Specter, p.7
Specter, page 7
“And you’re going to use it to get me to knock you up again,” Da’kota said, his lopsided grin glinting.
“You’re no fun!” Lilith exclaimed, dragging out a small black box from the wall, flicking a switch on the side. “Just sit down and listen to my voice. Okay. Breath in and out. In and out, in... and…”
Her voice slowed down as Da’kota felt a strange thrumming buzzing through his forebrain. His ears twitched up and he felt his attention starting to wander. He wasn’t thinking about Ophelia, or Ant, or Lilith. He was just thinking about the slow, gentle movement of those plush, kissable lips. Every word she spoke was like pure, delicious honey, even if each individual one seemed to come from father and father away. Those lips formed a new set of words.
Take…
Off…
Your…
Pants…
Da’kota’s hands moved along his collar, finding the zipper. His eyes half closed and he felt a distant sense that this was... not wrong exactly, but not quite right either. It was a tiny core of pure steel, rooted deep within his chest. It radiated. It hummed. It rang out with defiance as those lips formed those words again, more insistently now. Da’kota blinked, then clenched his teeth.
No. No. No!
Suddenly, everything was clear again and he had Lilith pressed down onto the fold-out examining table, which creaked slightly as she squeaked and flailed. “What?” She gasped as his hands took hold of her filmy blue jumpsuit and tore. Her massive drow titties spilled free, her ebony black nipples jutting and hard. “H-Hey, you’re supposed to be-mmphh!” She moaned as his free hand cupped her cheek and he pressed his thumb into her mouth. His extra spider limbs extended and flicked and whirred, tugging at his collar and her tattered clothing, whisking away every scrap in a flash as Da’kota leaned forward and growled, hard and eager.
“I’m inoculated.”
“Mmph!”
“And your ass is mine.”
His lower limbs grabbed her ankles, spreading them wide. His mid limbs wrapped around her waist. His upper limbs snapped onto her wrists, pushing them above her head, locking them together as his flesh hand slid from her mouth to her tit, squeezing her luscious black titty with enough pressure to distend it slightly between his fingers. The roughness, it seemed, was exactly what some part of Lilith badly wanted. She gasped and moaned, her eyes half closed, her hairless cunt dripping with eager juices.
“S-Stop, men aren’t... I forgot how... oh goddess forgive me, I forgot how good it is to submit to you…” She gasped softly. “Oh N’loth, oh fuck.”
He tugged her nipple while his other hand gripped onto his dick, holding up and gliding the tip against her cunt, teasing her black folds as he crooned softly. “Say ‘please’.”
“W-What?” Lilith’s eyes widened.
“I know you can.”
“I-” Lilith trembled. “I-” She closed her eyes. “F-Fuck me. Fuck me, put a spiderling in me, put a whole litter of them in my eager drowish womb, I need to be knocked up more than I need fucking oxygen, slam my ass so hard the fucking bed breaks, please, please, please, breed me, Da’kota!” By the time she’d finished, her voice was ringing off the medbay walls.
Da’kota allowed himself the slightest of smirks.
Then he plunged into her. To the hilt. His balls clapped against her meaty buttocks and Lilith drew in a shocked gasp so loud that it seemed to suck every bit of air out of the room. Her spine arched so hard that her butt almost lifted up and off the medical table, then she was slammed down again by all eight of Da’kota’s arms – both metal and flesh – pinning her down as he started to fuck her body like he was churning butter. His balls slapped against her with the meaty, thick sound of a palm – plap plap plap – and the only thing louder was the slick, slippery noise of her cunt as she took his dick again and again and again. Then both was drowned out by her moans, as Lilith began to get control over her voice.
“Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Breed me! Breed me! Fucking breed me!” she gasped as Da’kota leaned back – using his six metal limbs to keep her in place, freeing up his right arm to lift up. He tapped at his daedela, bringing the holographic interface up and activating the camera record function. He got Lilith’s orgasmic face and heaving breasts directly in the center of the camera as he filmed her, his hips driving with the same precision that he had been taught in training – his dick plunging in and slamming into a G-spot that he was fairly sure Lilith didn’t even know she had.
