A Long Burning Star

On the 100th Anniversary of Fountainhead’s founding, the Sovereign gets a visit from an old friend.


Part 1. Sword Of Lightning 

 
[Fountainhead: Prometheus City, Argon Palace]  

The Sovereign stood alone, and grave out on his balcony, before him, over his Conglomerate’s capital, fireworks exploded in a blare of color. Today marked the 100th Anniversary. A century ago, his people fled Earth, and Anunnaki oppression.

Earth herself existed now as nothing more but a fractured husk, reduced to lifeless rubble, thanks to the destructive collision between itself and the planetship, Nibiru, which having been torn asunder from inside, came crashing down upon Mother Terra in the midst of a last ditch effort to liberate the home planet from Anunnaki dominance.

A 100 years, sighed The Sovereign.


“Has it really been that long?” Asked The Sovereign of no one in particular. Of course, he being a Morningstar, a synthetic being, forged from raidun90, a Robot — Complete with positronic brain, could not ever genuinely forget such information.

Dressed in his black and royal blue armor regalia, his regal sapphire cape billowed behind him in the evening breeze. The broad shouldered, blond haired, goateed Sovereign made for a most impressive silhouette against that of the brilliantly illuminated metropolis.

Not always royalty. Once, nothing but a soldier. Commander of a Lancer-class destroyer, a spaceship, who served his King with honor and distinction, the current Sovereign had been catapulted into power. Thoughts of his lost King, only brought this Sovereign, more, ponderous reflection. Together, they’d conspired to unite brother and sister Morningstars, and in doing so, keep humanity free from a foreshadowed menace. For the most part, they’d accomplished exactly that. Evident by the very existence of Fountainhead and her colonies.

His son, Luc, gave up his life during the initial Exodus. Yet Luc had left behind a legacy, a son of his own, who’d grown into a valiant man, and made history himself, by helping reunite Morningstar and Falcanian.

The Sovereign’s ruminations were interrupted by engine noise. A forward winged jet, a Gunstar, swooped hazardously close to Argon Palace, and came to a hover, red-tipped nosecone inches from his balcony. Two security drones screeched to a halt on either side of the intruding aircraft, weapons armed, prepared to fire.

“I’d expected you sooner.”

“Call off your drones.”

Extending his piercing blue eyesight, The Sovereign gazed into the empty cockpit of the Gunstar. She’d spent these last few years jumping the space lanes alone. Why should he have expected her to pick up companionship now?

The Sovereign motioned at his Mecha guards. “Leave us.”

“Thank you.” Purred the Gunstar.

“Do you intend to just hover there? Come in, have a drink.”

The Gunstar reconfigured. Parts moved around to transform into a sleek, feminine Mecha. Mass shifted down into a humanoid form, that of a beautiful blue-eyed Falcanian woman, whose elfish oval ears, peeked from under auburn tresses, marred by a single strand of white. On her back was a flat armored pincer-tail and mechanical, black and rose-feathered halo-wings.

“Its nice to see you, Guillaume.”

“And you, Nadia.”

“Selita –”

“Gee, isn’t Selita gone?”

The Sovereign looked abashed. “Do you know, I forget nothing?” Reminded. “Of course you do, you’re not only a Falcanian, but a Morningstar like me, the original Morningstar herself.” Exhaled. “Yet,” thoughtful. “For whatever reason, whenever I need something, I find myself calling out for my secretary, Selita. Who went on to bigger, better things.”

Dryly, Nadia Korelia-Drakonis remarked. “If you mean, becoming girlfriend, and later wife to a Galactic Dictator, she sure did.” Though Nadia grinned. She’d personal interest in Selita’s duplicate sister, Sarina. “The Rubik’s are a fascinating family.”

“Indeed, that they are.” Guillaume LaSalle agreed as he recovered his own decanter of alcohol from an antique cabinet, so he could pour Nadia and himself a drink. “But I suppose, you’ve come to Fountainhead to talk about our family.”

“I stopped by Zarhur Station.” Nadia told him. “Sitara and Rene, are doing good.” Her daughter and his grandson. “We’re great-great grandparents now.” She licked lush maroon lips, sipped from the intoxicating beverage. “Central Point is a clamor these days.”

“With the relentless peace, my grandson and your daughter enforce, via that Commonwealth that they’ve built, I’m not surprised. Sitara even tamed the Uluenbas.” Recalling the fierce debate that plagued his government. “There are those in my Concordance, who’d give anything for a chance to eradicate every last Anunnaki.”

“The Asgardians, were not involved in Earth’s enslavement.”

“Regardless.”

“Is that music?” Nadia’s elfish ears twitched. “Jolan’s 7th.”

“There’s a ball going on.”

“Shouldn’t The Sovereign, attend?”

“I did…” Gee took a gulp from his drink. “Needed to get away from all that pomp and circumstance.” Besides pressures of his office, LaSalle missed his wife. Teresa, only reigned as his Matriarch for a short time. Human frailty caught up with her, all too soon. The anniversary ball reminded him of her. “Imogen’s presiding, as mistress of ceremony.”

Nadia grinned. “I bet my sister-in-law, hates it.”

“It took some doing, getting Imogen Drake back on Fountainhead.”

Klaxons resounded throughout Prometheus City. Fountainhead’s thick clouds opened, and revealed a descending vessel. Guillaume LaSalle pushed his balcony doors apart, glanced upward at the giant ship which loomed above Prometheus City. A Dawnstar. Scarred carapace of its hull, oil-black, like hardened lava. Calcified nodular tentacles, appeared as if molten iron were poured over uprooted, ancient tree roots, fashioned into a ferocious prow.

The elongated, menacing Dawnstar, parked itself over Argon Palace.

Scores of Dawnstars orbited Fountainhead, under control of Vautek Guardians, who assembled more such vessels and sent them outward, in order to establish Morningstar colonies. However, this gnarled, battle pitted warship did not belong to Vautek Guardians. RSI Sword of Lightning, was flagship of the Eradicator’s Synchronized Empire.

“Good, he’s here.”

Gee glanced at Nadia, dumbfounded. “You invited that mad man, to my capital?”

 

Part 2. Synchronization 

 

Eradicator, that is what he called himself. Both title and personal designation. Few, if any these days addressed him as anything else. Shrouded in a majestic black overcoat, his Star Chaser uniform, from bygone times, strode purposeful, toward The Sovereign, up on his crystal throne. Below the dais, Eradicator stopped, removed his hood. Bolted over Rust ruined right ear and eye, a black carbon fiber plate served as repair to ramshackle synthetic flesh. The cybernetic component served to make Eradicator’s striking bald head, even more so.

All Morningstar perceived the Universe as design, pattern, and order. A condition of positronic brains that did not permit denial of designer, behind the design. Of course, provided each Morningstar’s idiosyncrasies, such implicit knowledge tended to format rather unusual personality types. In Eradicator’s case, that meant an overwhelming need for organization.

“I salute you, Sovereign.” Said Eradicator in his precise British verbiage.

“Have you come to surrender, Silas?”

The ruined, purportedly insane renegade general laughed cordially. “No. Not today my friend.” Considered, rubbed at his white goatee. “There shall come a time, when we meet in battle, and I shall end our conflict by Synchronizing your Conglomerate, with that of my Robot Empire. But today, is not that day.” Gestured at Nadia, who stood close to The Sovereign. “I return to Fountainhead under truce. To honor Vecron Prime and his daughter. On this, the 100th Anniversary we helped free and preserve humanity.”

“Silas.” Nadia stepped forward. “I believe you brought something, of great import.”

“I did.” Eradicator nodded at his bodyguards. “On a trajectory, close to that of the Terra Sol Remnant, one of my patrol vessels happened across…” Presented. “This.” The Eradicator’s bodyguards, pallbearers actually, hefted a casket. “Not to place a damper upon the celebration, but you really should see who it is that lays at rest here, Guillaume.”

Eradicator opened the casket lid.

Primal force made Guillaume LaSalle rise from his stately chair. “Odin!”

Wrought into a mummified skull, desiccated features yet remained recognizable as those belonging to Odin Battenberg. Emerald eyes were oddly glassed over, but not as one might expect, ruptured from the coldness and vacuum of space. Synthetic flesh, long since became that distinctive metalized tint, lifeless Robot dead were known for.

“Yes.” Eradicator said, solemn. “However, if you doubt, have Dr. Vartazarian examine the corpse to verify that this is Odin Battenberg, our Lord and King.”

Feelings overpowered Guillaume LaSalle. Here lay his predecessor, who during the Exodus went to his demise in order to provide the fleet a chance at survival. Emotions brought memories. Odin naming Gee as his successor, fully aware that he probably would not come back replayed in sharp resolution inside this Sovereign’s positronic brain.

“How’s Selita?”

“Good.”

Eradicator and Sovereign sat across from one another at a luxuriant table during the celebration banquet, which had become a wake.

“There’s no reason for any of this.”

“Eh,” Silas frowned. “You mean, my empire building?”

Gulping his wine, an approximation of a vintage he’d enjoyed in his native France, developed from genetically engineered grapes, Guillaume LaSalle leaned close to Eradicator and studied the Robot Emperor’s damaged face. “Silas Cumberbatch,” said Guillaume using Eradicator’s true name. “Frederika really did, almost kill you.”

“Can’t blame her.” Silas readily acknowledged. “Thought she could rid the Universe of a tyrant. Yet here I am and Frederika von Gotha, is… Gone.”

“Damnedest thing –”

Curiosity raised, Silas questioned. “Speaking of which. Where is Guinevere?”

“I’ve sent for her.” Guillaume answered. “She’ll wish to see Odin, before we –”

“Close the tomb. Yes, I imagine so.”

A funeral was held in commemoration for Odin Battenberg, once King of the United Kingdom and later, Sovereign Lord of the Star Chasers, dedicated to relocating and preserving mankind from Anunnaki rule. His burial chamber resided on Argon Palace’s grounds and a marker stone declaimed Odin, Founding Father of the Fountainhead Conglomerate.

Following the entombment, Nadia made her goodbyes.

“It never fails to astound me, to see her do that.” Guillaume conceded, as he watched Nadia reconfigure. First into a female Mecha, and in a flash, transform herself into Gunstar mode, streak off over Prometheus City, upward, into space.

Silas nodded in agreement. “More Falcanians have gained that ability… To transmutate. A planet populated by near gods – Angels. And we, their worshipers look on in awe.”

“You do know, Silas? The Falcanians won’t ever allow us to destroy one another.”

The Robot Emperor exhaled. “You’re probably right.”

 

Part 3. The Green Witch

 

On a planet, replete with beautiful women, she stood out. Emerald skin, generous breasts, lustrous black hair draped over womanly curves. Among countless supermen and wonder women, Hela was unequaled. Eve of a race, Futureans, cousins to Morningstars, that officially no longer existed. The maroon gown, which she barely wore, did not hide the Vril circuity that pulsed under her exotic flesh and marked Hela Futura as an Arclayht Warlock.

Hela caressed the cool stone tomb. “It will happen, very soon.”

“To what do you refer?”

“Do you not feel the power, Orin?”

Like Hela, Oriole Amirjeen was an Arclayht Warlock. Unlike Hela, Oriole was a Falcanian. His great cybernetic wings, fringed with yellow plumage, and armored pincer-tail were at rest behind him. Oval ears stuck out on either side of a bald head, and made Oriole appear devilish. His forked goatee only added to his diabolical visage. “Yes, I feel it surging through the mausoleum.” Vecron Prime only knew what his apprentice got herself entangled in. “Is this your doing, my dear?”

“No.” Said Hela. “But I foresaw it.”

“Ah!” Exclaimed Oriole. “That is why you cajoled Imogen to return for the anniversary festivities.”

Hela nodded. “He awakens.”

Outside Odin Battenberg’s burial chamber, Star Chaser guards were posted. The platoon wore flawless black and blue uniforms, and faceless chrome helmets. In their war weary careers, they’d witnessed action in space, death, and amazing sights across the galaxy. What they were soon to confront however, they were not prepared for.

An electric hum emitted from the royal crypt. Flashes of blue light pulsed within. The platoon commander stood before the double doors, hand on his sidearm. Stone shattered into a hundred different pieces as the door burst open.

“Where… Am… I…” A lag and mechanical reverberation distorted the abomination’s words.

“You — Live, Odin?” Asked the platoon commander.

The mummified skull responded. “Odin?”

“Oh great,” quipped Oriole, as he and Hela walked onto the scene. “A zombie.”

“No, Master.” Said Hela. “This is not a vacant corpse, reanimated. There exists yet a kernel of the man he used to be.”

