Chapter Six

The thick stone walls of the Magnustown Grand Hall vibrated with the boisterous laughter and heavy bass of music that signaled a night of absolute excess. Torches flickering in their iron brackets cast long, dancing shadows across the rows of wooden tables where the elites of the small town sat, their cups overflowing with wine while their various slaves knelt in silent service at their feet.

It had been nineteen years since the day the infamous wedding between the founding ruler and his high-value bride had cemented the power structure of the desert planet forever, and the atmosphere tonight suggested that the order established almost two decades ago had only grown more absolute with time.

A heavy set of double doors at the rear of the hall swung open, and the founder of the settlement stepped through, his presence immediately drawing the attention of every man in the room. Magnus walked with a measured, predatory stride, and though the lines of experience had etched deeper into his face, his frame remained as massive and intimidating as the day he first claimed this planet as his own. He held a thin white leash in his right hand, giving it a playful tug to ensure his companion kept pace.

Kendra followed closely behind her husband, her appearance a jarring testament to nearly two decades of meticulous surgical modification and Lustex-assisted preservation. Despite having lived through fifty-one years, the woman who had once been a fierce starship captain now looked like a physical masterpiece barely thirty-five years of age. Her face was pulled tight and flawless, giving her a perpetually surprised and youthful expression that highlighted her sharp, thin eyebrows and the delicate results of a refined nose job. Her lips were her most prominent feature, having been plumped into juicy, meaty mounds of pink flesh that seemed designed for a single purpose. She stood with her shoulders pinned back, her rock-hard fake F-cup implants thrusting forward, leading down to a firm, pear-shaped ass that swayed with every step of her white platform heels, the towering footwear forcing her to walk with a seductive sway.

The Queen Slave was dressed for the occasion in a delicate white underbust corset that crushed her midsection to highlight her curves, and a matching white g-string that left her perfectly smooth, hairless pussy and buttocks on full display. A thick white Lustex collar was fastened snugly around her throat, as it had been for nineteen years, connected to a matching armbinder that pulled her elbows together behind her back and forced her exposed chest out in a permanent offering. A large white ball gag was wedged between the redhead’s teeth, stretching her jaw into a wide circle and effectively sealing her voice away from the world. Her bare breasts were decorated with silver ring piercings through each nipple, and as she moved, small silver bells attached to the rings jingled in a rhythmic, melodic chorus that announced her submission to everyone she passed.

Magnus moved through the crowd with an easy smile, stopping occasionally to clap a subordinate on the shoulder or share a raunchy joke with a high-ranking member of his administration. He seemed to relish the way the men leered at his modified wife, and he frequently reached back to squeeze one of Kendra’s artificial tits or smack her bare ass as if he were showing her off like a piece of livestock. As he approached the central stage, however, a sudden and violent coughing fit seized him. He turned away from his guests and hunched over, his face reddening as he struggled to catch his breath. The rasping sound was deep and wet, a clear indication that his health wasn’t perfect, yet the moment the spasm passed, he wiped his mouth and straightened his suit with a practiced ease that kept his weakness hidden from the cheering assembly.

The ruler climbed the steps to the stage and gestured for the room to quiet down. He waited until the last of the rowdy shouting had faded into a respectful hush before he spoke into the microphone, his voice still carrying the gravelly authority that had defined his two decades of rule.

“Citizens of this world,” the older man began, his eyes sweeping across the hall with a look of immense pride. “We have spent nearly twenty years carving a legacy out of this red sand, and tonight, we celebrate the fruits of that labor. We are here for a very special reason, one that marks the beginning of a new era. My eldest son, the first heir to everything we have built, has turned eighteen today and officially become a man.”

The hall erupted into a cacophony of cheers and stomping feet as Magnus waved his hand toward the side of the stage. A tall, muscular young man stepped into the light, his features a striking blend of his father’s rugged intensity and the haunting beauty of the woman currently kneeling beside her husband and Master. Kyle Holt walked with a confident swagger that mirrored his father’s, his eyes already showing the same cold, conniving light of a natural leader. He approached the center of the stage and shook his father’s hand firmly, his presence commanding a level of respect that the men in the hall were all too eager to provide.

“Now, I wanted to make sure my son received a birthday gift that reflected his new status,” Magnus continued, his grin turning predatory. “But it’s a difficult task to find something for a man who already has the world at his fingertips. However, I think I have found something that will satisfy even the highest standards of our lineage.”

The older man signaled to a handler at the edge of the stage, who promptly marched forward, leading two young women on short leashes. Both girls were eighteen years of age and had clearly been raised within the strict training protocols of the New Eden crater. They were entirely naked, their bodies showing the athletic tone of women who had been used for pulling carts since their first days of maturity. One was a striking blonde with high cheekbones, and the other was a fiery redhead, like the young man’s slave mother; both of the girls stood with their heads downcast and their eyes fixed on the floor in a posture of absolute obedience. Their wrists were cuffed in front of them, and red ball gags were buckled behind their heads, ensuring their silence as they were presented like trophies.

“These are the two finest pieces of livestock that New Eden had to offer this year,” Magnus declared as he took the leashes from the handler and handed them to his son. “And from this moment forward, they belong to you. Use them well and often, like a true Magnustown native.”

Kyle took the leashes with a gracious nod to his father, and without a word, he gave both leashes a sharp, downward tug that forced the two young women to drop instantly to their knees on the hard boards of the stage. The sound of their knees hitting the wood echoed through the hall, and the young heir looked down at them with a look of casual ownership that pleased his father immensely. Kyle then turned back to Magnus and leaned in to hug him, before his hand reached out to firmly squeeze Kendra’s left breast as he passed her.