“Oh Goddess!” she wailed, her back arching, her red eyes closing.
Da’kota grinned. “Wish you were here, baby,” he murmured into the audio pick up. “Gonna knock this cutie up and think of you. See you soon.”
He kept filming until Lilith was a blue haired, bedraggled mess, her eyes closed, her whole body glazed with glittering beads of sweat – and then thrust deep into her trembling, twitching pussy and unleashed every single drop of his seed. He grunted quietly as he fucked into her once, twice, three times more – then drew out. He brought the camera down for the shot he knew Ophelia would be going nuts for, taking in the thick globs of his bright white cum, running down Lilith’s meaty ass.
“Love you,” he said, cheerfully.
Then he earmarked the footage to be sent, the moment they had a secure commlink, back home.
CHAPTER FIVE
The shardcraft plunged towards the farcaster as Da’kota checked over his sparrowhawk armor. He was just fine tuning the spinnerette when Z’illa kicked the back of his chair, jarring his attention from the delicate work and towards her frown.
“All right,” she said. “Since this is your probation, you have to tell me your plan.”
Da’kota pursed his lips. He considered his options – his first, immediate response would likely have gotten him shived. He nodded after a bit. “We use an illusion to make the shardcraft look like some scummy, beat up shuttle – something a drow male could get at short notice. Then I take the lead, act like a refugee from the Empire, and we find the nearest wildcat colony and I start asking questions.”
Z’illa grunted. “Decent,” she said, which from her was quite a compliment. She turned and headed back towards the cockpit, while Da’kota shook his head and went back to tuning his armor.
“What the fuck is her problem?” Ant asked, sticking her head somewhat unexpectedly from a vent in the ceiling.
“Whoa, Ant!” Da’kota said, grinning at her. “I thought you were claustrophobic.”
Ant sighed, then slid herself from the vent with the normal grace of a drow, her spine arching around until her feet touched the ground and she was able to swing her arms around and then stretch and settle into a normal standing position. “I worked on it while you were in training. I didn’t like how I, uh…” She looked away, rubbing the nape of her neck.
Da’kota smiled. “It’s good,” he said. “And Z’illa is just conservative.”
“So, she’s a misandrist pig,” Ant snapped back. “That goes beyond conservative. Conservative is ‘oh I want a moderate tax cut on my spider futures’, not ‘I think men should go back to the kitchen and stop wearing clothes’.”
Da’kota chuckled. “Maybe don’t say that so loudly. It’s not a very big ship.”
Ant snorted. “Lilith and I have been through worse than anything a jumped up specter can do to us.” She sat down across from him at the table, taking one of his other gauntlets up. She narrowed her eyes at the articulated joints and seams, then hissed softly. “Where are the safety interlocks on these things?”
“It doesn’t have any,” Da’kota said, taking the gauntlet back. “It’s a belt of ogre giant strength run straight into your body.”
“How do you not kill yourself!?” Ant asked.
Da’kota shot her an even look, his lips pursed.
Ant frowned.
“Okay, so maybe I should be a little scared of pathfinders,” she said, lifting her palms and spreading her fingers in a gesture like she was backing away from a bomb. “How many of you even survived training?”
“All, actually. Healing magic is fairly good and they started us really, really, really slowly on these things,” Da’kota said. “Though, it’s honestly the jet boots and friction-less energy skis that I found more dangerous than the grip strength.”
“I thought those were just in the video games,” Ant muttered.
“Fully adaptive camouflage, shield emitters, ablative armor, life support, artificial spinarettes, friction-less skis, jetpack functionality, the only thing the sparrowhawk class armor lacks is a quick release for the underwear.” Da’kota gave her a thin smile. “Makes your job a bit tricky if you’re a silverhawk diplomat, considering how much of those courses were just how to get an orc’s dick inside of you.”
“That is the best method,” Ant said, nodding. “For diplomacy.”
She said it with such self evident belief that Da’kota gave her a sour look. “You know, in the world I come from, almost no diplomats fucked each other.”
