Gromet's PlazaTransformation Stories

The Ship's Queen

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2024 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; M+/f; fpov; frame; bond; transform; M2F; objectify; susp; whip; oral; collar; sex; scifi; naked; cons; XX

Continues from

Part Eight: Prisoner of the Xlant II

…The unyielding frame I had been attached to wasn't going anywhere, and I felt like a part of this inanimate object because of this, my rotations eventually coming to a near frictionless stop. In other words I was little more than a thing, really a thing trapped within a thing; almost like a butterfly caught in a hungry spider's web. If not quite a device myself, then something affixed and mounted to that device, and therefore still an integral part of it. I had been an actual new crew member onboard the Fortunate, at least for a very short period of time, but then I had been made - or one could say remade - into something much more fantastic and useful for the crew to use; and use me they did! I'd been used before though, so the precedent had already been set, but I digress. Anyway, this almost made me a technological accessory device aboard the Fortunate as well, perhaps an organically breathing and desired one - maybe even a needed one to help maintain a highly skilled crew at peak efficiency - but this is the direction my mind drifted towards when it was quiet and I could think just a bit introspectively.

I was, in a way, like the replicator on either ship, there when needed, used frantically until the need was satisfied and the "crisis" was averted, and then forgotten about and put away until next time. I had most recently even been bartered off and lent to another ship for THEIR entertainment, and these Begorians that I had been traded off to - while humanoid beings - weren't quite exactly like me, either the old pathetic male version of me, or this new and better female one.

I was also a far better woman than a man, at least so far, if my experiences with the crew are any indication at all. Certainly my well-entertained wife back on planet - and likely at this very second in the arms and bed of a much better man - would even agree. She wasn't a terrible or evil person at all, she just wanted things at a very basic human level that I simply couldn't provide, and she was, in a way, unfairly stuck with me out of a sense of commitment and obligation. If things went as presently planned, I would eventually return home, and she would once again have to settle for me and pretend that this arrangement was somehow satisfactory for her, living with this far less than desirable human man that she had once made a commitment to. Perhaps she had grown out of that early commitment as much as I had? Now there was some deep introspection! Anyway, this contrast between both "men" would of course be even more obvious after spending extended time with that other better and more masculine friend of mine, the one that could give and do the things that she needed for her own personal fulfillment.

Life is short, I told myself, choose wisely and try not to hurt anybody in the process. These words whispered to myself would of course come back to haunt me in the near future…

In a way I actually pitied her; she deserved to be happy, and I realized that she would likely be the happiest if I actually failed to come home at the end of this tour. It's sad to think such things, but that was the ugly stark truth of it. I wasn't self-destructive myself though, I'd never really had those kinds of thoughts, but perhaps I simply needed to be a little less selfish, and this crazy thing that the crew had conspired to do to me pointed that out; made my other masculine deficiencies glaringly obvious. 

I liked this new sexy body of mine too, and this new life of intimate serving purpose, even while left hanging within Rok's frame contraption and alone with my crazy thoughts. But, what to ultimately do with that desire; and what to do with the old modified masculine me sitting inert in a medical regeneration device back on board the Fortunate? I simply loathed everything about that old me, wondering why anybody would choose that over THIS.

I don't know how long I hung there, but it was minutes and not hours before Rok came back for me, looking at both my helpless displayed body and his handiwork with a sense of pride. "I did that" I could almost hear him saying in his mind as his muscular chest pumped up a bit, although it was also clear that he didn't go to all this trouble to simply have a human female decoration, a conversation piece mounted in a convenient display frame. 

"It's time to share you with the crew," Rok tells me almost reluctantly. I know it's the reason for my presence here on his ship, why I was bartered for and traded off to these mountainous men, and to be honest this modified body of mine is quite hungry for the attention, even from the charming and massive Begorians. This frame contraption makes me feel like a human sexual appliance for their convenient and easy use though, so to say that I was feeling both objectified, and lusted for, would be an understatement. These "men" have gone without for an extended time on their long voyage, but I'm here to fix that, traded for some expensive contraband, which again makes me feel like a thing, rather than a human woman, even an artificially created one. 

Will they actually return me when they're done with me, or kill me with endless rough sex? Both are deep down fears of mine, although I question why, as either eventuality would leave my poor wife back on-planet in a much better place. Lost crew members were paid out handsomely to the survivors left behind, it was after all both a moral, as well as a financial reason for the device that my other body presently rested in. Why lose decades of experience to an accident, when it was both preventable, and reversible, right up until the moment the spirit left the body to go where all the spirits go. For all our technological brilliance as a people, nobody has explained exactly why the body gets a few grams lighter after the last breath has been taken; it's one of the last mysteries to be solved.