Kendra jerked slightly at her son’s touch, the bells on her nipples chiming frantically. “Mmmph-hmmm!” she muffled into her gag, her eyes widening as she looked up at the young man she had raised. Her son didn’t even look back, his focus entirely on the man who had taught him that women were merely property to be enjoyed.

“One day, Kyle will rule this town,” Magnus shouted to the crowd, his voice rising above the renewed murmurs of approval. “And it is time for us to stop looking back at the wreckage we came from and start looking toward the empire we are becoming. I do not want my son to feel as though he is living in my shadow or that he is merely the caretaker of my legacy. For that reason, I have decided that we need a name for this place we call home that reflects the strength of our future. From this day forward, this town shall no longer be known as Magnustown. It shall be known across the stars as Red Rock!”

The announcement was met with a roar so loud it seemed to shake the sturdy building’s very foundations. Men stood on their benches, raising their glasses and chanting the new name of their capital. Kyle stood beside his father, his hands gripping the leashes of his new slaves, his chest swelling as he looked out over the sea of men who would one day answer to him.

As Magnus turned to the side in the midst of another coughing fit, a man wearing a clean white medical coat started to step toward the stage from the shadows near the rear entrance. He held a clipboard in his hand and an expression of concern on his face as he made eye contact with the leader. The older man noticed the doctor’s approach out of the corner of his eye and immediately offered a sharp, dismissive shake of his head. The doctor hesitated for a moment, then backed away into the darkness as Magnus turned his attention back to the celebration, his arm around his son’s shoulder and his hand resting possessively on the leash of his modification-perfected bride.

The end of the old world was complete, and as the men of Red Rock continued to drink and cheer, it was clear that the future belonged to those who were strong enough to take it.

❖

The sun beat down with a relentless intensity upon the high ridges of the crater, but within the basin of New Eden, the air remained trapped in a humid, fertile pocket. Over the last two decades, this crater had transformed from a desperate refuge into the most crucial fixture in the planet’s economy, serving as the primary source of fresh batches of strong, capable men and perfectly conditioned, submissive slaves that the growing settlements required. The very first generation of Dominae-born citizens, conceived in the wake of the crash, was finally starting to come of age, and the success of the project was visible in every corner of the lush valley.

Four massive timber-and-stone structures dominated the landscape, their shadows stretching across the cultivated fields like the fingers of a possessive master. These were the breeding barns, the engines of New Eden, where the biological future of the world was meticulously managed. In the distance, a dozen ponygirls worked the irrigation rows, their naked bodies glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration as they pulled heavy wooden plows through the dark soil. The rhythmic chiming of the bells on their pierced nipples carried across the basin, a melodic reminder of their perpetual service. They trotted in unison, their tails swaying and their heads held high by the strict bit gags that had become their permanent reality.

A man of fifty-three years walked along the elevated ridge path that overlooked the fields, his thumb hooked into a heavy leather belt that sat low on his hips. Jeremy moved with a confident, territorial swagger, his eyes scanning the horizon of his domain with the satisfaction of a rancher surveying a prize-winning herd. His dark hair was now shot through with streaks of gray, and age lines were now etched around his hazel eyes. He paused for a moment to watch one of his new, young ponygirls stumble under the weight of the plow behind her, only to be brought back into rhythm by a sharp crack of her handler’s whip. The sight brought a slow, cruel grin to his face before he continued his descent toward the four buildings.

The doors to Breeding Barn 1 stood wide open as the older man trekked inside. The filtered light from the high rafters illuminated rows upon rows of wooden breeding frames that stretched into the dim recesses of the structure. The sound of muffled whimpers and the creak of leather restraints greeted him, a symphony of submission that he had spent nearly twenty years perfecting. He walked slowly across the central aisle, his boots thudding against the packed dirt as he passed the masses of young (and not-so-young) breeding women.

Most of the captives were in various stages of pregnancy, their bellies swollen and round, their skin stretched tight over the new life they carried for the colony. They were trapped in the same restrictive manner that had been established during the founding days, bent forward at the waist with their arms secured tightly behind their backs in a reverse-prayer position. Their heavy breasts hung free, swaying gently with every breath, while their heads were forced up and forward by leather straps connected to their ponytails. Ring gags pried their mouths open, making them available for the workers who patrolled the rows to ensure the livestock remained perpetually seeded. Those breeding livestock who had recently given birth had two suction cups attached to their prominent breasts, permanently sucking the naturally-produced milk from their teats, carrying the white substance through a tube underground; a commodity used to feed the new young of the settlement, and for trading to distant towns.

Jeremy reached the very end of the line, where a single frame sat slightly apart from the others, housing the woman who had served as the very foundation of his success. He stopped and leaned against a supporting beam, watching with interest as a burly worker was busy fucking her from behind. The man grunted with every powerful thrust, his hands digging into the woman’s hips as he drove himself deep into her well-used pussy. The captive’s body shuddered under the fucking, her dangling breasts swinging in wild arcs beneath her while her knees pressed against the padded supports of the frame.

Grace, known only as Lotus for the last nineteen years, was the original of Jeremy’s collection. She had produced twenty-one offspring since being installed in this stable, her body having been used as a vessel for the colony’s growth more than any other woman on the planet. She was rarely let out of her confinement, and her life had been reduced to the cycle of seeding and birthing. The former medical lieutenant’s dark hair was matted with sweat, and her Asian-American features were fixed in a stare of vacant, hollow resignation.