That presented an ethical quandary for Oriole, who under different conditions, happily would have thrown Rust at the Morningstar walking dead, and been done with it. The temptation to rid himself of the problem appealed to the Warlock. To history and his loved ones, Odin Battenberg was quite dead. No need to complicate the record. Moreover, this – Skull faced, metalized, abomination could never really be Odin again.

“Gee…” Moaned the skull face. “I must, see LaSalle.”

Hela in her own right was an accomplished, powerful Arclayht. She was correct in her reckoning that a kernel of Odin yet persisted in the desiccated body, that now walked among the living. “We’ll take you to The Sovereign.”

“Hela?”

“As if we’ve other options, Master.”

And so, Oriole Amirjeen set about to reassure the horrified Star Chaser platoon, that all remained well, wholesome even. Not an easy task, even for a wizard.

“There’s an axiom,” recounted Oriole Amirjeen. “’Only Rust, can permanently ruin a Morningstar’.” The Arclayht Master knew of a few other ways to render a Morningstar inoperable, however, the axiom more or less held. “Present company excluded.” Said the wizard to Silas. “My apprentice hypothesizes, even though Odin’s outer chassis is… Um – Blemished, his positronic systems sustained life these past 100 years in stasis lock.”

Oriole believed it just as likely, Odin’s chassis had become corrupted and possessed by some unknown power. The Universe was filled with all sorts of disagreeable things. Hela’s reasoning, for the moment, probably made more sense. The Arclayht Master did not offer his counter hypothesis. There did not seem to be a threat. Yet.

Silas and Guillaume were surprisingly, sedate, if a little confounded and horrified. Only hours before, they’d overseen the sealing of Odin’s tomb. Yet a shadow of that man stood here, in The Sovereign’s drawing room. A cadaverous body, shrouded in funerary garb. Glassed over eyes glinted spectral light, inside that of a gilded skull.

“Indeed.” Stated Silas. “I’m somewhat familiar with your student.” Grinned. “Having first come across her at my own… Momentous, resurrection.”

The Green Witch shot the Robot Emperor a spiteful glare. It had been after that incident, Hela found herself placed under Oriole Amirjeen’s full time tutelage. A powerful Arclayht could not be allowed to wander about untrained. “You got a wife out of the encounter, my Lord.” Responded Hela gritting her perfect little white teeth. “And reclaimed your power.”

“Girl,” said Silas. “If I’d had my way, you’d be my personal witch.” He laughed. “But the Falcanians won’t give me an Arclayht. Too much power.”

Guillaume interjected. “Silas, I think we’ve bigger concerns. Such as, what is to become of Odin?” He’d managed to keep what took place at the tomb secret, at least for the moment. “Do you wish a life here on Fountainhead, my friend?”

Again, the lag and metallike echo. “Not Odin. Not anymore…” The skull eyed both his friends. “This world is literally, and metaphorically yours, not mine. I do not belong here. A century, lost in darkness of space, changes a man.” The skull almost laughed. “In more ways than one.” He nodded at Hela. “This lovely Green Witch suggested to her captain that I go away with them.”

“Imogen, has a fancy, for outcasts and oddities.” Agreed Oriole.

“So, that’s it?” Guillaume asked. “You wake up, only to leave?”

“It is best.”

“What about Guinevere?”

“She is not to see me. Let Guinevere and the Universe, think I lay in that tomb.”

Silas placed a caring hand on Guillaume’s shoulder. “He’s right, Gee.”

“Very well.” The Sovereign relented. “I expect you to remain in contact, Odin.”

“Not Odin.” Replied the skull. “Do the Budjah still exist?”

“They do.” Hela answered.

“I am, Charon.” Said the gilded skull.

Guillaume LaSalle, Sovereign of the Fountainhead Conglomerate, watched from his balcony as the RSI Sword of Lightning, departed. Someday, he and Silas Cumberbatch more than likely would come to blows. Yet not tonight. Guillaume had been very glad to have the Robot Emperor be here and witness with him, their long thought dead King, rise from his grave.

Billy Goats Gruff: A Spanking Short

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A good old fashioned razor strapping out in the barn, teaches London Tarkenton, while visiting a working family farm, that even collage girls, aren’t too grown up to be thoroughly spanked, when the occasion deems it necessary.


Table of Contents

Part 1. City Girls, and Country Babes

Part 2. The Follies of Brutus

Part 3. Old Barn, and Razor Strap

Epilogue. Dorm Discipline

Also By...

About The Author

Part 1. City Girls, and Country Babes

[Rebekah Fox & London Tarkenton, 19 and, 18]

London Tarkenton remained in a state of culture shock. Her visit, with her college roommate, Rebekah to her family's rural North Dakota farm had proven to be a great deal more different than her cultured New York City life. 

The girls had come to Fox farm on school break, though it wasn't turning out to be the vacation that London had in mind when her friend first floated the notion of going back with her to North Dakota. First, the chores that Rebekah's brother, the very tall, muscular, and rather handsome – for a country boy, Buck roused them to go about, did not turn out to be London's idea of fun. She’d expected a few weeks away from New York, to be relaxing, not waking at the crack of dawn so she could go feed chickens very much of a vacation. London would've preferred her biology books over this, and she wasn’t even that outstanding in science. 

Not that Rebekah's family were anything but gracious to her. Certainly her friend’s mother made sure London felt right at home, just like one of the family. And the meals were scrumptious, nice and hearty. The sort of comfort, stick to your ribs food you'd expect on a working farm. 

Things got a little weird... Awkward, however when one evening, Rebekah got bratty with Buck. At first it had been just good humored, little sister teasing of a big brother, yet it crossed the line (in Buck's mind) after Rebekah had begun to engage in foul language when Buck tried to ignore her. Rebekah didn't like being ignored. One too many swear words too far, and Buck ordered Rebekah to get ready to go to the barn. 

Rebekah had looked at him mortified, and even tried to protest, appealing to her mother, who made it quite clear, just as always, Buck being the eldest, and 'Man of the House' was still in charge of discipline, what he said, went. London had watched confused, and honestly baffled while her friend could only stare at her, beet red, and weeping. 

Soon thereafter, Rebekah had stripped herself down to her underwear, a pretty matched pair of lavender lace bra, and panties. London watched aghast as her lovely brown haired college roommate stoically marched across the yard, all swaying country girl curves, and knolls, scantily concealed underneath skimpy pastel lingerie. 

Buck followed his nineteen year-old little sister as she walked, barefoot toward the barn, one of a couple located on the farm. Though none of the family bothered to explain, London deduced her friend was going out there to get a dose of corporeal punishment, ...

Madison’s Birthday Spanking

Madison, gets a hot bottom for her birthday!


Getting out of the shower, the curly haired brunette set out on her bed the clothes she’d chosen for her birthday party. A blue satin dress, that she knew would match her tan complexion. Time was running out, and her sister would soon pick her up, so they could go together to the party location.

Madison was greeted by her friends and her family. Her sister couldn’t help herself, and brought along a few of her own, male friends, intent on ‘setting her up’. That didn’t really go over too well with Madison, who smiled nicely at the guys, but wouldn’t give any of them the time of day, let alone a date. Her guy needed to be special. Not afraid to take her in hand, if need be.



After the cake and the gifts, the young damsel decided she’d take a walk in the garden and to her surprise, a stranger met her under an orange blossom tree. He had not been among the guests — At least Madison didn’t recall him there. She would have remembered. His striking predatory features and well-trimmed goatee, those features would have stuck in her mind.

She went over to ask him his name, but instead, he placed a finger to her lips. “Now Miss Madison, have you been a good girl?” She found herself blushing, but a grin crossed he face. “Young lady, I asked you something.”

Madison smiled, and played along. This after all was supposed to be her birthday gift. “I’m sorry, Sir. Yes, I’ve been very, very naughty.” She couldn’t keep the twinkle out of her eye, suggested. “Perhaps the birthday girl needs a spanking?”

The stranger didn’t allow Madison many options. With one swift movement, he pulled her over his knee. Slowly, making it last, lifted the hem of her satin dress. Underneath silky emerald panties, covered a firm, taut buttocks. SMACK! “Ouch”, she said, but giggled, enjoying the burn and feel of his hand on her rump.

“That’s only the warm-up.” He promised and tweaked a nipple. Madison’s soft, bountiful boobs were popping out of her party dress in her rather exposed, over his knee position. The naughty girl wasn’t wearing a bra. “Now, thirty swats.”

Between her legs, she could feel a tingle when he promised to spank her some more, and managed to say, in a husky voice. “I’ve been a really bratty girl.” Mocking a pout, Madison begged. “Spank me, Sir! Spank me hard!”

After ten hard whacks, he paused and reached for the elastic of Madison’s panties, pulling them down to her ankles. Madison’s curvy buttocks had become the color of a Red Delicious apple. “Now, how does that feel?”

“Oh, it stings.” She purred and Madison thought: I really should probably introduce my boyfriend to my sister, or she’s just going to keep throwing guys at me.

Pleased by the little yelps and cries he caused Madison to make, her secret boyfriend nibbled on Madison’s ear and whispered. “Happy birthday, Love.”

Synthetic, Electric Romance (A Story of The Federal Galactic Empire)

|On Smashwords | Retailer Links|


Sarina Rubik, is madly in love. Her guy Cylus, a broke down, Tank-Class Sentinel, loved her back with his every circuit. Yet Sarina, prone to trouble, walks right into a conspiracy on the Morningstar planet Gear. Why are fembots vanishing? Who is the Shredder? Most of all. What are the green skinned Humanoids that lurch around in Volt’s shadows?


Table of Contents
Epigraph
Chapter 1. A Girl, And Her Mecha
Chapter 2. Devil In The Details
Chapter 3. All The Women Came And Went…
Dramatis Personae
TERMS OF INTEREST
Also By…
About The Author



Epigraph 
​

Transition from mankind, into Hybrid, Morningstar offspring, did not come about as an abrupt traumatic occurrence. For a single reason. Homo Sapiens are prone to randomness, which we, as designed Robots lack. Both in our psyche and SNA. This tendency for entropy attracted us to you. Following a continuum, Neo-humans forged ahead, where Homo Sapiens ended. Everything from routine tasks, to falling in love.
— Roark Dallas, The Architect 