 Anyway, in my particular case I have no technological experience that needed to be salvaged at almost any cost, so tying up the device to reconstruct my defective male body seemed almost a waste, despite the good doctor promising me a better body in exchange for playing along with the men as willingly as I clearly have. Due to my unique history, and ultra submissive character profile, this "playing along" wasn't exactly a hardship for me though…

…Both my mount and I are wheeled down several corridors, with at least a dozen turns, so much so that I am truly lost. We've picked up several older men along the way, but Rok, the most junior crewmember, is leading the procession. Funeral or wedding procession is the obvious question, but I have to agree with the captain's earlier words, my Begoran bride's gown would have made this perfect for the men. We end up in a half full cargo compartment, I assume the largest available one for this use. I only count nine men, Rok telling me that the captain has volunteered to take the bridge watch so his men can have their fun first; this Begorian captain obviously a bit different than my own.

The old ship's engineer is apparently second in seniority aboard this ship, and it's his duty to therefore officiate the "ceremony," although to be sure I'm not actually getting married today to anybody. Seeing how it's Rok's first voyage, and he's apparently never gotten laid in space either, he's my stand in groom for the purposes of this little lusty charade. I feel the Begorian's collective lust, I smell it too, just as they likely smell my own desire for them. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity though, and before Rok has an opportunity to consummate our fictitious marriage before his crewmates - before they get their own chance to do the same - I stop him. 

"Rok sir, pleeeaaasssseeeee! You know what I need to make this really special; make me scream, before you make me scream!" I tell him. There I go, I've asked for it, there is no going back now. He looks a bit shocked, perhaps even reluctant, possibly thinking my earlier banter was just that, not something to be shared with the entire crew. But the other Begorian's have now heard it as well, and they give him a big collective smile, and one even slaps his back, as if to say "go ahead kid, she's asked for it." 

I've seen the holographic version of this once, and to say that it pushed my enhanced buttons would be an understatement. There is something about being strung up and whipped, before being used by a man, or even men, or even a crew of oversexed Begorian men. It's the loss of control, it's the "you can do anything to me that you can imagine, and I have no way to stop you" mentality. In other words it's impossibly submissive and giving; existing for another's pleasure alone. I also think I know why the other ship's queen, the faux one, self-destructed; men for the most part aren't made like this. There are of course obvious exceptions though, and here I am, although at this point most certainly not as a man, that "shoe" no longer properly fits, or more accurately never really did…

There is no proper whip on hand, and these horned up Begorians aren't likely to start an all hands search for one with me literally hanging there and waiting for them either. Each of the Begorians has their own personal coil of sailor's strapping kitted out on their work uniforms though, and several lengths of this are "married" together lengthwise until they had collectively fabricated a semi-flexible wide strap, the purpose for which obvious. This isn't a proper flesh cutting whip like I had seen wielded on my holographic likeness back on the Fortunate, but something a bit less severe and more playful than that. 

Rok swings his fabricated device experimentally and contacts my taunt bare upper shoulders for his first stroke, and the Begorians collectively utter a single syllable word in what I assume is Batchi. It's a ritualistic sounding group count, like a touchstone to their missed homeworld social ceremonies quite some distance away. I flinched when the first stroke landed, shaking and rattling the frame I'm affixed to, but I haven't even yelped, let alone scream in terror as my one time gagged hologram had done. 

"Harder, husband," I tell my faux new groom, "I'm not the least bit fragile you know."

Not intending to, I've somehow wounded Rok's manliness with his crewmates by suggesting such, and as a result the second stroke can be heard whistling through the air before it lands, just a bit below the first strike. I grunt out an anguished sound this time and flex away from the assault, but pleasure and pain have perversely mixed in my modified female brain, and the sound I make is one much more like sex that torture. The Begorians count this one out as well in their native language, perfectly in unison. There is also a building collective lust in the compartment, like watching a sporting event in a big stadium as the players are about to score before the clock runs out; the countdown, or in this case likely the count-up, to the big event. This feels like the single missing element that will make this authentic for these large and needy Begorian men, and I'm supplying that need; it's a submissive's dream come to fruition. 