The leader of New Eden walked around to the front of the frame, stepping close enough to smell the musk of the act being performed behind his favorite breeding bitch. He reached out and cupped her chin with his hand, forcing her to look at him. He grinned as he studied her eyes, noting with approval that the fierce, defiant fire that had once defined the woman had gone out a long time ago, leaving only a dull, submissive glaze.

“I must say, I am truly amazed that you have managed to retain your physical usefulness for such an impressive length of time,” Jeremy told her, his voice low and conversational. “You have been a pillar of this community, Lotus, and you have provided me with more strong sons than I ever imagined possible when we first set foot on this land.”

Jeremy trailed his fingers down Grace’s throat, feeling the pulse between the skin before tapping the edge of the ring gag that held her jaw invitingly open. “However, the statistics do not lie, and my record keepers tell me that you have not been successfully seeded for over eight months now. It seems your body is finally starting to tire of its primary function, and perhaps it is time to make another use of you before you become a total drain on my resources.”

Lotus tried to turn her head away, her throat working as she attempted to speak through the metal ring. “Mmmph… nnn-gghhh,” she groaned, the sound weak and broken.

The man’s grin widened as he tightened the grip on her jaw. “I want you to enjoy these last few days in the comfort of your stables, because your time as a breeder is officially at an end. You will be joining the auction block in Red Rock next week at the monthly slave auction, and given your history and where you’ve come from, I expect you to pick up a pretty penny for me. There are many men in the capital who would pay dearly to own a piece of the original Starfire crew, even one as old and well-used as you.”

Behind the bound woman, the worker let out a final, feral groan as he reached his climax. He gripped her waist until his knuckles turned white, thrusting one last time to bury himself as deep as possible before emptying his load into the woman’s stretched pussy. Lotus’s body convulsed against the restraints, her head falling back as she was filled with the warm seed of the worker. The man remained buried inside her for a long moment before he finally withdrew with a grunt and began to buckle his pants back up.

Jeremy reached out and patted the top of the woman’s head with a mocking, paternal affection, his fingers lingering on her dark hair for a moment. “The boys are sure going to miss you, pet,” he said before turning his back on her. He walked away without looking back, his boots clicking on the dirt as he exited the barn and stepped out into the blinding sunlight of the crater. He had a schedule to maintain and a trip to the capital to prepare for, and he intended to ensure that his business in New Eden remained the most profitable venture on the planet.

❖

The arid winds of the desert were noticeably absent within the perimeter of the settlement known as Oasis, where the air was constantly conditioned and cooled by a network of massive atmospheric scrubbers. This thriving town had evolved from the original survivalist water-camp established in the wake of the infamous crash, taking its name from the life-giving pool that had allowed the first men to secure a foothold on the planet. Over the last nineteen years, the site had been transformed into an industrial powerhouse, serving as the primary manufacturing and tech center for the growing Dominae population. A colossal manufacturing plant dominated the skyline, its metallic towers and chimneys standing as a testament to the immense wealth and influence of its founder.

Victor Crane walked along the pristine marble walkway that connected his private estate to the factory grounds, his silver hair reflecting the harsh light of the red sun. He was sixty-one years of age, yet his posture remained as rigid and commanding as ever, his eyes scanning the horizon of his corporate empire with a look of pride. Even a barren wasteland couldn’t keep an innovative man like Victor down. At his side, two twelve-year-old children matched his pace: his son, Marcus, and his daughter, Elena. The twins were Victor’s first and only offspring, and they watched their father with a mixture of reverence and curiosity.

A thin silver leash was gripped firmly in the man’s right hand, trailing back to the throat of a fully encased humanoid figure that followed him with a precise, stiff cadence. Riley Thorn had been his primary test subject for twenty years, and she was now a masterpiece of sensory-deprived submission known simply as Toy. Her head was a featureless black globe, devoid of any eyeholes or earholes, giving the impression of a smooth, dark egg perched upon her neck. A single, perfectly circular hole was cut where her mouth should be, forcing her lips apart in a permanent invitation and revealing the hollow darkness within her gagged jaw. The seamless black material flowed over her shoulders and down her arms, ending in hands that were shaped into single-fingered, useless stumps that offered no ability to grasp or resist. Her torso was molded to emphasize the generous curve of her breasts and the extreme narrowness of her waist, while the material between her legs featured two more circular apertures in place of her vagina and ass, leaving her ready for use at a moment’s notice. Her feet were fused into a permanent en pointe position, forcing her to balance on the very tips of her toes as she tottered alongside her master.

The older man gestured toward the industrial complex, where columns of dark smoke drifted into the red sky. “Look closely at the facility, Marcus,” he told his son, his voice thick with pride. “The Lustex is farmed out of the renewable source in the nearby cliffs and distributed directly into the factory through a series of underground channels. Once it arrives, various machines break up the raw substance and mold it for whatever it needs it for.”

The boy watched the mechanical arms move in the distance, his eyes wide with fascination as the heat from the cooling vents brushed against his face. Victor continued, sounding satisfied at the efficiency of his creation. “It is a perfect, self-sustaining system, and it has made me very wealthy, boy.”

Victor stopped at the edge of the walkway and placed a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. “One day, Marcus, all of this will belong to you. You will be the one to decide how our resources are distributed and who will have the privilege of using our technology.”

Elena looked up at her father, her voice small and hopeful. “Will I own a part of it as well one day, Dad?” she asked.

The father raised an eyebrow and let out a short, dismissive sigh, before looking back toward the factory as if the girl hadn’t spoken at all. He didn’t offer a reply, instead giving Toy’s leash a sharp tug that snapped the doll back into her place. The featureless black mask of the slave gave no indication of her thoughts, her head merely tilting slightly as she responded to the pull. He checked the time and turned back to his children. “Go along and play in the inner gardens for now,” he told them. “I have important business to attend to.”