Chapter 1. A Girl, And Her Mecha 


[Planet Gear, City Of Volt. The 22nd Century] 
50, 298 beings, many of whom were machines, populated the Fountainhead offshoot colony, Gear and resided inside its shiny primary metropolis, Volt.
There they labored and loved.
Volt, as could be expected from a city manufactured mainly by and for Robot kind, featured numerous modern technological amenities. Pneumatic transit chief among them. Smooth and power efficient, it carried Volt’s citizen’s home and to work, built to accommodate all makes or models. For the populace of Gear came in varied shapes and sizes. From giant construction behemoths, to human-form Morningstar models. Two such organisms were about to begin an adventurous week. Little did they know it. Only because the girl ‘bot just couldn’t keep herself out of trouble. Even by Volt’s unusual standards, they were a very odd couple.
Sarina Rubik fluttered open her glistening, neon-blue eyes. Yawned. Stretched, curled up on her boyfriend’s bulky army green chassis. Sitting up, Sarina brushed away her light-brown hair, naked, aside from a pair of white lace panties, shapely butt cheeks pressed hard, taut onto Cylus’s sturdy arm. She climbed up his mass and smooched his round silver face.
During the Battle of Earth, Cylus had been a heavy munitions ‘tank’. Essentially a semi-sentient sentinel, configured to repel invaders. Afterward, during the Exodus, Cylus had been reformatted for construction. First on Fountainhead and later here, on Gear.
In a universe replete with Artificial Intelligence, that which constituted personhood required a very specific meaning. Merely reacting to stimuli didn’t count. Your pet cat or laptop computer reacted to stimulus, to say nothing of the plethora of working machines. Cylus at one time was no more than a very complex, yet none entity. Until that is, a bolt of lightning seemed to upgrade its — His, programming.
Cylus could now moralize. This fit snugly into the Morningstar definition of person.
“Wake-up, sleepy head!”
A rumble, not unlike that of an engine powering up filled the room as Cylus began to cycle into waking mode. The one-time war veteran and construction Mecha wasn’t much of a talker. Though he could speak, given the right motivation.
“I’m awake, Sarina.” Said Cylus, in his grumbling modulated voice. Vocalizations, which like that of the shell they were housed in, sounded heavy.
Sarina hopped off Cylus, generous breasts jiggled in a most mesmerizing manner. She glanced over her shoulder, grinned toward her lover and made for the shower unit.
Despite an Eastern European surname, Sarina had features which could be delineated as Asian. The surname, a result of her father’s quirky choice after he’d been decanted, for a family name in honor of a 20th Century Earth puzzle. She was a second generation, pure-bred Morningstar. Common, but not so much as 80% of what constituted human these days. Hybrids of Morningstar and Homo Sapiens. All the end product of a forced galactic Diaspora and human destiny being ceded to Morningstars. The cataclysmic destruction of Earth would do that.
In the shower, Sarina could hear creaking as Cylus stood, his joints needed lubricant. It reminded her sadly that he was an old combat model, lucky to not have been scrapped. Who would have been junked, had Fountainhead’s High Court not ruled him a person.
Getting out of the hot water, which loosened up her own high-grade polymer muscles, Sarina pulled on a towel, began to dry and brush her hair. Sarina determinately appeared Filipino, with the exception of her luminous blue-eyes, which were dominant among Morningstars.
Going out into the open bedroom, their apartment, basically a garage subdivided into living and kitchen area, as well as Cylus’s workshop, Sarina went over to her wardrobe, pulled out a maroon bra and panty set. Selected black jeans and a tight gray tank top. She spent a moment after she clothed herself to apply pink lip gloss and atomize a pleasant scented, cherry blossom perfume between her ample cleavage.
Over at a shrine, where a frosted glass illuminated cobalt representation of the Blue Ghost had been erected, Sarina closed her eyes and prayed silently. As always, she gave thanks to The Prime and Its Messenger for endowing sapience upon Cylus. Made sure as well, to bid good fortune for a lucky day.
The old war hammer did not himself worship the Blue Ghost. Strangely, at least to Sarina, her boyfriend preferred the Budjah faith of the scarlet robed monks, who maintained the interstellar communications network. A religion unquestionably Old Earth and Homo Sapien in focal point. But then, Cylus could be quite the slumberous philosopher.
Moving about, Sarina took the lubricant can and oiled Cylus’s creaking leg sockets. Caressing him as she did so. The girl scaled onto his shoulders in order to reach his rotating arm, ball-and-socket joints. “My very own Tin Man.” Nuzzled Sarina. “I love you, big ape.”
The construction Mecha let out a groaning utterance as his girlfriend climbed downward.
Meow! Simba, the gray tabby cat demanded attention.
Felines, and archnemesis, rodents hijacked onto the Morningstar Exodus. Actually, Simba and his compatriots in the Fountainhead Conglomerate, Gear and other such Morningstar colonies were the second feline wave out of Terra, Sol III. The Falcanians brought with them a variety of feline specimens when they themselves fled Earth.
After feeding the cat, the only honest-to-goodness organic lifeform in the whole household, Sarina patted Cylus on his brawny arm, said. “I’ve got to go to work.”
“Come straight home –”
“Cy,” Sarina sighed. He could be so damn paternal. “I’m not going to vanish.”
“Sure,” Cylus exclaimed. “Bet those other fembots thought the same before whoever took them, did. Yet they’re no place to be found.” He glumly added, as if speaking were an effort. “Probably got slagged.”
Sarina didn’t hear, as she’d already gone out the garage, onto Tesla Boulevard, Level 30, Grid 9. Across the street construction workers continued Gear’s endless assemblage. New skyscrapers, many rooted into the planets core continued to rise above the early morning skyline.
Pneumatic transit was only a block away from Cylus’s garage. Sarina reached the transport sphere minutes before it departed its station. If she knew what sort of Pandora’s Box she’d be blindly walking into, just by going to work, Sarina would’ve called out for the day. …

The Singaporean, Girl: A Spanking Short

|On Smashwords | Retailer Links|

New neighbors move into Redwood Apartments, beautiful Bo Yang, and her strict mother. Much to long time resident “Old Man” Calvin Summers pleasure, who gets an education in cultural differences upon striking up a close friendship with the two women.



Table of Contents

Part 1. New Neighbors

Part 2. Overheard…

Part 3. Bad Girl, Bo

Epilogue: Laundry Room Blues

Also By...

About The Author



Part 1. New Neighbors 
​

[Bo Yang, 22] 
The occupants of 7C moved in over the weekend, Saturday, twelve noon, on the dot. “Old Man” Calvin Summers, long time resident of Redwood Apartments, just arrived back home from sharing a round of drinks at his local VFW Hall with his buddies, met one of his new neighbors. “Here, let me help you with that, young lady.” Calvin said, and caught hold of the box that the pretty girl nearly dropped in her try to push open the apartment door, while balancing the unwieldy box.
The girl, Asian and undeniably gorgeous! Any man, in particular, an oldster like Calvin, couldn’t help but stop and take a good gander. Her long black hair fell straight down her back. She wore jeans, and a T-shirt, that hugged perky breasts. Never mind, her cheerful smile. That alone would have gotten Calvin’s attention.
“Thank you,” said the girl in faintly accented English.
“Hello,” said Calvin. “I’m Calvin Summers, looks as if we share a wall.”
Again, the girl grinned. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Summers –”
“Calvin’s OK, sweetheart.” Calvin insisted. “Or, well most people around here call me ‘Old Man’. Don’t know why exactly, there are older guys besides me, living in Redwood. Guess, I’m like everyone’s grand pappy. But please, stick with Calvin.”
The girl didn’t seem at ease, addressing Calvin, as anything but ‘Mr.’, however she introduced herself. “Hello.” Offered her hand. “I’m, Bo Yang…” In the next room, a voice called out in Chinese. “And that’s my Mom. She’s not so good at English. We’re working on it.” Bo promised. “We just came to the USA, from Singapore.”
Mrs. Yang appeared from out a bedroom, and spoke to her daughter in a rush of Chinese, Calvin couldn’t hope to understand, or keep up with. Bo made a few gestures, and explained Calvin was a neighbor, who’d assisted her with a box that she almost dropped. This seemed to satisfy Mrs. Yang, who warmly greeted Calvin, the best she could, without being able to thank him in English.
“Mom, says, ‘Thanks, for helping my clumsy daughter’.” Bo offered for Calvin’s sake, and tried not to roll her big brown eyes.
Having nothing more interesting to do, and honestly not really wanting to part company with the beautiful young woman, Calvin offered and stayed to lug more boxes up from Bo’s beat up, old powder blue Volkswagen van.
During a break between hefting boxes, Mrs. Yang made everyone tea.
Mrs. Yang, hadn’t been teasing, exactly, when she called Bo, ‘Clumsy’. On at least three occasions, the girl blundered over a box she’d haphazardly stacked. The third time, the contents spilled out onto an already cluttered floor.
One of the objects in the moving box, a three-foot, thick, crook handled piece of rattan. Bo quickly glanced to see if Mr. Summers noticed, he hadn’t seemed to. She scooped up the cane, along with a handful of her clothing, coats, mostly and shoved it all into her not yet arranged bedroom before anyone could see.
Tuesday evening, following the Yang’s move, Calvin brought a basket of his laundry to the communal laundromat, where he ran into, folding, and doing she and Mrs. Yang’s clothing, Bo, in the midst of sorting varied color, lacy underwear.
“Mr. Summers!” Bo greeted, sounding her typical buoyant self. “How was your day?” Without asking, took his basket and selected a machine, as if it were something she’d always done and tossed his laundry in, using her own soap, placed quarters in and started the washing cycle. “Mom’s glad to have had your help, move us in.” Bo explained. “We’ve nearly everything unboxed already.” Singsong-like. “Can you believe it?”
Calvin couldn’t get a word in. Instead, he enjoyed listening to Bo talk. He’d noticed the girl to be more hushed around her mother. Otherwise, Bo tended to chatter on nonstop. Which didn’t bother him in the least. Bo had a very pleasant, soothing feminine voice.
“Got a date?” Calvin wondered, when he bumped into Bo as he returned home, leaving her apartment dressed in a formfitting dress, which accentuated all Bo’s womanly bits. Bo, being somewhat tiny, however thanks to chunky shoes, gained a few inches. Calvin praised. “You’re very pretty, tonight.” Who was he kidding? Bo’d be pretty wearing anything. Often, she did wear casual clothes and always came off as stunning. “You’ll make him melt!”
Bo, who appeared as if she’d recently been crying, said. “No Mr. Summers.” Managed a bright smile. “I’m going to work.”
“Where’s that?”
“The Blue Moon Bistro.” Bo said. “I’m a hostess.”
“Must have just started, I take it?
“Second week.” Bo said demurely.
“Bo?” Calvin couldn’t shake the sense, Bo was upset. “Everything, alright?”
“Fine Mr. Summers.” Bo, timidly bit her lower lip. “Mom and I just had an argument. Nothing important.” Glancing at her phone, in that gorgeous singsong voice, exclaimed. “Got to go, bye! See you later!” ...

Life Itself (Neo-human)

On the evening Sarina Rubik-Tank gives birth to her new daughter, she’s visited by a most unwelcome guest!

This is a free follow-up, to Synthetic, Electric Romance.



Epigraph

Our buildings and machines will fall to ruin, the systems and the names of the great will fall like leaves, but you, love, you flourish in the ruins sow the seeds of life in the wind. Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation seen salvation through love – and life will not perish! Will not perish! Will not perish!

— Alquist, Clerk and last human. From R.U.R. by Karel Capek





[Gear, City Of Volt. The 22nd Century] 

“Push, Sarina.” Implored the voice.

Sarina Rubik-Tank took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and indeed, pushed, summoning all her Morningstar capability and might.

The labor lasted hours. For Sarina, it began to feel as though she lay, legs up in stirrups for days on end. Yet her time-sense assured Sarina that it’d only been three hours since her water broke. If anything, at this moment, every bit of her sensory input had reached a crescendo.

In the midst of her parturition, Sarina could perceive her collected friends – Family. Not only in the birthing chamber with her, but those outside, beyond the doorway, also. The eager chattering of Diesel, Thorium, and Octane, she and Cylus’s adopted boys. Impatiently waiting for their new sister to at last arrive, reached Sarina’s ears, in a clarity that only a mother could understand.


A miracle.

Praise Vecron Prime!

Yes. There could be no doubt. Nothing short of wizardly intervention, divinely inspired, made it even achievable for Sarina, a Morningstar and Cylus, a Mecha able to cultivate progeny, which incorporated bits of both she and him. Unlike the first Morningstars, synthetic beings themselves, an artificial womb just wouldn’t properly incubate this baby.

“She’s almost here, Sarina.” Assured the soothing voice.

Suddenly, Sarina’s positronic brain changed her reality. Sarina found herself once more returned to her wedding day. They’d done the extraordinary, transported every friend they had on Gear to the very center of the Morningstar Conglomerate, Fountainhead – Even Snowball/Sparkplug, the white Persian and good old Simba, their household felines.

It helped to have friends in high places.

For a flash, Sarina recalled Selita, her duplicate sister, newly promoted as The Sovereign’s personal secretary, catching her bouquet of tiger lilies as she’d tossed them from the grand Tabernacle of the Blue Ghost’s steps. They’d yet to usher in Selita’s own nuptials. Sarina’s duplicate, not herself nearly as lucky in love as either Sarina or their other duplicate, Sheena.

Hand pressed tight onto Cylus’s giant, firm mitt. Sarina was glad for her husband’s sturdy Mecha frame. It made the labor pains, almost tolerable, to press, with all her innate muscle power, like a clamp on Cylus’s ceramic alloy hand. An expletive, hurled at their Designer, just about loosed from Sarina’s lips. He’d upgraded the plumbing innumerable other ways, hammered Morningstars into demigods. Yet, Morningstar women continued to endure pain in childbirth. Why?

“You’re doing just wonderful.” Cylus encouraged. Truthfully, slightly disoriented, here in this birthing chamber. Biology, synthetic or otherwise, wasn’t exactly his wheelhouse. At the moment Cylus felt like a voyeur, watching his wife, legs opened, while down on that end, another person, indeed an honored friend, helped convey their daughter into the world. But what mattered to Cylus most of all; Sarina needed his hand to hold.

Sarina blinked and realized she stood outside of her body. A hallucination? The positronic brain was an extraordinary piece of hardware. It offered tremendous benefits, yet also was filled with many quirks. “Am I dead?”

“Hardly.”

“You.”

“Did you think I’d miss this?”

Sarina rolled her blue eyes. “Why are you here, Iblis?”