My "wedding" strokes slowly proceed down the back of my hanging body as the Begorians lustily both watch and count, my womanhood freely running down both of my spread thighs; a "little" detail they haven't overlooked. I more easily smell their manly collective lust as they start to strip out of their uniforms in anticipation, and they easily both see and smell my own. The tenth stroke by my count lands below my ass, my face flushed with desire, my nips rock hard and demanding rough attention too. My entire body feels like my face does, flushed with blood and way past ready to copulate, just as it has been designed to do by the good doctor aboard the Fortunate. 

I was delivered to these Begorian men caged, naked, and already very needy, being five point suspended and whipped driving me to another plain entirely; like half way towards real sexual insanity. Anyway, my frame that I'm mounted within was apparently pinned in the upright position by somebody at some point, but post whipping is free to again rotate about its center axis, which one of the unseen Begorian's does with a great shove, sending me head over heels several times. I'm stopped inverted, and Rok, who is now nude - and sporting the biggest bit of erect man hardware I've ever seen in the flesh - walks up to me in front and goes down on me. I can't say that he's as good at this as I once was, but he gets points for effort while noisily devouring my juicy womanhood. He tells his crew members that I'm delicious, in my own language no doubt for my benefit, and in turn each of the men needs to have a taste for themselves. At one point I'm having something close to real penetrative sex with the chief engineer's massive tongue, so very good for me. I'm keeping my very first ever Berorian-driven orgasm for my new husband Rok - or trying to - but much more of this and I won't have a choice.

I also have this insane desire to return the favor and deep throat Rok, but the size of his manly appendage makes this impractical; the rough equivalent of swallowing my own arm from my wrist to my elbow, all the while wearing a collar around my neck. My body has been specifically modified for all kinds of sex though, but somewhere in the back of my mind is somebody once telling me that Begorian women don't do oral, or even back passage things. From a practical, "give me a baby" perspective, only one kind of sex really counts for its intended biological purpose though, so this maybe makes sense for a culture once depopulated by both wars and disease. 

But it's finally time to consummate our fictitious marriage, and Rok has rotated my frame again to a horizontal position that has me hanging from my five points of suspension while mostly looking at the floor, stepping in between my widely spread legs and lining up on his intended target. He's not quite in the right spot and I have to tell him to go higher like twice in a row, but perhaps Begorian female physiology is slightly different; even though he was just intimately there with his face a few minutes earlier and should know better. The second time he was actually in perfect alignment with a different spot entirely, and I squealed and told him he was too high now, which made his crewmates snicker at his expense. Anyway, Rok managed to get his massive Begorian self into the right spot rather gently, which was actually good for me as I felt things within my hanging body slowly moving around to accommodate his huge intrusion deep inside my bound body.

…There was no foreplay here, other than my whipping, and being affixed within the frame device Rok had constructed leaves me vulnerable to their whims. The female me was used to this more utilitarian version of sex in space obviously; I was created, modified, and super ready almost perpetually for a singular purpose - no monthly hormonal deviations to contend with, so my "feelings" don't really count. But back on planet with my wife, especially while courting, it's a whole different game. Then again, I had watched my best friend kind of skip a few steps in that established courtship routine, perhaps because she sensed that he had what she both wanted, and needed, just there for the asking. She had made me jump through proverbial hoops to claim her, where my friend had quite the opposite experience…

Anyway, I can't begin to explain how that felt - actual Begorian sex - but I was already gushing with lust, then whipped up even hotter than that, stripped and displayed to a small group of large and horny off world men, and then of course having sex with something the size of my forearm. I don't know if natural women feel these feelings with a truly large man, but I swear that I can feel my hanging belly being deflected out, from the inside. The heat of Rok's invading appendage is just wild too, he's just a few degrees warmer than my own human core temperature, so a great many new sensations to try to keep up with. 

Rok is stroking in slowly as his crewmate friends watch and cheer him on; the intrusion has quite literally taken my breath away, but in a very good and needed way. I kind of expect some kind of mass orgy, with each of the other men taking whatever they can get ahold of, but it doesn't quite go like that, it's much more of a queue up and wait your turn kind of event. He's stroking ever deeper, maybe one inch at a time, but there are a lot of inches there, again, Rok is the size of my forearm. Then it occurs to me, he's going slowly, expecting to painfully "bottom out" on my internal baby making girl parts, the ones I specifically don't have. This tells me that he not only doesn't want to injure me, but that he's either been told to expect this, or that he's been with a human woman before.

