language, but there was also something that wasn't exactly in sync with my use of it. Was 'fitted' in this context a verb, noun, adverb, or even some other part of speech used in Batchi, the most common language spoken on the Begorian home word, but by far not the only one.

The large captain and I walked, he leading the way as I followed, but to the casual observer it likely looked as if we were walking side by side. It was gentle directing, but the result was that I was being led where Farok desired, his large and powerful arm always within reach. His eye watched my assets sway under his borrowed shirt, or was that just to ensure I didn't do something stupid to endanger his ship?

The motion of my swaying breasts within the confines of the course shirt at the same time tormented me, especially with our brisk pace as Farok's legs were longer than my own, and I thought back to accounts of long ago and the torments applied to prisoners to extract information. Farok towered over me, and if this were another time I could envision him as my barbaric jailer leading me in chains to a castle dungeon to extract a confession before my scheduled execution. The confession part was not really necessary though, other than to appease the peasants - if history is to be believed. Such thoughts can be intoxicating for one as sexually submissive as I, and even though that time period was known for its utter brutality, my lust fogged brain romanticized it irrationally.

The corridors we walked down were dark by the energy abundant standards of the Fortunate, no doubt stoking the dungeon analogy in my mind, and after several turns I was lost. We eventually arrived at the engineering section, and I was handed off to a young Begorian named Rok, he looked like little more than a teenager - possibly on his first voyage like myself - but still quite large in human terms.

"Rok, this is Barbie, she is the toy we bartered for from our old friends on the Fortunate. She is to be fully fitted for her stay with us, and I am making her your responsibility while with us. If she is damaged we may have to pay a surcharge, so try not to let that happen if you can. I will speak to the others as well, but just bear in mind that human females can be quite fragile."

"Yes sir" the proud young Begorian confirmed to his superior, also in my own language - I suspected - so as not to be rude.

What should have been terrifying to me; being little more than a toy - doll - in Farok's description to the young Rok - and by extension an inanimate object to be bartered for and then played with - was exciting. I had named myself on the spur of the moment after my own captain's antique toy doll though, so who exactly was to blame in this? A seemingly random thought then popped into my head, did my captain agree to a single week rental period for a case of their special whiskey, or a case for every week of rental? I couldn't remember at the moment, but this 'fitting' implied something just a little more permanent...

Rok's large hand went into the neck of my borrowed shirt to tug me along behind him as if I were a leashed pet, his fist gathering a bunch of the course material and tightening the garment about my body, forcing the itchy material to grind into my tender flesh. I looked back to see Farok watching his junior man lead me away, and with Rok looking forward Farok gave me a wink. I was left to wonder what that meant in Begorian culture as I was manhandled toward my fitting, whatever the hell that was.

The engineering spaces aboard the Xlant were greasy and hot, there being noises and clanks not heard on the Fortunate. Rok seemed not to care, as if these noises were normal, or possibly not as important as I was to him at that moment. We eventually approached a machine, which looked like an antique universal fabricator, and something more properly belonging in a museum rather than on a functioning spacecraft. The universal fabricator was a kind of three dimensional printer to make up metallic, or even non metallic tools and mechanical parts needed for the ship, but ones not brought along for the voyage for whatever reason. The Fortunate had several modern state of the art versions of the antique before me, but in her case they were mostly unused.

...One couldn't possibly travel with one of every repair part one might need, most certainly for an old ship like the Xlant on a long run, but if enough bulk raw material were brought along and a program were on hand to make the part needed, the ship could still be made to function with good engineers on hand. Some of the more experienced men would even write their own programs, improving the part that failed where necessary, making those men especially valuable in deep space. There were space ports where one could stop in if their broken ship could be made to travel there, but the inherent delays would ruin a shipping schedule, not to mention what the customs inspectors might then be able to find that wasn't on the manifest.

Worse yet, if the ship in question were to become disabled in a traveled shipping lane where it presented a hazard, the first one to take it in tow could claim salvage rights to a portion of it's cargo, and for obvious reasons that was to be avoided as well...

If the rest of the engineering spaces looked greasy, the space around the fabricator looked well traveled, and despite its apparent age it at least looked somewhat well maintained. It was no accident that Rok had stopped me in front of it, then grabbed my right arm and wrapped some transparent tape about my wrist, covering about four inches of my skin.

"What are you doing to me sir?" I asked, even though it was absurd to refer to the teen with such deference seeing as he was nearly ten years my junior by our calendar.

"Fitting you obviously, place your hand into the fabricator and don't move it" the young Begorian commanded.

I was terrified, but at least I had some idea what "fitting" was now. Rok seemed confident enough - although he had no skin of his own at risk - but with little choice I did as ordered, the machine coming to life and buzzing and clicking away once Rok pressed the start button. It tickled and warmed my skin, and I giggled with the assault, feeling foolish once again for not trusting those in a position over me for a second time in nearly the same day. The process was over in less than a minute; I didn’t know if this was fast or slow for such things as I had never seen the more modern fabricator used on the Fortunate a single time.

I pulled my wrist from the dark depths of the machine when permitted, and about it was an ornate silver cuff made from some lightweight metallic alloy, it about four inches in width and rounded on the edges like a fine bangle bracelet. I examined it's surface and found pictographs, and a button to push, but no seam with which to remove it from my arm. It wasn't tight enough to restrict my blood flow, but it wasn't likely to slide over my wrist without opening, even with my incredible flexibility. I was impressed with the results and told Rok as much, the young man confirming with some obvious pride that it was he himself that had written the program, although at first I didn't believe him.