The Vril grinned, his fanged grin, curiously paternal. He wore the same golden visage that Sarina originally encountered him in. An approximation of a Falcanian’s mammalian winged frame and plated-tail, pointed ears, basic, well muscled humanoid shape. “For the same reason she is.” Iblis Jinn nodded toward the auburn haired woman, who guided Sarina through her labors. “You’re about to bring a novel new life into the Universe. I wanted to see it. Just like Nadia.”

Sure. Sarina knew that she and her family were somewhat, she hesitated to say ‘famous’ but they were well known. She was after all married to the only known sapient Mecha, and of course, the incident on Gear with the Futureans brought with it much scrutiny from those in power. Selita and her Mum working for The Sovereign didn’t help out much. But really, Sarina didn’t need Iblis Jinn peeping in on her giving birth. How could that not be bad luck? “Just what I always wanted. The Devil, Shaitan himself, visiting me while I give birth to my daughter.”

“Harsh words.” Chided Iblis Jinn. “I mean you no harm. Morningstars are named in my honor for good reason. Who do you think whispered into Dr. Korelia’s ear, as he toiled away in his lab? Without me, there’d be no raidun90.”

“That’s not true!” Protested Sarina. “Dr. Sen named us for Prometheus.”

Iblis Jinn winked. “Exactly.”

LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB. Heartbeats, both Sarina’s own and those of her daughter boomed, like a steady clockwork in her ears.

Sarina reentered her body, only murkily conscious that Iblis Jinn watched the proceedings. All at once, her Morningstar blue eyes illuminated, and she let rip a screech, followed by a pregnant second of hush, soon broken by healthy cries from a newborn baby.

“Cylus, would you like to cut the cord?” Asked Nadia Korelia.

“Ah… OK.”

The new, proud father took the proffered shears and severed the umbilical cord, which tethered mother and baby for so long.

“She looks just like you.” Remarked Cylus.

“Maybe, a bit.” Agreed Sarina, baby cradled in her arms.

Actually, though the newborn did have her Mum’s Filipino coloring, and hints of Asian features, baby Tank inherited Mecha traits too. Unknown circuitry and metallic enhancements, purposes not yet clear studded the baby girl’s chassis. Her most striking attribute however, were tufts of magenta hair, which matched up nice with big adorable, blue Morningstar eyes.

Shulamit ‘Sula’ Arcee Tank. Named for Sulla, from Karel Capek’s R.U.R. (Rossum’s Universal Robots), was surrounded by love. Sula would prove to have a most adventuresome life. Even joining and employing her uncommon talents in the Star Chaser Corps, which supplied the young woman a chance to view the Universe. What mattered to newborn Sula currently was that she rested in the loving embrace of her parents.


End of line.

Tabby Cat, Gets Licked!: A Spanking Short

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Tabitha's no good, very bad week, concludes with her getting an extremely sore bum, thanks to a misunderstanding of Aunt Karla's rules. Tabitha thought her boyfriend cheating on her with a ditzy blonde had been the worst part of a miserable week. Tabitha's caned bum says differently.



Table of Contents

Part 1. Cat On The Prowl

Part 2. Smoking, Cat

Part 3. Tabby, Licked

Epilogue: Tipsy Kitten

Also By...

About The Author


Part 1. Cat On The Prowl 


[Tabitha Hunter, 20] 
Burgundy ringlets cascaded onto the bookstore’s carpet when she bent, in order to fix the buckle on her thick shoe. Tight black sheath skirt hugged, what could only be regarded as an apple bottom. Tabitha, ‘Tabby Cat’ to friends and family, got up, adjusted her wire rimmed glasses, and returned the book she held onto a nearby shelf.
Tabitha owned the body of a 1950s pin-up, extremely Bettie Page and she dressed the part for her job. Some misguided souls, might have labeled Tabitha ‘chubby’. If 5′ 5” and natural 34DD-24-37 were considered too big, Tabitha didn’t want to be small.
Guys didn’t seem to complain.
Of course, Tabitha really considered herself an ‘Alt-girl’ and it showed with her many piercings. Ears naturally, where she had three, currently filled with various hoops, lower lip, where a tiny platinum node glinted and nipples, just to be naughty.
What a week. It began with an epic break up with her boyfriend, which left Tabitha out on her ass, no place to stay. Luckily, Tabitha’s aunt, Karla, allowed her to quickly move in. So far, so good – Though, Aunt Karla could be sort of strict.
“Goodnight, Tabby.” Said Mr. Ryall, owner of the Notting Hill bookshop as they exited out onto the sidewalk, after closing for the day. “Any plans for the weekend?”
“Thought I might catch a movie before I go home… Back to my Aunts.”
“Enjoy yourself, and see you Monday.”
And so, Tabitha clacked down the street. A week ago, she’d have run home to her boyfriend, and surprised him with wild sex. But no more Jaks Marlow for Tabitha. His loss. Hey, Jaks was the bloody fool who cheated on her with that blonde bimbo.
Now. What to do with herself? Aunt Karla wouldn’t be home from work yet. Tabitha had an obscure memory of her Aunt remarking at the breakfast table this morning, not to be out all hours of the night. That she should be home, no later than midnight, or there would consequences. Wait! So now she had a curfew?
Tabitha thought, perhaps that required clarification. She was twenty, not thirteen!
“Hello, Aunt Karla?” Said Tabitha into her mobile, forced to leave a voice mail, because Karla didn’t answer. No doubt she was busy at the hotel. “I just wanted to touch base. Did you give me a curfew this morning? We need to discuss it.” Added, maybe a little bit snotty. “You are aware? I’m not a teenager anymore.”


Part 2. Smoking, Cat  


Rather early yet, when Tabitha departed from the movie theater. Treated herself to a tear inducing chick-flick. Heart wrenching romance, plus vampires, that didn’t shimmer in daylight! In fact, they were down right frightening, in a sullen sort of way.
Looking into her compact, Tabitha fixed her eye make-up.
Tabitha thought a pub for dinner would do her soul some good. Yes, some ale and pie! Better that than going back to her aunts, somewhat cramped and empty flat so early in the evening. Maybe she’d run into a friend?
A block from Aunt Karla’s flat, not far even from where Karla worked at a posh hotel in the front office, Tabitha got herself a booth, and ordered a pint of ale, as well as her favorite steak and mushroom pie. After she ate, Tabitha got dessert, butterscotch custard, and coffee.
Out on the street, she checked her watch, a tad past 11:30.
Supported by one of her black and red chunky heeled Mary-Janes, Tabitha leaned on a wall outside of the pub, and pulled out a pack of Dunhill cigarettes, lit up and puffed away. At long last, the weeks stress completely evaporated. …

A Proper Toe-Curling

Tanith Cofler, reports to her uncle for a sound caning, as per her agreement with her Mum.


“Shoes off.” Ordered her stern uncle.

Tanith Cofler sighed, knelt and began to unbuckle her shoes. She really loathed that command, as it foretold of impending doom for her curvaceous hindquarters. When done the tall, shapely brunette hottie neatly placed her stylish black L.A.M.B Flavia Heels beside a carved animal foot of an antique wingback chair that sat near an upstairs stairwell.

“Now go get the cane.”


With a gulp Tanith went over to the wall cupboard where Uncle Callum kept his long swishy yellow cane, a crook handled, thin, fierce instrument which never failed to leave a young woman’s ass in a pure state of heated pain.


She should have known better than to have brought a boy back to her room. It hadn’t taken long for Tanith’s Mum to catch her last night. Stupid! Go drinking with the girls after work, run into a cute guy and think she could get away with bringing him back without getting noticed.

Oh Mum noticed alright, and sent the boy away right off. After which she had informed her wayward daughter that she’d need to call up her uncle and arrange for herself a “Proper Toe-Curling” as Mum called it. Not long after she’d been caught almost in the act, shirtless and down to her pink bra Tanith had been told to ring up her Mum’s elder brother and tell him that she would like to be caned.

Certainly she didn’t want to be caned, but these were the rules she and her widowed Mum had established. That alone had humiliated the eighteen year-old girl, dialing up Uncle Callum and saying: “Hey Unc, I need my ass thrashed. When should I be over?”. He had of course responded that when she completed her work for the day, tomorrow would be just fine.

At her office job she couldn’t sit still while answering the phones. Most of the day she fidgeted and kept touching her not yet welted bottom, safe for the time being underneath her banded skirt, wishing that it could stay that way. At closing time Tanith had rushed off to the bus, lest she be late to her Uncle Callum Laird’s flat in London’s center. Now here she stood, shoeless and in stockinged feet on the dark hardwood floor, cane in-hand ready to hand it over, soon about to be soundly thrashed.

“Skirt up, knickers down,” Callum said after he took the cane from her, which he then bent in a full loop to show off its dreadful whippiness. “Elbows on the seat and keep those fingertips out, eyes front.”

Tanith began to lift her black skirt, tight, but not so much so that the smart and stylish sheath couldn’t be hiked upward to her mid-section to then be folded out-of-the-way. Rather snugly the skirt remained in place and framed a womanly apple-bottom. Thumbs in the waistband of her Curvy Kate coral thong Tanith at last slipped her knickers down past seemed French-Coffee colored nylons and got herself into place.

Not a very comfortable posture at that, on her elbows, with manicured fingertips outstretched, Tanith’s 32F tits threatened to blow out of her sheer white blouse at any moment as she struggled to maintain her bowed stance. Top heavy upper half now much lower than her equally round generous rump.

Thrump! The cane landed almost with a dull thud, like drumsticks which had hit on a tightly stretched drumhead. Tanith didn’t scream, instead right leg kicked up and maroon lips jolted open while she struggled to master the sharp, biting pain.

Thrap! That slash produced a rather girlish grunt.

“Ooomphf!” Tanith exhaled in a gasp.

Abortive cries came from the curvy girl after each stroke and sure enough, Tanith’s stockinged toes curled backward in their nylon encasement. Each toe seemed to absorb the impact of the cane as they pulled up from the hardwood floor under her stockings.

“OW! OW! OW!” cried Tanith Cofler amidst her mournful sniffles when Callum finally completed his task and sent her to stand in the corner, skirt still up, and rod held under her sore bottom cheeks, criss-crossed now with twelve, throbbing hot purplish lines.

A Stream of Stars...: Starcracker

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Vecron, and Veritraan Prime wage a game of Go. Openly, reconfiguring both the Falcanian and Morningstar peoples, so that they might become Lords of the Universe. Humanity’s future isn’t human and the Falcanians and Morningstars are tools to that end. The Falcanian Shotar has been assassinated and the Star Chasers have begun to rise up. A new player, Eden Rhys enters onto the gameboard, yet to her complete frustration, Eden discovers herself to be everyone else’s pawn.


Table of Contents
A Stream of Stars…
Series Note
Epigraph
Prologue: Sterner Stuff
Chapter 1. The Fallen
Chapter 2. The Specter of Veritraan Prime
Chapter 3. Mecha Girl
Dramatis Personae
Terms of Interest
Also By…
About The Author





Prologue: Sterner Stuff 


[Numai. May 9, 2019] 
“Allahu Akbar, death to all abominations!”
The Kalashnikov, SR-70 Taigan Pistol was an exquisite gunmetal-gray curve. A radical departure from the gunsmith’s classic AK-47. Semi-automatic, the SR-70 Taigan’s four heavy barrels fired a scatter of bullets, that hit with an explosive concussion.
Sikh soldiers, appointed by Raj Naresh Singh, to escort his Falcanian guests, who visited in order to inspect rebuilding efforts which they helped spearhead of the city that before World War III and its destructive bombardments had been named Mumbai. The Sikh, during the abrupt rumble of gunfire placed themselves between the lone attacker, shoulder to shoulder, beside Falcanian Drakorian Guard, ThunderStrike battledroids, and Valküri.
Nadia pushed past her own bodyguards, both Mecha and Valküri. During the salvo of gunfire, among those struck were her husband, Sharr Khan. Drakorian Guard immediately secured their Shotar inside an armored vehicle. Nadia noticed her Papa, Father-Creator, Dr. Turhan Korelia go down in a second hail of ammunition and realized Turhan lay dead, his stylish shimmery blue Nehru jacket reduced to a spatter of blood and gore. Probably the only thing that saved her husband, Nadia concluded, was that Sharr Khan chose to wear his formal armor.
Ignoring urges from her Valküri, to seek cover and the hulk of battledroids that placed themselves between she and the attacker, Nadia advanced on the enraged Muslim, who apparently wasn’t too keen on the genetically engineered Falcanian presence.
Bullets shredded Nadia’s babydoll sundress, slammed hard against her bulletproof body, leaving Nadia practically naked. She moved forward, unbound. Lissome tan synthetic gynoid chassis, turned impenetrable. Heads-up display zeroed-in on the assailant. Almond eyes glistened, bright-blue incandescence.
Wrenching the gun away, Nadia crumbled it and threw the broken SR-70 Taigan Pistol aside. For a moment, she considered the confused assassin. Evidently dumbfounded to discover Nadia to be more than flesh and blood. That’s because, Nadia had been manufactured of sterner stuff. Her embryo hammered from raidun90. A material comprised of no scant quantity of moissanite – Silicon carbide — Machine, given flesh.
The market street turned suddenly noiseless.
Nadia grabbed hold of Turhan’s murderer by his face, forced him onto his knees. Though he tried to fight back, her superhuman strength could not be matched by no less than that of her Morningstar brothers, or sisters. Lost to overwhelming grief, Nadia’s next movements were reflexive. Crush! The slightest pressure of her delicate, precision fingers and the assassin’s skull cracked. Killing him in one agonizing, bloody instant.