Ant snorted. “What a boring, shitty planet you must have come from. And it was all humans, too? And humans were just like drow, but with less erogenous zones and stupid colored skin?” She shook her head dismissively.
Da’kota sighed.
***
Like most jumps through a farcaster, the leap from the edge of the Drow Empire to the Dragon Stars was nearly instant – though Da’kota knew it actually was mostly carried along via the efforts of mana elementals that the farcasters harnessed and channeled to bridge the vast spaces that even a ship’s drive couldn’t manage on their own. However, this emergence was unique from his experiences – the prior jump had been to the heartland of the Drow Empire, where the shardjammer had arrived in the vast constellation of defensive installations and gleaming battlefleets that were prepared to obliterate anything that might threaten the space born home of the drow.
This?
This was into the wilderness space ruled by scattered dwarven clans, dragons, runaway vampires and wildcat settlers from every race and creed of the exodus from the long destroyed homeworld of Alura – and so Da’kota had expected the space surrounding the farcaster to be empty. Instead, the disguised shardjammer emerged into a halo of glowing glyphs, lights, and flickering comm signals, all of which washed around the cockpit windows and into the transceiver.
Gems? Gold? +1 Weapons? We Take Them All at Gobbo’s Gob Shop, Your One S-
Girls! Girls! Girls! Dragons! Dragons! Drag-
The time of the pollination has come! Dryads welcome! All non-plant based entities will be composted-
Need Cheap Undead Labor? Contact-
Da’kota flicked off the comm system, his brow furrowing as he saw a huge glowing shape of what appeared to be a dwarven battlecruiser in cartoonish silhouette being cracked in half to reveal a large flagon of ale, with the glittering dwarven glyphs of Battle Beer! appearing above and below it, promising health, long life, and death to one’s enemies, all for the cost of a single crate of cans of fizzy beer. Da’kota turned from his seat to Z’illa, who was scowling at the haze of advertisements.
“Disgusting,” she said, her voice dripping with haughty condescension as she closed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes. She lifted her nose as she continued speaking. “See how these short lived mayfly dwarves and goblins and orcs spend their time? Scrabbling to sell, what? Sex and gold and swords.”
Da’kota frowned, remembering his first view of Webheart. He decided to not comment.
Instead, he tuned through the transmissions to make sure nothing was too authoritative.
Ah.
That was a targeting beam.
“Hmm,” he said, switching the passive scanners to show who was pinging them. After all, he didn’t want to reveal the ‘shuttle’ he was flying was actually a top of the line drowish shardjammer in an illusion spell.
An ugly, kludged together mess of guns and reaction control thrusters was hissing through the swarm of advertisements and docked ships and micro-stations to bring itself alongside the shuttle. Through the cockpit window, Da’kota could see the clear glass of the gunjammer’s cockpit. Sitting within were two goblins, their tight suits making it quite clear they were women.
The thing about goblin women was that they had the same amount of tit as any other race. It was just since they were smaller, it always looked gods damned gigantic. One was white haired, and one was red haired, and both of them had a greedy gleam in their eyes that Da’kota could see through a few dozen meters of vacuum and thick adamant crystal glass windows.
“Hey there,” the white haired one said, having picked up a small piece of plastic and crystal to speak into. “Shuttle! Identify yourself cause, uhh, we’re…”
The red haired goblin leaned in, giggling. “We’re the Border Dragon Security Maintenance Squad!”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re the BDSM Squad.” The other goblin drew up short and, visible in the cockpit, glared at her comrade, who was covering her mouth. The faint sound of her giggling and snorting came over the line.
“Goblins,” Z’illa sighed, her eyes still closed.
Da’kota coughed, then leaned into the console. The illusion of his shuttle had no cockpit window – adamant glass wasn’t cheap, and any shabby shuttle like the one he was pretending to fly in would need to rely on cameras and cameras alone. It meant that the goblins wouldn’t notice the rest of the drow women in the cockpit with him. “H-Hello, uh, we don’t want any trouble, ma’ams,” he said, his voice soft and diffident.