Maybe the other Begorians are watching for this too - it certainly is a kind of live-action porn show for them - but with both of Rok's massive hot hands on my hips, I then feel a third, following along on the outside of my belly, the same one that Rok is slightly stretching and distending from the inside. It's a gentle and caring touch, but soon other hands are following along too, and with my panting in time with Rok's ever deeper thrusts the men see this unstopped intrusion as permission to touch further; both from Rok, and myself. 

My toes are curled, I'm making fists, and I feel about every vein and artery standing up and out on my head as if I'm being strangled, it feels that magnificent. Extra hot to the touch hands with thick and rough fingers play with my swinging assets, and my modified buds overwhelm me with sensory input. I then feel Rok bottom out, not internally though, but with his hot thrusting hips tight up against my ass and legs. The men take notice in rather shocked fashion, I can hear but not understand their rapid words in Batchi, and my first long overdue orgasm in a standard day has me testing the strength of Rok's marital breeding mount frame contraption.

He's clearly not hurting me in the least, so who could blame him for upping his aggression? He pounds me mercilessly through my orgasm, the little concussions of his terminated thrusts rocking and rattling my mount structure, making it sound even more violent than it is. I have to remind myself that this "man" is the equivalent of a teenager on my own homeworld, so the fact that he didn't pop himself off in like three seconds is just mind blowing. Up until that orgasm-moment I'd been suppressing my vocals, but now I'm wailing for all I was worth, actually running out of air and just living in the moment. Rok pops off a few minutes later, painting the deep clutching interior sleeve constructed within my body cavity with his hot Begorian baby making goo, somewhere up just under my swinging boobs - or so it feels - he was actually that deep within me. 

Now if this were an actual Begorian wedding, I assume Rok would try to breed me like several more times, I'm sure the teen has that kind of stamina, but maybe in a nod to his patient crewmates he instead pulls his mostly erect Begorian man parts from my depths, the feeling of being empty and missing something permeates. Now apparently I'm to get my bride's kiss, not quite the way we do it back on my own homeworld though… 

"Thank you," Rok tells me breathlessly after my kiss - that tastes like my own girl parts - but I correct him and thank him instead. I've playfully sucked the tip of his very meaty tongue, his body a few degrees warmer than my own and the sensation unique. I'm also feeling impossibly oral, even though that may be self-destructive where Begorian's are concerned. Number two in the queue behind my hanging self is already getting into position, I feel his hot hairy legs between my own spread ones, but my focus is properly on my new faux husband. His still mostly erect Begorian appendage is a mess though, sticking not quite straight out from his body, but obviously ready to go again, and I'm super curious to see if he has any sweet fruit pie to offer me, and what the Begorian version of that tastes like in combination with my own natural juices. 

"I've left your magnificent manhood a mess, husband of mine" I tell him in a sultry voice, my offer just can't be more clear. Now it's also rumored that Begorian women just don't do this, or so I've been told, but I'm not Begorian and still want to try. Anyway, culturally speaking sloppy seconds are apparently not a problem for a ship full of horned up Begorians, and already man number two is pushing into my squishy depths, eventually touching places no human man possibly could; my back reflexively arching and my mouth opening in a long wail. If nothing else, Rok's offered messy appendage conveniently muffles my wailing, and he cautiously feeds me ever more of it as I nurse on it hungrily, all while trying not to be overcome by what's happening elsewhere. It's not quite sweet fruit pie, meatier I suppose, but still very tasty, like this is almost a new food group for me. I'm of course left wondering what Begorian cum tastes like without my specific bodily modifications; as in is it not ordinarily palatable for most?

Rok just isn't getting very deeply into my throat though, his attempt choking off even my modified airway, but possibly only due to my collar. The Begorian drilling into me from behind me is every bit as large as Rok, but not quite so gentle, his thick fingers digging into my hips and he slams us together, rocking me the little bit that he can in my breeding mount. He as well is astonished that he can go all the way without bottoming out inside of me first, the slap and concussion of our copulating bodies rattling my frame, suggesting Rok's "overengineered" device was actually a prudent design. He abandons my hips for a serious reach-around mashing handful of my swinging boobs, and that plus everything else he was doing stops my words from logically forming. I'm a creature built for sex, and oh boy, is this sex.

I was left tremoring and making unintelligible babbling noises while racked by that long drawn out orgasm - actually it was a series of them back to back - but with that eventually past I now tell Rok that I think I could do something special for him if he could release my collar for a bit. The others waiting their turn - who are all senior - tell him to go ahead, that she's, meaning of course me, isn't going anywhere. 