17 Years Later 


Chapter 1. The Fallen
​

My Morningstar children call me Vecron, the Blue Ghost. Falcanians denote me as Ishbol, Guardian of Char’s watchtower. I stalk the electrical-quintessence, and exist within infinite, in-between space. Messenger of The Prime, by my skilled hands, did I recall It’s Kraksang back from oblivion. Now, the ‘Sunroids’ once more walk the Universe, albeit in a different configuration. You need only know me to be representative of that which is holy illumination.
— Concordance of Vecron Prime 


[Falcanian Mobile Command Platform. January 1st 2035] 
Imperial Strato-General Shuriken Kra stood at his conning station, and glanced across banks of monitors. His men dutifully prepared Intel. Data filtered into his large goggles, integrated into the various systems. Almost two years, he’d overseen the war as Supreme Commander. Ever since the new Imperator, Gaius Trajan fired the shot that restarted a conflict ended by a masterfully orchestrated peace treaty.
“Sitrap.” ISG Kra said.
“Sub-Strato General Temujin Sardur, reports forward movement in siege of Moscow.” Responded Sub-Commander Israduith Jarok. “City’s defense shields still holding, however, General Sardur is confident he’ll very soon break their lines.”
Shuriken Kra greatly missed Frederika, who’d long since left the field to help Sharr Khan recover from the odd cybernetic illness he suffered from. Yet, honestly, Shuriken felt more comfortable knowing Arshira was safe in her post as Commander of Homeland Security. Yes, he understood full well that the woman could take care of herself. That didn’t change the fact he worried for her. Perhaps Frederika might even convince herself it would be okay to have that baby she’d been wanting? Sharr, he knew would be more than pleased to help her out there.
The Russian theater occupied Shuriken Kra’s thoughts. Dmitri wasn’t half the tactician that the Morningstar portrayed himself to be. Temujin’s little war, provoked at Sharr Khan’s behest, in order to capture Natalia Antares, and the so called ‘Mecha Girl’, Eden Rhys thus far proved to be going well. Victory appeared impending. Shuriken Kra’s bigger problem, was yet another Morningstar, who fought proxy for the Imperium: General Mufasa Taharka.
“Sir! Code Purple alert!”
“I’ll take it in the war room.” Odd, Code Purple was a highly secure channel. The Shotar ever only used it for the direst of situations. Shuriken punched his ID number into the computer and the holoscreen came to life with Chancellor Trakan’s typical dour image. “Shreik. I expected Sharr –”
“Shuriken, it’s my sad duty to inform you, our Lord,” he stumbled, reluctant to say the words. “Sharr Khan Mingh Drakonis, has been murdered.”
“Murdered?” Shuriken pulled off his goggles, lurched backward into a chair. “By who?”
“The clone, Aria…” Chancellor Trakan wearily told Shuriken. “Purely a domestic matter. We are keeping the details, hushed.”
That didn’t much surprise Shuriken Kra. Aria and Sharr Khan’s relationship, had been destined from the start to go wrong. That she murdered him, somehow did not shock Shuriken. The ISG thought he himself should have dispatched the clone when Oberon Kreis, brought her to Vorkrür Island as a ‘gift’ for Sharr. But, what’s done, is done.
“You’re to be recalled to Vorkrür, at least for the duration.” The Chancellor nodded. “There are affairs of State which need my attention. I shall see you soon.”
Shuriken pressed a button on his desk: “Sub-Commander Jarok.”
“Yes Sir.” The Mobile Command Platform’s XO answered.
“Have a transport ready, I go to Vorkrür.”


[Narshin Thryak Palace] 
“Never thought we’d lose him like this. Und soon, after Oberon…” Whenever she became upset, Arshira’s German accent thickened. “I always thought, Sharr Khan would be an old man, dying surrounded by a bevy of young women und his brood.” That thought caused Arshira to almost half-smile. “Or walking off into some great wasteland, to become stuff of legend.” Sighed. “This, it’s so banal. Unbelievable.” Nervously Arshira bit her lower lip. She hadn’t yet allowed herself to cry, not like Nadia and Shalimar at least. The Valküri felt she must remain stoic. Sensed major changes ahead. Anger built up in her heart. As each hour transpired, Frederika became colder, and began to fear her own fury. …

Kitana

The Imperial harem is lush with gorgeous women, gathered from across the globe. Each selected for their delectable beauty or refinement. Yet a bevy of beautiful females can sometimes be a handful, especially when a new arrival thinks herself beyond the rules. When that happens, the Shotar must discipline his naughty concubine.




Part 1. Songbirds


In his lifetime, the Shotar romanced numerous attractive women. First his Queen, the incomparable Nadia Korelia and later, Frederika. Yet, the girl who Sharr Khan came to call Kitana brought with her a youthful, rebellious sexuality, into a palace that discovered itself at the head of a growing superpower. As a sovereign nation, we Falcanians rose up to find our place. I think the Shotar’s relationship with this young woman helped him transition over into his new role as leader of a people, suddenly on the world theater.

— Shreik Trakan. The Fallen: A Biography Of The First Shotar



[Vorkrür Island, Evening. August 7, 2019]

Jasmine Thayer, like many of the Shotar’s Oskien ran toward dark haired, light-eyed and quite busty. The green-eyed, curly haired brunette did not disappoint. Curves were admired by Sharr Khan, who didn’t much care for waifs in his nodor.


Originally Welsh, before she’d undergone Rashalon to be transformed into a silvery-blue winged Falcanian. She’d been a Page 3 Girl in her former life, which is how Sharr Khan happened to notice her and how she garnered an invite to visit Kuras, the original Falcanian settlement located on the subcontinent. Infatuated with the Welsh girl, Sharr Khan asked Jasmine to become a Falcanian. Not an uncommon practice. Motivated by the notion she could then give birth to the Shotar’s offspring, Jasmine readily agreed to go through with the procedure. Sure enough, not long after, Jasmine bore him a daughter. A fact which cemented her place in the Palace. Imperial progeny, even those begot on concubines were treasured. Of course Jasmine realized there were reasons such offspring were encouraged. Rumor had it; complications existed in the Queen’s reproductive status. Though she’d managed to provide him two daughters.

Many beautiful women dwelt in Sharr Khan’s harem, mostly brunettes, and few blondes. When it came to blondes, Sharr Khan could be rather fussy. Yet among this multitude of gorgeous females, the incomparable blue-eyed Robotess, Nadia Korelia endured no rivalry. As Queen, her shadow loomed over the nodor. The Oskien were aware she pronounced the rules which they lived under. It might be Sharr Khan’s serail, yet it proved to be Nadia’s demesne.

Ah, the new arrival. Jasmine spotted Kitana Sang, who lounged about the inviolable nodor in nothing but sparest of clothing. Only one male could enter this section of the mansion, so often the Oskien walked around naked, or nearly so.

“Kitana.”

“Jasmine,” said Kitana curtly, coal-black eyes peered over her tablet.

Why are new girls so standoffish?, thought Jasmine and sighed. “Not long ago, I to was new here.” Said Jasmine, though the red-winged Kitana did her best to pretend not to hear. “Sharr’s a bit of a fancy for British birds.” She giggled. “Could be because our tits tend to be so big.” Jasmine eyed Kitana very annoyed that she was being ignored. Observed: For a ballerina, her boobs sure are huge. “Am I bothering you?”

Placing aside her reading, Kitana snapped. “Yes.”

“I’d stow that attitude if I were you.” Jasmine warned.

“Or what?” Kitana got up, hands on hips.

“Forget it.” Jasmine sneered. “You’ll find out.”

“No. Tell me!”

Jasmine began to walk away.

Perhaps it had been Jasmine’s self-assured posture, or maybe her implied threat, but Kitana could not abide either. She grabbed the Welsh Oskien, and pushed her over the settee where a few seconds before she’d been reading.

Hair pulling ensued, as well as the sound of screaming soon traveled the Imperial residence.

Into a frenzied girl-fight Tansuri Roy entered. Being Sharr Khan’s Chief Concubine meant keeping control over the nodor. “Kitana, get off her now!” The beautiful Sikh sitarist scolded. That didn’t do the trick, not that she’d really expected for it to, so Tanusri let loose a shrill whistle.

Kitana blinked and realized an audience of women collected to witness the catfight. Tanusri Roy, mistress of the nodor stood glaring disapproval.

Free of Kitana, Jasmine quickly stood.

“What caused this fight?” Demanded Tansuri.

“Kitana’s been a spoiled brat. I thought I’d offer her some free advice about keeping her attitude in check. You know how the new girls are Tanu. Many of us think we’re all that when we become a part of this household.” Jasmine volunteered. “I tried to warn her, how she’d end up in trouble. Next thing I knew she jumped me.”

“Is that what happened Kitana?”

Rather than respond, Kitana folded her arms over her chest, the whole while, her plated-tail swung back and forth irritated. What did they know? She was the Shotar’s new favorite. Surely these women noticed how much attention Sharr paid to her?

“Answer me.”

“Maybe.”

“Just maybe?” Tanusri Roy’s fine brow arched. “Kitana, I’m going to have to report this incident to Sharr. He won’t be pleased.” She tsked. “Penalty for such disgraceful actions means the cane. No matter the Shotar’s affection for you, my dear girl, you’re not above the rules.”

Kitana only huffed. Yeah right, she thought. No one’s gonna cane me. I got more than enough of that back home in Korea… Delicate fingers however, involuntary moved in the direction of her tight ballerina’s derriere, not caring to experience such a humiliation ever again. Her own father, part of the ruling Korean regime was very strict with his only daughter. Not that her life hadn’t been opulent back then. It had, though that opulence was all but lost to her in the horrid war which propelled Kitana into this lifestyle as a courtesan.

“Don’t believe me do you?” Tanusri cocked her head in the direction of Jasmine, who really didn’t bother to conceal an evil grin. “Ask your wrestling companion there. Jasmine knows the consequences of breaking rules.”

“And I got it for far less than what you just did.” Jasmine smugly said. “All I wanted to do was give a new girl fair warning.” Sympathetic. “Now, you went and got into the trouble that I tried to keep you out of. When you’re ordered to strip, go out into the garden, to be bent over a rack and thrashed by one of Sharr’s hunky Drakorian Guards, don’t come crying to me.”

The tiniest bit worried, Kitana Sang continued to stand defiant among the chattering women, black eyes hooded and exquisitely pointed chin upturned. Sharr would never, ever abuse her like that. Would he? If he did, she’d… She’d… Do what exactly? This life was much too delightful to give up. Besides, she really couldn’t go anywhere else. Kitana no longer had a home. Doubtful anything the concubine threatened Sharr with could prevent him from enforcing his rules. Of course Kitana remembered, these weren’t exactly his rules.



Part 2. A Rooster Among His Hens



Being Sharr Khan’s Majordomo, you notice these sort of things. Here’s a secret. the Shotar’s Kajra Re, if anything, was often far more possessive of Sharr Khan then his wife. The Queen, whatever her reasons might have been, had a hand in turning Sharr Khan into what we (his close friends) often referred to as an ‘accidental womanizer’. The man I knew, wouldn’t have gotten involved in as many sexual encounters, did not Nadia herself go out of her way to pick women for him to fuck. Perhaps it was her need to experiment?

— Shreik Trakan. The Fallen: A Biography Of The First Shotar



Sharr Khan thrust into his wife’s moist slit, filled her up with a rush of sperm. Enjoyed the sight of those bright-blue incandescent Morningstar eyes, lit in-pleasure. She pushed her hips upward to meet his engorged cock. The missionary position, not how they typically made love. The Shotar preferred to enter a female’s khabuss from behind. Yet, Sharr Khan could not deny, he enjoyed seeing those wonderful bright-blue eyes as Nadia lay underneath him.