The two goblins perked up, and the white haired one grinned with a feral delight, her long and wide ears twitching up like billing sails.
“Well, well, well! A drow boy, running away from home,” she said. “Tsk tsk! Yeah, we’re gonna need you to let us dock and strip you naked and fuck you a few times.”
“Yeah!” the other goblin added enthusiastically. “How big is your dick? Twelve inches? Twenty?”
“It’s not gonna be twenty!” the other goblin hissed, her voice picked up by the coms.
“What if we use centimeters?”
“Then it’s not twenty inches!”
The two goblins, it seemed, were entirely focused on fighting over the comm now, scrambling to try and grab it back from one another, while Da’kota arched an eyebrow. He leaned in, then stammered. “I-It’s actually pretty small. That’s why I’m running away. Drow women don’t like them tiny.” He sighed.
“Oh,” the two goblins said in unison. Then the redhead took advantage of this to grab the link from the white haired one’s grasp. She pushed her comrade away with one palm while said goblin tried to grab the comm back, and said: “How’s your tongue game?”
A wide angle comm-beam swept over both ships and overrode every bit of dialog at once, the speakers buzzing and crackling with a deep, feminine voice.
“Tzak and Mott! Will you two stop fucking around or am I going to have to come over there and rip your spines out my-fucking-self!?”
The two goblins started.
“Sorry, Miss T!” one said.
“Yeah, sorry!” the other said.
“The signal came from that asteroid station,” Ant said, her fingers tapping at the console as she reached around Da’kota’s body to reach it. The picture in picture that snapped up showed a potato shaped space rock with components and machinery jutting from it, and dozens upon dozens of docked ships. Da’kota, though, was frowning as he focused on the voice. It had been so close to a voice he had heard before. He picked up his com, then spoke as diffidently and shyly as he could.
“Um, w-who is... Miss T?”
“Oh, she’s our boss!” The white haired one said.
“Yeah, Torque!” the other said.
Da’kota leaned back in his seat.
“Well, isn’t that interesting,” he muttered, under his breath.
***
The asteroid station was called Entzar, and when Da’kota stepped out of his disguised shuttle in his robes and hood, he took a moment to just look around and breathe in the place. It was nothing like any drow building he’d ever been in.
For one thing?
There were lights. The lights were mostly old and yellowy, casting stark and stencil perfect shadows against the walls as drunken and rowdy astros of a half a dozen different races went stumbling by, laughing, jeering, talking, walking arm in arm. A few slipped off into side corridors, while others simply meandered down the broad, half-circle of the longshore. Dozens of other airlocks sat there like the spokes on a wheel, each ship in a berth and each ship having a different means of security. Some had guards by the doors, looking bored. Some had doors that were simply shut tight and heavy duty enough that even the most eager dock-scoundrel would think twice before slipping on. And some seemed to simply trust that their airlocks looked so rickety and cheap that no one would want to get on the ship.
Da’kota slapped the curved ring of the docking seal, then muttered into his comm-bead. “So, will you be okay with fricasseeing anyone who tries to get aboard?”
“Remarkably cold blooded,” Z’illa said, her voice sardonic.
“Hey, I don’t trust anyone on this place farther than I can throw them,” Da’kota said. “And I’m not in my sparrowhawk armor. Anyone who tries to hack into our ship is not going to be doing so for altruistic reasons.”
“Hm.”
“We should be mostly safe,” Lilith said. “The illusion spell makes us look like a real POS.”
Da’kota nodded and stepped away from the airlock.
“Hey ssssssspacer,” a voice called out. Da’kota turned and saw a slinky, long necked lizardwoman, her clothing cut sheer and showy, with a plunging neckline and a skirt so short that he could see practically all of her blue striped thighs. She had a long, whippy tail, which she kept down around her ankles as she cocked her hips coquettishly at him. “I’m ectothermic! Do you wanna warm up my cold scaled pussy?” She turned around, showing her frilly skirt as she lifted her tail. “I can polish your spear!”