The collar that was molded about my neck isn't easily coming off though, in fact, I'm not entirely sure that it can be removed at this point. Rok does unpin it from my breeding mount though, and I try to take him again, this time with much better results. I can actually cock my neck like this, opening up my modified throat passage to accommodate something pretty large, apparently even Rok sized. As he carefully pushes down my throat - testing my proverbial limits - I noisily orgasm still again, contained within my modified throat passage is still another strategically placed erogenous zone, to obviously be exploited by the men of both crews. This provides me with a learned desire to submit and provide this "service" for any men who don't want, or have time for, full on sex; saiting their manly lust in rather quick fashion when that's their preference. 

Anyway, breathing is still a slight struggle with the collar still on, but once relaxed, and that frantic "I'm bound and I can't breathe" feeling passes, it's just fun and games with a crew full of horned up "foreign" men. Rok's hard and ripped teen stomach muscles are soon pressed tight up against my forehead, and the guys can't believe this either, their banter both in their language, and my own, spirited. Rok eventually unloads half way down to my stomach - and not that I can see such, but I imagine his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he does so - feeding me like no Begorian woman ever, or even a natural human woman could accommodate. They now know I'm special - perhaps even something created and not organically grown - that they bartered for an extraordinary human playtoy; no buyers remorse here though, even post Begorian orgasm when men of all kinds get a bit more rational. 

I've also intermittently felt several sets of inhumanly large and warm hands feeling the men's passage up through the core on my modified body, feeling on the outside of my belly what was sliding around inside of me. This feeling was unique for me as well, but my body was designed to both give pleasure to the men it entertained, and also myself when I was a "good girl" and submitted to their manly desires. This was possibly an unintended consequence of my transformation, but in combination with my well documented submissive nature score, it left me hungry for manly approval. It was kind of like my junior college days of dressing up and entertaining the dominant upperclassmen, "use me for your carnal pleasure, and then tell me that I did good, that I was a good girl." I got something from that myself obviously, otherwise I wouldn't have willingly participated; which to be honest I did many times over. Such early and "vibrant" experiences I think conditioned my mind to a lifetime of submission and servitude.

The chief engineer was man number two, and to him I was likely no more than a lukewarm human socket to sate his manly desires, someplace comfortable and quasi-natural to dump his seed; so no love there. Still he was nice enough about it, enjoying the orgasm my body gave him at least as much as I enjoyed my own. He had other duties and responsibilities aboard the Xlant though, so I almost expected him to get to them when he pulled out and slapped my ass with a crack, as if to say, "well done and thank you." I've clamped down on his mass as he exited my womanhood, scraping him as clean as I can, something I forgot to do with Rok, my faux husband. 

Rok rather sweetly offered him my mouth next - for clean up service before getting back into his uniform - stepping out of the way so that I could do for him what I had just done for his most junior crewmember. Number three has yet to take his place behind me, the entire crew, less the captain, wishing to see me take the chief engineer orally, as if this was an impossible magic trick; and I the lusty magician about to perform it for them. He's not a monster though, as he looks down into my eyes as if to ask "are you really good with trying this?"

"Play the part" I tell myself, "let it flow through you and act like what you appear to be. Give these large men what they need, what they paid for."

"I've left your magnificent manhood a mess kind Sir; how do you wish to punish me for this transgression?" I ask with lust dripping from every syllable, licking my lips as seductively as I can to punctuate my offer. This isn't their base language, so I think some of my offer may have been lost to translation; but it wasn't.

Soon the chief engineer is slowly stroking ever deeper into my open and willing mouth and throat, all as his comrades watch and cheer him on; even though I have all the "work" here. It's not quite the way he took my womanhood though, this is just a bit easier, as if he knew could seriously injure me with his manly appendage; and therefore ruin his crewmates' fun. Maybe having such a magnificently large manly weapon makes one circumspect in it's use; "those given great power are also given great responsibilities," or something like that. Anyway, I obviously have teeth and could fight back in some limited way, but I couldn't fathom doing so under any circumstance that I could imagine. This brings about an epiphany for me, I have almost no residual "self-preservation" reflex in this new body of mine now; perhaps the good doctor turned that off for me as well, to make the things I do for either crew palatable for me. Getting into the transport device had been a true struggle, but that felt like a lifetime ago, and these bodily modifications were in a state of flux for me anyway; ever changing and evolving as this faux feminine identity of mine became more real. Natural women had all of their childhood to "grow" into becoming a woman, where I've had to do it on the quick. To be honest, being a five on the submissive score I had much less self-preservation than most others anyway, so here again the doctor's tweaking of my mind may have been for naught, or dare I say overkill.