Nadia moaned, a loud sultry, female noise.

The couple’s exertions could only be described as sexual Olympics, mostly because they weren’t alone in the Shotar’s very comfortable, accommodating nest. Beside the conjoining twosome, lay Shalimar Shial, pleasantly asleep, her own sexual gratifications tended to. Not quite a wife, Sharr Khan at least for the moment only kept one, Shalimar proved to be much more than a mere concubine. She’d been Nadia’s childhood friend. For her own reasons, the Queen brought Shalimar into her husband’s nest. Not a wife, but Kajra Re. A title of respect which the Shotar created especially for Shalimar that carried with it many of the same privileges as a genuine wife.

Her own, steel-gray and Sharr’s gunmetal black plated-tails intertwined, pincers clacked as they continued to make love. The Queen achieved orgasm in a prolonged cry. Clutching onto the nesting’s crimson bed silks, Nadia writhed, spine arched, and behind her, glassy-rose wings twitched in her pleasures thunderous release. Huskily, Nadia breathed out. “I love you.”

Sharr Khan pulled out, cum slicked penis brushed along Nadia’s inner thigh.

Rousing, Shalimar rolled over. Caramel almond eyes fluttered open, they went rather nicely with her tawny,-brown voluptuous body. The Bengali woman’s numerous golden bangles clanged as she sat up on her knees in the nest, ample tits heaving, areola swollen, and nipples erect. Lustrous black hair cascaded over her oval face.

The Shotar got out of his nest, strode to a decanter of Calviiri atop a hewn sideboard. Poured a burnt umber, aged liquor into a heavy, crystal tumbler. Sharr Khan took a moment to savor the sugary aroma and then tipped back the whole tumbler in a single gulp. The sweet-smoky liqueur coated his throat, and was quite refreshing.

“Is it me, or has his libido increased?” Pondered Shalimar.

“Yes,” said Nadia having observed this herself. “It has.” She licked her maroon lips, pushed aside auburn tresses and sat naked beside her best friend in the nest. “I’ve given it great consideration. I think it’s something to do with my Morningstar origins. My physiology has changed Sharr’s biology. Noticed it almost from the moment he and I started fucking.” Observed. “Now, if only he’d let me give him a transfusion. My blood’s nanomachines could repair his flawed heart.”

While his Queen and Kajra Re chattered on as if he weren’t there, Sharr Khan poured for himself another drink of Calviiri. Despite the tremendous enjoyment he’d recently experienced, the days difficulties weighed on the Shotar’s shoulders.

Nadia stretched, let out a sigh. “That quarrel at the jirga still bothering you hun?”

The Shotar glanced over his shoulder. “Vorkrür Island’s been online just nine months, and here we are, tinkering with established Falcanian governance.” He exhaled annoyed. “Damianus Vorskrai’s proposition to reorganize our government is surprisingly popular. At least among his workers. Not so much so with the warriors, or my Tahru clerics. A state of affairs that could lead to instability. I do not care for the secrecy it shall breed.”

“Open jirga’s always been the Falcanian way.” Shalimar commented. People often mistook her model beauty to mean that she must be an airhead. But never Sharr Khan. “Not this cloistered parliament of lords which Vorskrai suggests.” Her blunt answer to the problem. “You’re the Shotar. Do not allow it to happen. If you require a reason, cite Falcanian righteousness.”

“Damianus Vorskrai believes it will shift power to his Guilthari.” Nadia reasoned. “He’d not have suggested such a reorganization, if he did not think he could see it accomplished.” She frowned. “He’s an ace up his sleeve. Be cautious. We need his merchants.”

“Of course Nadia.” Agreed the Shotar. “You say merchant as if Vorskrai’s genuinely a Capitalist.” Sharr Khan glowered more. “Why does every civilization on this planet sooner or later end up plagued by Marxists?” Complained the Shotar. “I’d thought I forestalled such deterioration with the ThunderHawk Compact. Each house gets an equal voice.”

“As I recall,” said Nadia, got out of the nest. “Your friend, Kvaltar, who established the Guilthari, happens himself to be a Socialist.”

“Yes, Bright-Eyes.” Sharr reached out, took hold of her chin. Leaned in for a kiss. Oh, his beloved Robotess, so very lovely. Those molded Persian features, based on her Father-Creators unusual Iranian-Finn heritage. The Shotar missed the good-humored scientist. “And the Commander-in-chief of my army is a Spartan Vegan. Not exactly Falcanian is it?”

“Oh, forgive me. I didn’t intend to interrupt –”

Nadia nibbled and sucked affectionately on Sharr’s thumb as he ran it over her pouty maroon lips. To Tansuri she said lasciviously. “Come in Tanu. You’re always more than welcome.”

The Chief Concubine gazed in awe on her Queen’s naked beauty. Never really human, Nadia did not suffer from human nudity taboos. Always unapologetic, at home in her magnificent body. Tansuri said. “There’s a problem.”

“Of course there is.” Remarked Sharr Khan laconically as he grabbed hold of Tanusri by her bare midriff. His other hand made its way upward for her breasts.

Breathless. “Would you care for me to undress?”

“You’re my Chief Concubine.” Sharr Khan quipped, hand crawling under Tanusri’s embroidered magenta-orange halter-top so he could tweak her brown nipple. “Getting naked seems to be implied in the job description.”

Tansuri explained. “Playing den mother to all these women you’re collecting for fuck dolls is also part of that job.” She breathed deeply when his hand slipped under the waistband of her lengha and between her legs. “Not always an easy task Milord.” Tanusri swooned in his embrace. “It’s Kitana.”

“What of her?”

“She’s…” Tanusri stole a glance at Nadia’s bare buttocks as she strolled over to the nest, a tumbler of Calviiri in each hand for both herself and Shalimar. The Queen’s plated-tail swung in insouciant sexuality. A vermillion reminder that the Shotar enjoyed spanking womanly rumps decorated Nadia’s callipygous bum. Nadia could make her flesh resilient as Kevlar, or soft as a microfiber comforter. Being a Clicker… A Robotess, had numerous bonuses. Probably, Shalimar’s posterior showed a matching hue. “Causing trouble…”

Nadia and Shalimar attentively looked on, while Sharr Khan felt up Tanusri. Both grinned. The Chief Concubine seemed lost in her body’s pleasurable responses. So much so, she nearly forgot why she’d come up to the Shotar’s lair.

“What sort of trouble?”

Tansuri moaned. “Huh?”

“Kitana. What did she do?”

“I walked in on her pummeling Jasmine.”

Sharr Khan peered over at Nadia and Shalimar, nude on his nest, drinking and sharing girlish whispers. Both perked up hearing of Kitana’s transgression. The Shotar paused in his purposeful exploration of Tanusri’s body.

“Catfights happen.”

“Yes Milord.” Pointedly. “And we deal with them firmly.” Tanusri sighed. “You’ve a mushy spot for Kitana. No wonder. She suffered under the Shogunate’s occupation of her county. It’s why you didn’t hesitate to accept her as a gift when Tokugawa bestowed her on you.” Coming to him was procedural, as she couldn’t order Kitana caned. “A dozen strokes should make the point.”

“It’s not my place Milord to tell you how to administer your concubines.” Nadia would never publicly undermine Sharr Khan’s authority. “However, there are prescribed methods. As part of her contract every Oskien understands what she agrees to. Kitana must be punished and the other Oskien must be aware she’s received comeuppance.”

With that Sharr Khan could not disagree. “I’ll see to it myself.”



Part 3. Disciplined Dove



There’s no such thing as an illegitimate Falcanian child.

— Nadia Korelia



Currents of warm water cascaded down a waterfall, and gathered in a wading pool located at the back of the Shotar’s harem. Kitana Sang bathed herself in its shallow area; she rubbed scented oils over a toned lithe body. From the other side of a lattice partition, the sound of Tanusri as she idyllically strummed on her sitar filled the nodor.

The nineteen year-old, Korean girl took full advantage of Narshin Thryak’s many luxuries. Privilege and lavishness were things that she’d grown up with, but geopolitics stole from her. This place proved to be much more fun, compared to the Occupation in North Korea. Born Ha-Nui (‘Honey’) Sang, Kitana lived a life of favor while others suffered under the old regime. Her parents were highly placed government officials, executed by the Shogunate.

Kitana survived the occupation utilizing her body. Worked her way up from the pleasuring of lowly foot soldiers, to finally the Shogun’s Techo-Samurai. At last brought to Vorkrür Island, as a gift for Sharr Khan Mingh Drakonis, on the inauguration of Vorkrür Island.

He stood at the edge of the pool, gazed downward at his favorite new concubine.

From under her blue-shadowed, coal eyes, Kitana glanced up and smiled. Invitingly she lifted her left leg, pointed her hot pink polished toenails at him, he thought, Kitana recalled, her adorable little toes looked perfect in stockings.

Sharr Khan glared, and frowned. motioned. Made it clear he wanted her up and out of the pool.

Water streamed off Kitana’s firm voluptuous dancer’s body as she got up, fanned her cardinal-red wings, and then swayed her gunmetal tail, which caused the water to slick off it in tiny droplets. She walked the few paces from the pool, to Sharr Khan. He handed her a large towel. The concubine dried herself, began to wrap the bath towel around her body. Yet Sharr Khan hooked his fingers into the fabric and threw it aside. He wanted her naked, vulnerable.

Ten minutes ago, Kitana wouldn’t have thought twice about striding around the nodor nude, hardly shy, her body is how she survived. Suddenly now, Kitana became too aware of her naked form under the glare of Sharr Khan as he ardently eyed her. It took a tremendous amount of self-control to not place a hand over her perky breasts, or her dark pubic feathers. After all, it wasn’t like Sharr Khan hadn’t ever seen her without clothes.

At last Sharr cleared his throat, spoke: “Tanusri tells me you started an argument last night, got into a cat-fight with another girl.”

Uh oh! Kitana glanced away, flushed.

“Kitana!” He prompted, expected an answer.

“Jasmine –”

“Yes or no?”

Kitana nervously swallowed. She did not have much of a choice but to respond. The concubine inhaled, felt like a little girl and said: “I didn’t mean to cause trouble…”

“Kitana, I like you.” Sharr Khan rather honestly told her.

“I know Milord.” It came out like a plea.

Lightly, Sharr Khan took the point of her chin in his hand. “But I shall not tolerate fighting in my nodor.” Kitana used the opportunity of his closeness, pressed her bare, wet body onto his. Maybe if she could distract him with sex?

The Shotar let go of the girl’s chin and then pulled off his fingerless gauntlets, tossed them down on a marble bench beside the wading pool.

That wasn’t hopeful knew Kitana.

Tanusri’s sitar music began to pick up its cadence.

“Come over here Kitana.” Sharr Khan ordered, sat on the nearby marble bench.

Kitana stared at her hot pink toenails.

“You have two choices.” Sharr Khan stated, at last, an edge entered his voice. “Come over here and this will be over with, or you’ll be sent back to the Shogun.”

That was stark and to the point. Kitana wasn’t about to give up the luxury of the Shotar’s home nor did she fancy the idea of going back to Japan. North Korean girls, even Falcanized one’s didn’t fare too pleasantly under the Shogun.

Kitana sighed, and then the concubine obediently did as she’d been told, walked over to Sharr Khan who glared expectantly at her. He didn’t provide the girl a moment to think about what was about to take place. A slight thing, barely five-feet tall, if even that, tiny and tight. So Sharr Khan easily upended her over his knee, secured her legs between his own and pushed Kitana’s nose down to the floor, which left her bottom completely upward. She wasn’t quite sure how he did it; somehow the Shotar made it so her wings locked in close to her body. Indifferently he flipped her tail aside to expose her bared buttocks.

Hands not completely on the floor, Kitana attempted to glance over her shoulder. However, straight black hair kept falling into her eyes. The concubine shuttered, inhaled as Sharr Khan’s fingers nonchalantly brushed over her exposed sex.

Was this to be a lesson in both pain and pleasure?

“Kitana I will not do this again. Next time you misbehave I’ll have you caned in the garden.”

A sharp crack made Kitana yelp, though she did her best to not scream under the hard spanks. Each whack caused Kitana to cry louder and louder. Kitana’s “Ouches!” And “Ohs!” Among a great many grunts, howls, never mind appeals for Sharr Khan to stop his blistering assault on her hindquarters, were set to the crescendo of Tanusri’s sitar.