The twins watched as their father led the silent, glossy figure toward the heavy automated doors of the lab. Victor stepped inside the Lustex testing facility, where the lead scientist, a man named Dr. Aris Thorpe, waited to receive him. The interior was stark, sterile white, and the heavy, musky scent of fresh polymer lingered in the air.

“Welcome back, Mr. Crane,” the scientist said, bowing his head before falling into step beside the founder. “We have several new subjects in the observation wings. We are currently testing the jaw limitations of a new cock gag, and we are researching the upgraded catsuit’s long-term structural integration.”

The two men moved down a polished hallway where glass viewing ports revealed various laboratory chambers designed for extreme conditioning. Victor paused at the first window, watching a woman who had been secured into a vertical frame that held her arms and legs in a spread-eagle position. She was completely naked, her breasts thrust forward by the tension of the leather straps that anchored her shoulders to the cold metal. The focus of the equipment was a polished silver device that occupied her entire mouth, a heavy orb that was slowly expanding under the control of a remote terminal. Her lips were stretched into a tight, glossy circle that appeared to be at the absolute limit of her physical capability, her jaw trembling under the relentless pressure of the internal mechanism.

“The new expansion gear is designed for high-capacity use,” Dr. Thorpe explained as he adjusted a dial on the panel. “We are measuring the elastic threshold of the facial muscles to determine how long a subject can maintain this level of openness before permanent displacement occurs. As you can already see, this particular subject will now be incapable of closing her mouth, even if we remove the device entirely.”

Victor leaned closer to the glass, his eyes narrowing as he observed the woman’s frantic, rolling eyes. “And her vocal cords?” he inquired, his voice low and clinical.

The scientist gestured toward a set of speakers on the wall. “As you can hear, we have had to remove her vocal cords to implement this trial successfully. We caught this one out in the badlands as a nomadic rebel, and her screaming caused the subject to choke each time we administered the device. It’s much safer this way.”

They proceeded deeper into the facility, passing through a pressurized airlock that opened into the primary encasement wing. Here, the temperature was significantly higher to facilitate the molding process, and the air was thick with a chemical tang of curing Lustex. Victor paused before a large, transparent tank where a woman was suspended in a thick, amber-colored fluid that appeared to be a transitional state of the polymer. Her body was already partially covered in a web of black veins where the material was beginning to bond with her nervous system, and her chest rose in a labored mechanical sequence as the tank provided her with oxygenated nutrients.

The scientist gestured to the woman with a thin, metallic stylus and explained the significance of the procedure. “This is the final stage of long-term structural integration for our premium experiment. We are no longer simply dressing the subject in a suit; we are grafting the Lustex to her dermis to create a permanent, inseparable barrier. This will ensure that she remains in a state of sensory-deprivation perfection for the duration of her life-cycle, completely removes the possibility of escape, and allows her master to fully control her limbs at his own command.”

The master of Oasis nodded in approval as he examined the dark veins spreading across the woman’s bare stomach and thighs, watching as the living material pulsed with a life of its own. It was the absolute pinnacle of his vision, a world where the line between women and literal objects was blurred until it disappeared entirely, and he felt a surge of professional satisfaction as he realized how much the elite of the red planet would pay for such a permanent addition to their homes.

“The neural-reactive properties are the most impressive feature of this new strain,” Dr. Thorpe continued, leading Victor to the next observation, where a more fully Lustex-clad woman was kneeling on a raised platform. “The material is tuned to respond to specific vocal frequencies. Observe how it reacts when I issue a command.”

The scientist stepped toward the microphone on the console and spoke with a firm, measured tone. “Posture Two.”

As the words left his lips, the black Lustex covering the woman’s back and shoulders instantly contracted, pulling her spine into a rigid arch that pushed her bare, swollen breasts forward into the air. Her head was snapped back by the sudden tightening of her neck piece, and she let out a muffled, distorted moan as the movement forced her to balance more precariously on her knees. The woman’s eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and terror, but her body had no choice but to obey the chemical impulse of the suit.

A thin smile spread across the older man’s face as he witnessed the absolute obedience of the neuro-reactive commands. He stepped closer to the platform and reached out to stroke the glossy black material that encased the subject’s ribs, feeling the synthetic skin pulse under his fingertips as it held her in the arched position.

Victor turned his attention back to his own doll, who had remained standing in perfect silence behind him, and felt the weight of the silver leash in his palm. The leader of the settlement gave the chain a sharp yank and looked down at the featureless globe that hid Riley’s face, knowing that the same technology was already woven into the very fabric of her existence. He whispered a low command of his own, and the material covering Toy’s midsection tightened until her waist looked even more fragile, her breasts thrusting out further as a muffled, vibrating groan escaped the circular opening in her mask.

The master of Oasis turned his attention back to the doctor as the sounds of the facility continued to provide a low hum in the background. He adjusted the silver chain in his hand, feeling the slight vibration of his doll’s labored breathing through the metal links. The precision of the material had surpassed his expectations, and he had already begun calculating the trade value of the new subjects currently undergoing encasement in the amber fluid.

“The progress you have made is undeniable, Doctor,” he said as he began to walk toward the exit, leading Toy behind him with a steady and unforgiving pull. “Ensure that the next batch is ready for the upcoming trade cycles with Magnusto- I mean, Red Rock.”

Dr. Thorpe bowed his head as he accompanied his employer to the automated doors. “We will be ready, sir,” he told the older man with confidence.