As I take the chief engineer and do everything I know I'd like to have done to me at one time a very long ago - really a literal lifetime ago - he reaches over both me and the frame to swat my ass playfully, likely giving me the "punishment" that I had both suggested and offered. I giggle and smile around his massive appendage as my ass jiggles, and the others both hear and see this, proof positive that I'm really enjoying my time with them. A few more smacks sets him off, and once again I'm being force fed a very special Begorian meal deep into my belly, I left thinking that I won't need to eat normal food for a week at this rate. 

As the kind man withdraws his softening self I tighten my lips and playfully drag my teeth to scrape him clean, my tongue as well aiding in the effort. As he pulls free of me there is a pop sound with the terminated suction I have provided; it's not a big deal to me, but to the watching Begorians this funny sound just catches their attention. A single tendril of our combined juices join us, and we then make eye contact, and a spark of humanity passes from he to I, but I beat him to a "thank you" for what he has given me; both a literal piece of him twice over, and some toe curling fantastic orgasms too. If I had done for my wife back on planet one single time just half as good as he had just done for me, I wouldn't have a care in the world on my return, but I both hadn't and couldn't; so therefore I did…

She was no longer mine, that was almost certain; returning to learn so was just a formality. She was never really mine though, I just had temporary possession, like a renter in another's home; occupancy without ownership. This would all be easier for me if she were a terrible person, but in truth she wasn't, she was just a woman looking for a new life, some new fun and sexual adventures; pretty much exactly like this new me…

The chief engineer dressed and left to his duties, and my frame was rotated to now present my back to the floor of the compartment. One of the other men silently explained something to me, whispered intimately in my ear; in short the chief engineer had no life and wife to return home to now, that this ship and life WAS his life, and what I just did for him, this act of sacrificial physical sacrifice, was well appreciated by all of them. 

Not that I necessarily believe in things like this, but I suspect that somehow, this was that shared spark between us, a shared and perhaps dismal future awaits both of us back on our own home worlds; without some extraordinary intervention… 

There are seven "men" left in the compartment though, each with his own needs to be addressed, Rok as well abandoning me to his crewmates so as to perhaps keep an eye on his boss; post orgasm low. He's a fine young man, as I would almost guarantee that his own hormonal needs have yet to be fully satisfied. I doubt there are many in my own culture that would have chosen as the teen Rok just had; something indicative of my own lacking culture perhaps?

The remaining men think to go easier on me, taking their pound of human female flesh yes, but also suspecting that I was getting sore and raw, as any natural woman likely would be by now. I'm not though, if anything, seeing a que of needy men, smelling their desire for me as well, has stoked this lusty fire within. I go back to "no self-preservation," as in if the crew were to sell me off and drop me in the middle of an overcrowded prison camp exercise yard full of thousands of incarcerated scoundrels; that I'd be dead before I either lost my desire, or became too sore to go on.

Number three to have me is the man who whispered in my ear, and he's being gentle, but I don't need gentle; I need Begorian rough! I tell him so, tell him to up his game, all while mounted in a Begorian Bride's breeding mount and helpless before them; so maybe not a well thought out plan on my part. He slaps my ass a few times with one of his massive hands as he continues to thrust into me with near-comical squishy sounds, and oh boy does that do it for me, clamping down on him and sending him over the top in record Begorian time. He's still thrusting and slightly squirting as he softens inside of me, his expression one of disappointment, but with himself. I've actually overstimulated a Begorian, made him unload his seed early into my depths, but it had been a long cruise for the men, so one must make allowances.

I smile and say I'm sorry, wondering if I'll be here long enough to make it up to him, as in one-on-one "have me until you can't any longer." I expect the pattern to repeat, and for me to deepthroat him clean next, but I'm guessing this particular man is a "once and done" Begorian, it rather confidence inspiring to learn that not all of them are sexual athletes. Back on my own home world, in my ill-fitting masculine disguise, I was most certainly a "once and done" man, but in this superior feminine persona I don't actually know if there is a limit as to how many orgasms I can physically have. As if trying this theory out, the men all have me in a rather orderly line one at a time, dress and then depart for their duties, less of course the captain…


To be continued… 

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