Convinced that he’d at last gotten his point across. That is, once her bottom became nearly the same color as her cardinal-red wings, the Shotar pushed Kitana off his lap and left her to rest on reddened haunches. Too painful to kneel back on her legs, Kitana waited, thoroughly disciplined, uneasily supporting herself on the floor. Delicately she touched her sore butt, winced. She didn’t dare look at the Shotar, tears streamed down her face.

“I have something for you.” At last Sharr Khan told her.

That took her by surprise, and for a moment Kitana glanced up at him.

Sharr Khan stood up, lifted her chin and made those angled, moisture filled coal-eyes stare right into his own gray-blue ones. “Here.”

The Shotar handed over a felt covered box.

For the time being Kitana ignored the intense pain in her buttocks. The concubine took the box and opened it. Inside was a bluish-silver chain, set with a teardrop shaped white opal. Kitana removed the jewelry, held it against her upper chest to appreciate how it contrasted with her suntanned skin. The concubine’s pink lips opened to thank him, but no words came out. She couldn’t make out exactly what just happened. One minute, Sharr Khan spanks her ass black and blue, seconds later, he gives her jewelry. Often the Shotar confused her.

“Wear it tonight.” It wasn’t a suggestion. “I’d meant to give it to you at dinner — But I thought perhaps it would be more instructive if that opal should serve as part of this lesson. I’m more than happy to do whatever brings you pleasure Kitana, but you’re expected to behave. Causing silly trouble in my harem will not serve either of us. Be glad Nadia didn’t push it, because a hand spanking wouldn’t have been her first choice for your punishment.”

All Kitana could do was nod.

He helped Kitana fasten the bluish-silver chain, and then left her beside the pool to contemplate her sore tender bottom.

The dining room’s ovular doors slid open, and out stepped Nadia.

Beautiful, in a décolletage baring cobalt halter, black jeans and pointed claw-boots. Falcanian woman’s casual wear. Golden bands adorned Nadia’s bare upper arms, and around the Queen’s neck, a choker latched by an aureate Narshin-bird. Nadia appraised the Oskien before her. Neon-blue eyes narrowed to focus on the white opal that now dangled between Kitana’s perky breasts. Though Kitana made a good try of hiding it, the Queen could tell that the well-deserved spanking caused the Oskien to squirm where she stood and shift her posture from one thick heeled shoe onto another.

The concubine had been in the Queen’s proximity before, yet never so close. Overwhelmed by Nadia’s magnetic presence, Kitana managed. “You’re gorgeous.”

Nadia smiled pleasantly. “Have you glanced in a mirror?”

Kitana gazed down at herself, appreciated how the formfitting red silk dress conformed to her body’s contours. The color choice was an affront to etiquette. Only members of the Imperial Family wore red. Though Sharr Khan liked it on her, so Kitana went with red. Under the cool clingy material, her pert spanked posterior continued to burn. Keeping the intolerable discomfort off her face proved to be an effort. Yet eating at Sharr Khan’s elbow, while sulking most certainly would be out of the question.

The Queen said. “Sharr is not here.”

“But I was told to come up and dine with him.”

Seeing the poor girl’s troubled expression, Nadia assured. “You’re not in error. Sharr’s up in his lair. You’ll be dining with him there.”

“Oh!” Kitana hastened in the direction of Sharr Khan’s chambers, which were one level above the common family area. “I mustn’t be late.”

“Kitana.” Nadia stopped the fleeing Oskien. “Wait. I’d like to speak with you before you go.” The Queen could see Kitana dared not upset Sharr Khan anymore. Good, thought the Queen. Probably rarely would this Oskien need endure another punishment spanking. Though, that hardly meant she’d ever avoid having her butt walloped. “My husband likes you.”

The Oskien blushed. What should she say to that? “I know. Sharr… Rather– The Shotar…”

“My point is. Sharr has sympathy for the horrors you lived under the Japanese Occupation. He’s got a soft spot for troubled young women, I know.” Not the first time Nadia had this chat. Originally it’d been Tansuri, a street musician plucked from bombed out Numai’s squalor and poverty, soon became fully part of the Drakonis family. Nadia could see Kitana making that sort of transition. “The Shotar was very hesitant accepting you as a gift. After all, Falcanians do not keep slaves. Though he didn’t wish to offend the Shogun. He knew what awaited you if he sent you back to Japan.” She sighed. “Don’t abuse his love Kitana.”

“Never your Grace.” Kitana doubted very much the Queen would appreciate a mere Oskien addressing her in a familiar manner and so she kept with protocol.

LOVE! Is that what Sharr Khan felt toward her? Despite the painful discipline which Sharr Khan recently visited upon her derriere, Kitana thought she might indeed have those sort of feelings for the Shotar as well.

“Good. Then you’d best go up to his lair.”

Nadia watched Kitana stride the triangular length of hallway. Couldn’t help but notice as the Oskien grimaced every time her plated-tail and hips swayed to cause the clingy material of her dress to hug tighter to those rounded spanked hindquarters.

“Kitana, please come in.” The hawk-faced Shotar sat at a low table, inclined upon an armrest. The table placed on a rise before a large oval window, which dominated the lair and opened out over the modern metropolis of Vorkrür City. Food already had been laid out. Sharr Khan held a ceramic mug of tea in one hand, sipped as he watched Kitana come to stand in front of him.

Longish, brown hair held back by a golden ring. The Shotar dressed rather informal, an ox-blood robe, over his winged Garuda, with black pajama pants. Alone in his lair, he did mind walking about bare chested and barefoot.

Respectively Kitana waited to be invited to sit.

Sharr Khan took in those toned ballerina curves, which were not quite hidden beneath the Asian concubine’s crimson dress. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. Tanusri helped me get ready. Did my hair and makeup.”

“Yes. I can see how she outlined your eyes. Very Falcanian.” Sharr cleared his throat. He knew the answer to what he was about to ask. “What else did Tansuri do?”

Kitana nervously chewed her lower lip. “After you spanked me,” she quivered. “Tansuri ordered me to stand on display in the nodor’s center, until it was time to get prepared for dinner.” She hadn’t enjoyed that. Pure humiliation. More so, because whenever she got lazy and dropped her hands from her head, Tansuri whacked her butt with a heavy hairbrush. Kitana then stupidly stuck out her tongue at one of the girls. The Chief Concubine couldn’t permit that, and practically gave her junior another full-on spanking. None of which took place without Sharr Khan’s permission. Though it helped drive home to Kitana that she should behave.

“Turn around for me.”

Butterflies fluttered in Kitana’s stomach, yet she nevertheless pivoted so that red-wings were to him, anticipated what he’d command of her next, and took hold of her dress’s hem.

“Go on, lift your skirt.”

Complainant, Kitana bent slightly, lifted her elegant silk dress, which she’d gotten altered to accommodate Falcanian wings and tail. Free hand moved aside her plated-tail and she tentatively eased downward her sheer canary yellow thong, so that Sharr Khan might have an unobstructed view of his handiwork.

“Does it hurt?”

“Oh yes!” Kitana said, gulped. “It burns.”

If anything, her buttocks looked to have gotten redder and began to become purplish. Of course, Kitana hadn’t been permitted any soothing balms. Sharr Khan realized he’d been fairly harsh. Though not undeservedly so. There’d been Oskien who’d suffered more, and for much less. At the moment the Shotar suppressed his primal urges. He’d invited Kitana here to enjoy a repast. That’s exactly what Sharr Khan meant to do first.

“Cover up and join me.”

Smoothing the silk over her blistered rump, Kitana walked up the few steps. She didn’t enjoy the thought of sitting. In a chair it would have been impossible. On the floor it wasn’t likely she’d be comfortable either. What she wanted to do was spend the night on her tummy. A naughty thought entered Kitana’s head and she couldn’t keep from grinning. Could there be any doubt where this night would end up?

Blushing, the Oskien glanced over at Sharr Khan’s sumptuous nest. The Shotar kept his office removed from his lair for a reason. These yurt-like chambers reeked of sex, to the point of distraction. Falcanian males secreted ensnaring chemicals that were addictive to mere human women. Kitana recalled the first time she’d been in Sharr’s lair, while still human. Probably the most amazing sex she’d ever experienced. Yet, next morning Ha-Nui Sang discovered herself craving Sharr Khan in a most unnatural fashion.

In retrospect, the Shotar’s biological powers were probably an unfair advantage.

Demurely Kitana got on her knees. Adjusted her fuck-me, stripper heels. The shoes were glorious leather lace-up things, but they didn’t exactly make kneeling on the floor easy. Regardless, Kitana moved with poised grace, forged both by ballet, as well as cultivated under the Tokugawa Shogun’s cruel demanding whip.

From a brass samovar, Sharr Khan poured Kitana tea. Its acidity smoky bergamot aroma immediately nibbled at the girl’s tiny nose. Falcanian senses were keen. The Shotar placed a dollop of sweetened, condensed milk into the green mug and handed it over.

“Thank you.” Said Kitana after a sip. The tea, traditionally strong and a world apart from the sort of brews she’d grown up with. It hadn’t been until she came to Vorkrür Island that Kitana learned to enjoy milk in her tea. Now she found the Imperial Blend a guilty pleasure.

For a moment Shotar and concubine gazed at one another.

“You seem disturbed,” Kitana said insightful, and then crestfallen. “Is it my behavior?”

So contrite, Sharr Khan thought somewhat disappointed. A single spanking and Kitana became dutiful and compliant. A much more primal part of the Shotar hoped to break her over time. Though he’d a hunch this current contriteness must be more the result of a freshly reddened butt then that of being collared.

“No, no.” Sharr Khan half-laughed while he eyed the concubine’s breasts. “There are things underway with my Darr-Varth which weigh on my mind.” Across the table he reached, touched Kitana’s cheek. “Not for you to worry over.”

Males said that sort of stuff to her all the time. ‘Don’t worry your pretty little head Honey… ‘ Kitana wanted to groan. Usually the statement, with the exclusion of her father, would be followed by ‘Now, get on your knees and pleasure me’.

The Oskien blurted out, not demurely. “Tell me!”

The Shotar shot a stern glance at his concubine.

“I mean,” Kitana composed herself. “Isn’t that what I’m here for? To help you unburden yourself and decompress.” She sipped from her tea. “Besides, I’m a Falcanian citizen now. Shouldn’t I care about the goings on of our government?”

Sharr Khan leaned back, regarded Kitana keenly. “Very well. Damianus Vorskrai, leader of the Guilthari caste is attempting to reform our government into a conclave of Nine Lords, who will do Falcanian business in secret. This is antithetical to everything I believe in when it comes to citizens and their government.” He shrugged. “However I feel cornered. Lord Vorskrai clearly has a leverage which he’s yet to reveal. I don’t like where any of this is going. Certainly it’s not what I desire for my people. We’re about to repeat mistakes that lead the world into corruption and desolation.” The Shotar breathed out heavily. “Falcanians are supposed to be a more nobler breed.”

Indeed. Sharr couldn’t help but remember The Purge. Thought, perhaps that the nuclear explosion, over what used to be the United States, did at least bring a purifying end to that horror which had become an out or control government.

Kitana understood she wasn’t qualified to offer any sort of political advice. If anything, that would be the Queen’s job. She could only listen. But letting Sharr Khan vent, even rant about the problem seemed to lighten up his morose mood. By the time he’d exhausted his thoughts to Kitana, Lord Damianus Vorskrai’s gambit no longer hung over the repast.

The concubine squirmed, distracted herself from the pervasive burn that throbbed in her sore ass with a mouthful of food. Shredded sprakzir-pig and mashed plantains. “Oh my!” Said Kitana. “This tastes glorious.” It did. The flavors, both salty, as well as slightly sweet were pulled together by glistening pork fat which blended with the plantains.

Sharr Khan leaned in, grinned. “Glad my culinary skills are to your liking –”

“You cooked this meal?” Kitana asked, wide-eyed.

“I did. Try the soup. A simple duck broth.”

And so Kitana did, very delighted when she dipped into the heavy bowl and along with bits of duck meat discovered a bright-yellow egg yolk. Falcanians were omnivorous, though animal matter served their bodies more effectively. The meal was heavy on proteins.

Repast complete, Sharr Khan and Kitana adjourned to a U-shape setup of heavy chairs, which ringed a golden stripper pole, arranged in a recess of the lair. The Shotar sat in his comfy cushioned chair, Kitana stood, almost shy before him.

Kitana of course knew what he expected of her. Not the first time she rode that pole.

“Music.” Sharr Khan called out and his lair’s computer began to play Warrant’s Cherry Pie, suitable to Kitana’s seductive movements. Poison’s Every Rose Has It’s Thorn soon followed. The play list, an indicator of what era the Shotar had grown up in.