Victor stepped out into the cool, filtered air of the Oasis gardens, the heavy steel doors sliding shut behind him with a definitive hiss. He looked at the lush greenery around him and then back at the featureless black mask of the woman he had spent twenty years breaking, feeling the absolute power of his position. He signaled for his transport to be brought around, intending to spend the rest of the evening enjoying the silence of his estate before the travel to the capital began.

❖

“Heck-k… kaa-h…. Hock-uuh!”

The violent, hacking spasm tore through the silence of the master suite, leaving the air heavy with the sound of a man struggling for breath. Magnus lay propped against a mountain of silk pillows, his face a terrifying shade of mottled purple as he clutched a damp cloth over his mouth. The grandeur of the room, with its hand-carved furniture and velvet drapes, seemed to shrink around the fading giant. Even the soft glow of the lanterns couldn’t hide the pallor of his skin or the way his massive chest now rattled with every shallow inhalation. It was a stark reminder that even the most powerful men on the planet were ultimately subject to the frailties of the flesh.

Between the leader’s legs, kneeling on the plush surface of the mattress, his wife remained focused on her task despite the man’s coughing fit. Kendra had been stripped of her white platform heels for the evening, but the rest of her celebratory ensemble remained perfectly in place. The white underbust corset pushed her surgically perfected, F-cup breasts upward, presenting them as delightful twin mounts of flawless skin that remained still while her head moved. Her arms were still locked behind her back in the strict, white armbinder, forcing her into an arched, submissive posture that highlighted her pear-shaped ass. The large white ball gag had been swapped for a matching white ring gag, which held her meaty pink lips stretched into a wide O, allowing Magnus full access to her mouth while keeping her silenced.

The former captain’s eyes, enhanced by glittery silver shadow, were fixed on her husband’s face with a look that was difficult to read. She bobbed her head with a steady, practiced motion, one she had perfected over the last 19 years, her mouth sliding over his thickness while the silver bells on her pierced nipples tinkled softly with every bob. Even as Magnus suffered through another fit, she did not falter, her training ensuring that she provided pleasure until her Master commanded otherwise. She tasted the salt of his skin and the heat of his desire, her jaw aching from the constant stretch of the gag, yet she continued to serve him with the obedience of a high-value slave.

A man in a white medical coat stood at the side of the bed, his hands clasped around a clipboard, watching his patient with a professional regret. He waited for the coughing to subside before he took a tentative step forward. “It is not the news we were hoping for, sir,” he said in a low voice. “The latest scans have confirmed that the cancer has officially spread to your primary lung tissue.”

Magnus lowered the cloth, a thin smear of blood staining the fabric, and looked at the doctor with narrowed eyes. He didn’t seem surprised by the revelation. “Tell me the truth, Doctor. Do not bother with the sugar-coated nonsense you like to give. Do we have the capacity to treat this?”

The physician shook his head slowly, his gaze momentarily flicking to the woman between the bald leader’s legs before returning to Magnus. “I’m afraid not, sir. We simply do not have the specialized medical technology or the advanced pharmaceutical facilities on this planet to combat a stage-four malignancy of this nature. We haven’t got there, yet.”

Magnus let out a short, wheezing laugh that ended in another wince of pain. He reached down and tangled his fingers in Kendra’s bright red pigtails, pulling her head up so he could look into her wide green eyes. “How long?”

“If you continue with the high-dose medication I have been providing, we can perhaps stretch the timeline to six months,” the doctor replied, his fingers tapping nervously against the clipboard. “However, the side effects will be severe and immediate. The chemicals will sap your remaining strength, and you will likely be completely bedridden within the next few weeks. Your mental clarity will also begin to fade as the dosage increases.”

The leader of Red Rock grunted, his grip on Kendra’s hair tightening until she offered a muffled whine of protest. “Mmm-phmm… nnngh!”

“The alternative is to stop the medication entirely,” the doctor continued, his tone becoming more clinical. “You would retain your mobility and your senses for a longer period, allowing you to live your life to the fullest, but the progression will be much faster. Without the inhibitors, the cancer will consume the remaining lung capacity quite rapidly. In that scenario, you would likely pass within the next two months.”

Magnus looked down at his wife, whose juicy, plump lips were still stretched wide by the white ring. He observed the way his former foe’s corset emphasized her tiny waist, and the glitter on her skin made her shimmer under the lamplight. He thought of the city he had founded, the sons he had fathered, and the legacy he had carved out of the red dirt. The bald man felt a sense of profound satisfaction that no disease could take away from him.

“I have accomplished everything I set out to do when we crashed on this rock, doctor,” Magnus said, his voice regaining some of its old, gravelly strength. “I have seen my eldest son become a man, and I have ensured that my name will live on in the foundations of this world. I have no intention of spending my final days as a rotting vegetable in a bed, unable to enjoy the property I worked so hard to claim.”

The leader looked back at the doctor and gave him a definitive nod. “Stop the medication. I will take the two months. I intend to spend them enjoying my slave as much as I can until my heart finally stops beating.”

The doctor bowed his head, acknowledging the command with a look of somber respect. “As you wish, sir. I will have the nursing staff remove the IV equipment and prepare your final care instructions. I shall leave you to your privacy.” He turned and walked out of the private bedroom, the wooden door shutting behind him.

As soon as they were alone, Magnus let out a long, shuddering breath and focused entirely on the redhead kneeling before him. He reached down with both hands, gripping Kendra’s head with a sudden, violent intensity. “You heard the man, wife,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “I had better enjoy you while I still have the strength to make you scream.”