I allowed him to take my other wrist much more confidently as I continued to examine my new bangle, I eventually asked him how one removes such a thing. Rok just smiled at me, telling me such would remain a secret for the time being, an understandable position if these cuffs were somehow intended to keep me from wandering about.

When my wrists were done my ankles were next, but despite my flexibility I couldn't stand on one tiny foot and balance still enough with the other inside the - for me - chest level fabricator, it at a much more convenient height for the tall Begorians rather than myself. Still Rok looked impressed that I could stretch enough to even get my ankle inside the machine, my borrowed shirt hiking itself to my waist with my efforts though.

As if the young man did such things all the time, he simply pulled over a chain hoist that rolled on an overhead beam, the device seeming antique as compared to the technology of the Fortunate and also belonging in a museum. This mechanical hoist might have been older than the ship itself, but it still worked when Rok tugged at it's lifting chain - and would continue to do so even if the ship's main power were lost - a sensible thing to have around in an emergency, I reasoned.

Rok pushed the button on both of my cuffs one at a time, and from each sprang an eyelet with which to secure them to almost anything. It was apparently a cuff when one was needed, and a kind of jewelry when not, but still more elaborate than what appeared necessary to keep me from wandering about. Again I knew I was missing something - just like on the Fortunate - I was developing a kind of woman's intuition, I realized after a moment’s reflection.

Rok linked my cuff's to each other, and then to the lifting hook, and after that he operated the lifting chain. My arms were lifted effortlessly as I allowed myself to be hoisted from the floor, I wondered then if the Xlant even had selective gravity control in the compartment. I felt my full weight on my arms just as I had done in the showers with the first officer aboard the Fortunate, and I was not only reminded of that, but of Begorian brides strung up after the wedding and then flogged for erotic entertainment.

The cuffs were quite comfortable even though I was hanging from them, as if they were specifically made for me alone - which they obviously were - I thought with a silent laugh. I also realized the holographic image of myself suspended in the cargo office wore similar cuffs about her limbs, this surely not a coincidence. With my feet well clear of the deck, and my hips at the level of the fabricator's opening, Rok then guided one of my legs into it after removing my high heel, stroking my instep playfully and nearly driving me over the edge, I was so pent up.

Rok held my free ankle firm in his large and warm hand as the machine did it's work binding my other, his other hand on my butt to keep me still. It was such a large appendage that it covered a good part of my tiny backside, his center finger deliciously close to providing me what I needed either by accident, or design. He had obviously thought this procedure through, this young Begorian man rather deliberate in his actions, unlike his human counterparts back on my home world, or even myself when his age.

The machine tickled me savagely while doing it's job, I giggled and squirmed about, Rok tightening his grip on my ankle to keep me still.

"You are a hypersensitive one, aren't you?" he asked rhetorically.

"I'm very ticklish Rok sir." At least these days, I thought to myself.

"Oh, that is good to know" he commented somewhat mischievously. "Is this the same for all human females?" he then asked, his interest in both the now, and the future, obvious.

"I should think so in spots, but it's something that one usually keeps to oneself."

"A weakness to be potentially exploited by an aggressor then?" he asked.

"Oh crap, what have I done?" I thought to myself. This foreign teen obviously opportunistic, and curious enough to explore and exploit such weaknesses. Was I to be his science project, there to be experimented on until there was nothing left to learn, and only then used like I so desperately needed?

"I wouldn't think so sir" I lied.

"Perhaps we both have something to learn from each other then" he offered ominously.

With my ankle encased in a similar cuff to the ones on my wrists that I was presently suspended from, Rok attached the ring on that one to the same hook my wrists were hung from, leaving my last free appendage sticking out from the mass of me hanging from the hook. My flexibility surprised Rok, he then used both of his powerful arms to hold my slender leg in position as the machine did it's job, my body wanting to pivot about randomly as I hung before him from the hoist.

With that leg similarly cuffed it was as well hung from the hook, and I was helplessly suspended and wondering what was next. I didn't have long to wait as Rok spun me on the hoist and wrapped still more of the clear film around my neck, I was terrified to put my head into that machine though. He acted as if he were just doing a boring job, nothing special, casually proceeding as if he did this all the time. His confidence wasn't however infectious, it was after all my neck, and not his.

Rok saw my fear, possibly even smelled it. "If I wished to harm you, I could find a far more efficient and entertaining way to do so Barbie."

I knew that this was true, and it did seem familiar, almost like Mr. Cook's five points of restraint. There was apparently something universal about securing a humanoid body this way, and I did after all volunteer for this.

"I'm frightened that I will move and hurt myself Rok sir."

"I won't let that happen," he told me convincingly.

With the matter settled, Rok maneuvered my head into the open chamber as I hung helplessly from my bonds like a captured game animal, he then came around to the other side of the device and held my head firmly. When I had stopped twitching he pushed the button somehow. I was not able to see as my eyes were closed and inside the machine, but the process was fortunately over before I had to breathe again.

I was then rolled while hanging from the hoist by my appendages through the engineering spaces like a piece of broken machinery, coming to rest near a workbench. The area was even more noisy than it was near the fabricator, and oh so hot, my body freely perspiring as I hung there waiting for Rok to do who knows what to his captive.

He then lowered me onto his workbench, it's metal surface feeling hot enough to cook me, I for a brief moment felt like a holiday roast being prepared for the feast...


Continues in

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