He began to pump her mouth up and down on his cock with a frantic, punishing pace, his hips bucking upward to meet her descent. Kendra’s body jerked against the movement, her bound arms providing no leverage as she was forced to absorb his anger and his passion. The ring gag ensured that her mouth stayed open and receptive, a metal bar suppressing her tongue as she gagged around her owner’s thickness. “Mmm-phmm! Ggh-hnnngh!” she cried out, her eyes watering as he buried himself in her throat.

Magnus didn’t slow down; his hands pressed against her cheeks as he controlled her every motion. He wanted to feel the heat of her, to dominate her one more time before the darkness took him. He fucked the redhead’s mouth with a savage intensity, his breathing becoming a series of ragged gasps as he neared the edge of his endurance. He watched her firm breasts sway and her bells chime, savoring the sight of his most prized possession, a former starship captain, being used for his absolute pleasure. The world outside could wait; in this room, for the next two months, he was going to enjoy every second he could manage with his obedient, bimbo bride.

❖

Six Weeks Later

The heavy tolling of a hand-cast bronze bell echoed across the open expanse of the town square, signaling the final rest of the man who had forged a civilization from the wreckage of a failed mission. The red dust of the desert seemed to hang motionless in the dry air as hundreds of men stood in silent ranks, their heads bowed in a rare display of collective reverence. In the center of the square, the sturdy stone monument that served as a tomb sat beneath the relentless glare of the sun, freshly sealed and engraved with the name of the founding father of the planet.

A sea of naked and bound women knelt in the dirt between the rows of mourners, their presence a living tribute to the order the deceased leader had established. Most were gagged with the standard Lustex or leather restraints that had become a hallmark of Red Rock, their bodies shimmering with a coating of red sand. The atmosphere was one of somber transition, as the era of the first conqueror ended and the reign of the next generation began.

The new leader of the town stood at the head of the congregation, wearing a sharp black suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and the growing maturity of his features. Though he was only eighteen, he carried himself with an effortless authority that had been nurtured since birth, his eyes scanning the crowd with a cool intensity. He accepted the condolences of his subjects with a nod, his hands clasped behind his back as he occupied the space where his father once reigned supreme.

A man in his fifties stepped forward from the line of mourners, his black hair now significantly flecked with gray. He walked with a steady, calculated pace, and he led a young woman behind him on a short leather lead. The blonde girl was entirely naked, her skin pale and flawless, and she followed him with a wide-eyed, vacant expression that suggested her mind had been scrubbed of anything resembling resistance. The young slave’s most striking feature was her mouth, which had been surgically modified into a perfect, permanent O shape that appeared incapable of closing; her plump red lips were held apart in a state of constant, silent invitation.

The man was Ethan Stone, the engineer who helped sabotage the remaining female crew members almost two decades ago, and he stopped before the young heir. He inclined his head in a gesture of profound respect. “I am truly sorry for your loss, sir,” he said solemnly. “Your father was a giant among men, and he gave me a chance to find my true purpose when no one else even bothered to look my way. I owe everything I have to that man.”

The younger man looked at the former crew member and offered a slight, knowing smile. “I appreciate the sentiment, Ethan,” he replied, his gaze flicking momentarily to the woman on the leash. “He often spoke of your loyalty during the early years, and he valued the infrastructure you provided for our expansion.” Kyle paused momentarily to take another look at the naked slave before returning to the engineer’s face. “I am sorry to hear about what happened to Cumbucket. My father mentioned that she was a particularly fun piece of property to toy with, even if she never quite lost that spark of defiance.”

Ethan gave a nonchalant shrug, his hand reaching out to absently stroke the hair of his new captive. “Actually, her defiance was what made her so special,” the older man replied. “But accidents happen, and she’ll always be remembered for the insatiable cocksucking dyke she was,” he chuckled before giving the leash a sharp tug, forcing the wide-eyed woman to turn her head toward Kyle. “I decided I wanted a little more obedience in my latter years, so let me introduce Cumbucket the Second. She is a much more refined model, as you can see.”

Kyle leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as he examined the surgical precision of the girl’s frozen pout. “She certainly has some aesthetically pleasing features, Ethan,” he remarked, his voice carrying the same detached tone his father had often used when speaking about women.

“She is a real cocksucker,” Ethan added with a boastful grin, clearly pleased with the young leader’s approval. “I was so impressed with her oral dedication that I decided to have her other orifices closed off for good. She exists now for a single purpose, and she is far more focused without the distractions of a traditional anatomy.”

The younger man let out an appreciative chuckle and offered a sharp nod. “I love it when a man is creative with his property. I look forward to seeing more of Cumbucket in the future.”

Ethan grinned, satisfied with the pleasant interaction, and began to walk away toward the rear of the square, the naked, wide-mouthed girl tottering obediently at his heels.

A moment later, a taller man with silver-streaked hair and a high-quality gray suit stepped into the space. Victor Crane reached out and shook Kyle’s hand with a firm grip. “Your father brought a community together through sheer force of will, Kyle,” he said, his voice smooth and resonant. “He turned a group of convicts and castaways into survivalists. Now, it is down to you to ensure that his legacy continues to thrive in this new era.”

“My father taught me everything he knew, Victor,” Kyle replied, meeting the older man’s stare with an intensity that seemed to surprise the founder of Oasis. “But he also taught me that we cannot simply survive on the wreckage of the past. I have big plans for this place, and they extend far beyond the borders of this desert.”

Victor raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Is that so? And what exactly does the new master of Red Rock have in mind for us?”

“I plan on researching space technology and building the communication arrays,” the young man stated with a level of conviction that made the surrounding men pause their conversations. “It’s time we reached out to other planets and initiated trade and tourism. We have resources that the rest of the galaxy doesn’t even know exist yet.”

The older man, who had spent half his life navigating the criminal underworld of Earth before his conviction, narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “That may not be such a great idea, Kyle,” he warned the young leader. “I have seen those other civilizations, and they may not take kindly to our way of life. They have their own morals and their own laws, and they might see our culture as something that needs to be corrected rather than traded with.”

Kyle, who had only ever known the laws of Dominae and the absolute authority of the founding fathers, looked out over the town his father had built. “It is the only way to ensure that what happened to my father never happens to the rest of us,” he countered firmly. “There are some things we need—specialized materials, advanced medical technology, and new genetic diversity—that we simply cannot get here on our own. And consider our own unique resources, Victor. Your Lustex is unlike anything found in the colonized systems, so I hear.”

The young man’s grin turned predatory as he leaned in closer. “If we market it correctly, the elites of Earth will be so enamored with the luxury and control it provides that they will be more than willing to look the other way regarding our customs. We have the opportunity to get very rich in the process, and wealth has a funny way of silencing the critics of any civilization.”

Victor stared at Kyle for a long moment, the skepticism in his eyes slowly replaced by a greedy, appreciative light. He looked up at the sky, and then back at the ambitious young man. A wide, shark-like grin spread across his face.

“You’re speaking my kind of language now, Kyle,” Victor admitted, his voice thick with a new sense of excitement. “You truly are your father’s son. Tell me more about these communication arrays and what you think we need to get started.”

Kyle gestured toward the town hall, and the two men wandered off together, their conversation turning to the logistics of the future. Behind them, the men of Red Rock began to break their silence, the sound of low murmurs and the clinking of chains returning to the square as the funeral came to a close. The legacy of the founder was secure, but the era of a modernizing Dominae had only just begun.

❖

230 Years Later

The heavy wooden wheels of the ornate, velvet-lined stagecoach groaned as they crushed the dry, red earth on the outskirts of the sprawling capital. While the horizon of the planet was now dotted with high-velocity transport rails and hovering shuttles, the current master of the city preferred the slow, tactile prestige of the old ways. Four ponygirls led the carriage, their naked bodies adorned in polished leather harnesses that featured high, feathered plumes attached to their bit gags. They moved with a synchronized, high-stepping gait, their 9-inch heelless hooves forcing them to balance on the very tips of their toes as they pulled the weight of the wagon through the midday heat. The bells on their nipple piercings provided a constant, melodic chime that announced the approach of the most powerful man in the region.

Inside the carriage, the Mayor of Red Rock leaned back against the silk upholstery with a look of bored contentment. Justin Holt was a man who carried the unmistakable features of his ancestors, possessing the broad shoulders of Magnus and the sharp, calculating eyes of Kendra. He wore a suit of dark, expensive fabric that fit his frame perfectly, and his hand moved with casual ownership as he absently groped the large, round breast of a naked slave lying beside him. The woman remained motionless, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as her master’s fingers pinched and twisted her sensitive teats.

Between the man’s legs, a second slave was on her knees, her blonde hair spilling over his thighs as she was busy sucking him off. The woman’s mouth was forced wide by a specialized motorized ring gag, and she worked with a desperate, obedient efficiency, her jaw bobbing up and down his length while he stared out the window. Justin felt the heat of the slave’s throat and the friction of her lips, but his mind was already turning toward his afternoon cravings. He looked at the dusty building appearing in the distance and tapped the roof of the coach with his cane.

“Stop here, Gerald. I’m getting a little peckish,” Justin commanded, his voice deep and carrying the natural authority of his bloodline.

The man sitting on the driver’s bench high above acknowledged the order with a sharp crack of his long leather whip across the air. The ponygirls flinched, their bodies tensing as they worked to bring the heavy carriage to a halt. Their heelless hooves clicked against the stones of the parking lot outside the Dollhouse Diner, a building that looked as though it had been carved directly out of the red earth itself. The stagecoach door swung open, and the mayor stepped out into the dry heat, pausing to adjust the lapels of his suit before reaching back inside. He gave two leather leashes a firm, downward tug.

“Come along, sluts. Get down on your knees and follow me,” he told them as the two naked women scrambled out of the carriage.

As the dark-red-haired leader walked in with his entourage, the interior of the establishment momentarily went quiet as the patrons watched the mayor enter the premises. There were about a dozen men sitting at the various booths, along with the scandalously presented waitresses that made the Dollhouse Diner such a distinct landmark in the wastes. The diner itself was color-coded into four quadrants, which included red, pink, blue, and green sections. There were four waitresses working the floor, and each one was assigned to her own specific section, with their outfits and accessories color coordinated to match the environment they served.

The mayor and his comrades chose to sit in the near-empty red section, sliding into a wide booth and immediately admiring the uniform of the waitress who approached them. Most notable was the fact that the woman was effectively naked, with no cloth covering her large breasts or her totally bare, hairless pussy. The woman had a metal serving tray attached to her waist, and the weight of the tray was held up by two silver chains that were attached to hooped silver piercings in her nipples. Her arms were hidden behind her back, where they were tightly laced up and bound inside a bright red leather armbinder, with the straps resting just under the swell of her chest.

The woman’s fiery red hair, a trait that had become quite common among the highly prized stock of the capital, framed her face and flowed freely down her back. The most prominent feature on her face, however, was the huge red ball wedged between her teeth, with a red strap tightly pulled behind her head to keep it in place and prevent her from making a single coherent sound. Completing the ensemble were the horrific-looking, bright red leather thigh-length boots that the woman adorned on her feet. The heels of her footwear were the tallest that any of the men had ever seen, and they were in no way practical to wear for a long shift, forcing the redhead to totter on the very tips of her toes as she stood before the table.

One of the men in the mayor’s posse leaned over and pressed a small, circular button on the side of the table. What the patrons knew, but a newcomer might not notice, was that the button activated a large red princess plug buried deep inside the woman’s ass. The device began to vibrate with a powerful force the moment the connection was made, causing the waitress to go rigid.

“Mmmph-hnnn-ugh!” she muffled through the red ball, her breasts bouncing under the weight of the tray as the vibration surged through her core. She offered a quick, submissive nod to indicate she was ready for their order.

“We will take four of your coldest beers and whatever meat you have on the grill today,” the leader commanded, his eyes roaming over the woman’s bound body with a look of casual interest.

The waitress offered another silent nod and began to totter away toward the kitchen area. As she passed the edge of the booth, one of the mayor’s men reached out and delivered a hard, echoing slap to her bare ass, which prompted a chuckle from the entire group. The woman jerked forward from the impact but managed to keep her balance on her extreme heels as she disappeared behind the counter. She shortly returned with four glass bottles of beer, the chains on her nipples pulling taut as she leaned over to allow the men to take the beers from her tray. The men grabbed their beers and raised them into the air, cheersing each other with boisterous shouts.

“Do you guys realize that it is exactly two hundred and fifty years to the day since my great ancestor, Magnus Holt, landed on this rock?” the mayor asked his group, his voice thick with a sense of historical pride. “That’s what the archives say, anyway. He arrived with nothing but a broken ship and a few dozen criminals, and now look at what we have built. There are four major city hubs across the planet, and almost a hundred towns dotting the red sands. We have turned this wasteland into a civilization.”

One of his men took a long gulp of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I have heard the legends of the first days, sir. They say Magnus was an impressive man who knew how to handle the resistance of the old world.”

The descendant of the founder offered a sharp nod of agreement. “He was a visionary who understood the value of order,” he replied. “I still have the original wooden cage that belonged to the first slave queen hanging in my office back in Red Rock. It serves as a reminder of how far we’ve come.”

The waitress returned and delivered the food, the heavy scent of meat filling the booths as she leaned over. Just as she began to offer the tray to the mayor and his group, a man at a separate table in an adjacent booth leaned forward and pressed his own button. The waitress suddenly flinched, her back arching violently while she moaned through the gag. “Mmm-phmm! Nnn-ggh-hmmm!”

The red ball pushed her lips into a tight circle while she struggled to keep the tray level. The vibrations from the plug inside her seemed to intensify, sending a visible tremor through her naked thighs. The men at Justin’s table grinned as they watched the woman struggle, enjoying the spectacle of her forced arousal while she tottered on her impossible high heels. Once the final plate was picked up, she offered a shaky, respectful bow to the group and began to totter to the man who had requested attention, her ass cheeks twitching with every step she took on her tiptoes.

“She is a fine piece of property,” one of the men remarked, watching the redhead totter away. “It is no wonder the Dollhouse stays in business all the way out here.”

Justin picked up his sandwich and began to eat, the atmosphere in the diner remaining lively and loud. However, the conversation was abruptly cut short when a flash of brilliant white light streaked across the sky outside the large front windows. The glare was so intense that it momentarily washed out the red hues of the desert, catching the attention of every patron in the establishment.

“What in the name of the founders is that?” a man from the green section shouted, standing up and pointing toward the horizon.

The mayor and his entourage rose from their seats, their sandwiches forgotten as they moved toward the glass. The glowing object was pummeling toward the planet’s surface at a terrifying speed, trailing a long plume of black smoke and orange sparks. It didn’t look like any of the commercial shuttles that regularly serviced the capital, and its trajectory was erratic and violent.

A few seconds later, the ground beneath the diner groaned. A massive, thundering thud followed, shaking the windows in their frames and causing the beer bottles on the table to rattle. A cloud of red dust billowed up into the atmosphere several miles away, marking the spot where the unknown object had impacted the desert.

The leader of the capital city didn’t hesitate, his eyes narrowing with a sharp focus. He turned to the man sitting closest to him and spoke with a cold, commanding tone. “Take a scout team. I want you to head to that impact site and report back to me. Identify the nature of the craft and secure any survivors you find there.”

The man offered a sharp nod and rushed out of the diner, his boots thudding against the floorboards as he made for the parking lot. Justin turned back to the window, watching the smoke rise against the darkening sky. “The rest of you, put the Red Rock security detail on high alert,” he added to his remaining men. “We need to identify the threat level before any rumors start spreading. I want a full perimeter check of the city by nightfall. If this is one of those distant planets starting trouble, we will be prepared to give them trouble.”

Justin took one more slow, thoughtful bite of his sandwich as his mind raced. He looked down at his two slaves, who remained patiently on their knees beneath the table in gagged silence. The redheaded man reached down and gave their leashes a sharp pull.

“Time to go, sluts,” he told them, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Get up. I have a meeting with ol’ Hank Crane to get back for.”

The two naked women scrambled to their feet, their bodies trembling as they followed their master out of the diner. Justin led them back to the stagecoach, his mind already turning toward the upcoming negotiations with the Crane family regarding the latest Lustex shipment. He stepped inside the carriage, and the door clicked shut with a definitive sound. With a strong crack of the whip, the four leather-clad ponygirls high-stepped in unison as the mayor’s carriage headed back toward the city limits.

Just fifteen miles away, the small spacecraft wreckage lay in flames amidst the red dunes, its metal twisted and scorched. Inside the cockpit, two occupants remained unconscious, and the female pilot, Captain Catherine Knight, had absolutely no idea of the nightmare that was waiting for her once she opened her eyes.

The End.