The concubine slid off her crimson dress, glad to be free of it, got down onto the floor, moved seductively toward Sharr Khan, ass high in the air. Perky breasts jiggled as Kitana crawled between Sharr’s legs.

The Shotar took hold of Kitana’s loose hair, she grinned.

Kitana grabbed Sharr’s pajama pants, felt his hard, wanting erection push beneath the rich fabric. Yanked the pajamas and his underwear off, freeing his bulged penis, took the throbbing shaft in one hand, and stroked it, which made him grow harder. Then she placed her mouth around its base, manipulated Sharr Khan’s scrotum with her tongue.

Now, Kitana had been given strict instructions when it came to blow jobs. Tansuri instructed: Tease him if you must, bring the Shotar to his brink. Do not think however, having Sharr Khan gush all over your face, or even in your mouth will please him. No! Once you’ve primed the Shotar, he’s going to want to penetrate, and cum inside you.

That in mind, Kitana worked her mouth up and down his warm, throbbing cock, lubricating it with her own tongue, tasting his pre-cum on her lips. As she readied Sharr Khan, Kitana felt her own juices begin to course. A fresh moist spot dampened her panties.

At last the Shotar dragged Kitana up from between his knees, onto his lap, where she continued to fondle his cock in her hands. While she amused herself with his engorged phallus, Sharr Khan sucked on her nipples. Straddling him, Kitana moaned.

He’d had enough foreplay. Time to complete the deed. Sharr Khan guided his concubine across the lair, in the direction of his great nest. Teasing her body with his mouth. At one point, he barely touched his lips to her opened mouth. Not quite a kiss.

On the nest’s edge, Sharr Khan pushed Kitana down, removed her panties in one adroit movement. Leaning back on her elbows, she expected for him to mount her. Instead Sharr Khan grabbed her ankles and flipped Kitana onto her belly. Then took hold of her hips.

“Butt up.” Sharr Khan commanded.

Not knowing what to expect, Kitana positioned herself as ordered, chin resting on the back of her hands, elbows indented into the comfortable cushioned nest. She wiggled her buttocks, to his utmost delectation. She wanted him to FUCK her, and DO IT NOW! Thought playfully: He likes my ass, I guess it’s cute. Too bad it’s so black and blue. Though, she said to herself: Maybe he prefers it that way? And realized: Uh oh!

Slap! Sharr’s hand cracked down across the girl’s proffered butt.

“OUCH!” Kitana yowled. “That’s not fair.” She cried. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Holding her plated-tail in one hand, Sharr Khan rubbed Kitana’s swollen butt cheek which he’d slapped a few seconds before. This caused the concubine to sigh. His fingers moved slowly into her slit. Close to her oval ear, Sharr Khan whispered. “That’s so you’ll remember to be a good girl.”

“Milord.” Kitana touched her face to his lips, his mouth brushed against her earlobe. “I don’t think you really want me to be a ‘good girl’. I think that if I do the slightest thing wrong, break any rule, I’m going to get my booty walloped.”

Kitana encouraged him on. Promises that she would try to be a good girl. Yet, not too good of a girl, because she ought not deprive him of a reason to upend her and spank her tight little ass, given, it appeared he took much pleasure in such things. Wantonly Kitana spoke and Sharr Khan jammed his pulsating cock inside of her revved up pussy.

Squealing, biting the bedding, face buried in the elaborate nest’s cushions, Kitana reached yet another earsplitting orgasm. He wore her out. How many times had Sharr Khan bonked her? Three. Was it three? Yes it had been. Brain awash in the drug which were his secretions, the girl moaned lengthy and pleased.

Behind Kitana, who lay splayed out, open on his nest, Sharr Khan dropped back onto his pillows. Tired. Watched her tail sway in afterglow. He grabbed onto her tail and an ankle in one grip, tugged Kitana up nearer.

Kitana got on her knees, moved up to be where he lay at the top of the nest.

“Come here.” Sharr Khan grunted, orgiastic on his own climax. By her neck, and a handful of silky black hair, the Shotar pulled her mouth onto his own.

A kiss. Long and hard.

Collapsing onto his pillows after breaking their liplock, which left Kitana breathless, she curled up beside him and fell asleep with her head tucked under his chin.

A tingling sensation jolted the concubine awake.

Between the severe spanking, and Sharr Khan copulating with her like a jackhammer, Kitana’s thighs and backside ached to no end. The Shotar held onto her. The tingle? Sharr Khan’s finger, twitched ever so slightly, in his sleep, his hand had slid between her legs.

Gently Kitana disentangled herself from Sharr Khan’s embrace, sat up, and glanced over her shoulder out of the large oval window. Still nighttime. Though beyond Narshin Thryak’s walls, the concubine could see Vorkrür City bustled in its raging nightlife. The tall skyscrapers of an ascendant metropolis remained ever alight.

Drapery gave Sharr Khan’s lair the appearance of a yurt, or cave. The lair however proved to be much more modern than its regressive ornamentation let on. Really a suite of rooms, that included its own kitchenette, a few sitting places, and a giant bathroom. The Queen’s apartments reflected those of the Shotar’s. Yin-Yang, the apartments ringed a central hall, where the Shotar could converse with his advisers or most personal guests. At one wing of the top floor, the Queen’s Day Room and on the other, a private audience chamber. The whole complex serviced by a central elevator and four staircases that traveled the height of Narshin Thryak, upward to its residential apex.

Kitana glanced at a blue altar lamp as she made her way toward the bathroom.

Opulence didn’t do it justice. This was the kind of bathroom a woman craved. Glistening fixtures, a huge bathtub and three sinks. Lots of storage space for miscellaneous girly stuff. That is, aside from the life size, (very) anatomically accurate, nude Falcanian female sculptures which bordered the shower. The three carved women were all exaggerated almond eyes, wild hair, tiny noises, curvy bodies, and tits, which had just the right amount of drop to them. All depicted in that synthetic style Falcanians tended to render humanoids. A far span from Greek realism. No actual being could match the proportions. Lovely as they were.

Going to the toilet, Kitana regretted immediately sitting down on the gilded loo in order to relieve herself. The concubine cringed, bit on her lip.

Though she considered a bath, Kitana concluded that the bathtub, just wasn’t meant for a single person. Too big and probably would take a while to fill. Instead, she grabbed a monogrammed ox-blood, overlarge towel from a built-in cupboard and placed it on a hook beside the triangular shower stall. The faucet heads, three altogether, were held by the naked statues. Thankfully, the water did not pour lewdly out of any womanly orifice. Each spigot could be regulated singly, or in unison. Kitana wanted to get soaked, so she turned all three on. The spray cascaded off of the stylized Falcanian women, rolling into every crevice.

Reinvigorated, Kitana got out of the shower, went over to the sinks and mirror where she began to explore the vanity drawers. Yes. This certainly was a bathroom built and stocked for when you knew that you’d bring a flock of women up to your lair. She discovered unopened toothpaste and toothbrushes, new brushes and combs, as well as various feminine products. A modest set of drawers, locked, probably contained the Shotar’s own toiletries.

Rummaging about, in search of cold cream, Kitana eventually found what she had been looking for as well as two things which she had not. Along with the talcum powder and lotion, she stumbled on a pair of blue bikini panties. A trophy? Or had the woman they belonged to misplaced them? Sharr Khan didn’t seem to be the sort to collect trophies. The concubine thought the underwear might be the Queen’s. They were her color.

The other object, a medical instrument. A self-diagnosis scanner. By its calibration, Kitana guessed it likely did belong to the Queen. It seemed custom built.

After kneading the cream into her blistered haunches, Kitana dusted herself with talcum. On a whim, she turned the scanner on. Changed the knob to find out what she wanted to know. It needed body fluid to analyze, easy enough. The concubine gasped when the indicator turned green. She reset the device and ran the test again. Once more, the light became green. Kitana reset the instrument a last time, reran the test. Green.

Kitana panicked! Not the right reaction she knew, but couldn’t help but stand there and fret. This had to be routine. Right? It was, after all, a large reason for her being there. What she wanted to do was talk to her mother. That though, could never be. Who should she tell? Sharr Khan needed to know, but Kitana didn’t think she should just drop it on him. Tansuri perhaps? Yes, this felt as though it would be part of the Chief Concubine’s job.

Resolved and calmed, Kitana padded the distance of Sharr Khan’s lair and crawled back into the comfy nest beside him, rested her head on his pectoral muscle. Tansuri’d been rather clear on that subject. Don’t ever go to bed with the Shotar, and then not be anyplace to be found when he wakes. Not that Kitana ever thought of doing such a thing. The concubine liked it here in his nest. The sounds of the city at night lulled Kitana back to blissful sleep.

“Madam, if you’d be so kind? Might you wake up the Shotar? I would do so…” The Majordomo hesitated. “Only, given the gravity of what I need to tell him, I think a pretty girl waking him might prove better for his temper.” Shreik Hro Trakan. The Shotar’s drooping mustached, highly cultivated Majordomo asked Kitana as her eyes fluttered open.

Outside an orange dawn spread over Vorkrür City. Its bustling nightlife took a break, as people switched to morning schedules. Tourists from the subcontinent were now tucked away in hotel rooms, sleeping off the sex and gastronomic wonders which the island quickly became famous for. The Great Hall, outside of the lair however was disturbed by a guttural male voice that demanded to see the Shotar.

Nodding, Kitana removed the blanket, which covered Sharr’s face and whispered: “Milord. Shreik Trakan is here…” She swallowed. Dutifully reported with the gravity which the Majordomo indicated. “He’s something urgent to tell you.”

“Shreik…”Groggily said Sharr.

The Majordomo handed the Shotar his pajamas and underthings.

“Damianus Vorskrai is here –”

“I hear.” Said Sharr getting up, not pleased. “What’s he doing up in the residence?”

The Majordomo murmured. “We tried to keep him downstairs. He brought his hooligans. I know it’s not protocol…” And the Majordomo did indeed enjoy his protocol. “But I worried he’d provoke either the Drakorian, or Valküri units with his rabble. Atar Kran wanted to boot him.” The Majordomo licked his lips. “I attempted to schedule a private meeting. He demanded to see you right away. Claimed it was his right as leader of the Guilthari caste. I thought it best to let him pass without… Incident…”

“You did the right thing Shreik –”

“There you are!”

Damianus Vorskrai, Eastern European in origin. Giant, loomed three heads above the Shotar. Thick and dangerous looking. Bald, tribal tattoos covered his body, and metal bars and bolts pierced into his forehead, created a ridge. Rings dangled from his oval ears. The one physical characteristic he shared with Sharr Khan was a gunmetal tail and black wings. His countenance adopted to bully and intimidate. Probably the most uncouth person in all Falcanian holdings.

Dismissive, Sharr Khan declared. “How dare you enter my home at this ungodly hour Damianus and come, unbidden to my lair.”

Kitana strolled out of the nest, went to stand near Sharr Khan. Her clothing no place to be seen, instead wrapped one of the many ox-blood throws placed about the lair around her breasts. This did not however prevent Damianus Vorskrai from leering. The concubine hated the man right away.

“I’ll say one thing.” grinned Damianus. “Despite all our differences, you’ve an exquisite appreciation in women Sharr.” He came threateningly inside of the Shotar’s personal space. The Guilthari lord continued to eye Kitana, barely hidden under her coverlet. “I see, she’s a little spitfire.” Damianus said as he noticed the concubine’s blistered butt.

“Get to why you are here, Damianus.” Sharr Khan demanded.

“Milord.” Damianus sneered. “I come bringing gifts. An offer.”

“Offer? ” The Shotar let himself be intrigued.

“Reorganize our government as I’ve outlined.” Damianus Vorskrai could see his moment at hand. “And I’ll give you the stars.”

“How?”

“On Mars, I’ve discovered a vein of hrisanar.” Damianus Vorskrai grinned. How could Sharr Khan not embrace what he extended? “With it, we can forge gravitic-fold drives. Build a fleet. Falcanians shall soar among the stars.”

The Shotar, turned away in thought. Considered. No wonder Vorskrai had been so bold. How could he not say yes? To do so would make him a fool. Yet the price. To fundamentally change Falcanian culture. Where would it lead? Could Sharr Khan live with himself if he chose this? As fast as he could, the Shotar began to formulate a response.

“This is the declaration, which you’ll sign, calling for the jirga’s dissolution.” Said Lord Vorskrai waving a tablet in Sharr Khan’s direction. He could hardly conceal his gloating. “An amendment to the ThunderHawk Compact. All legal, –”

Lord Vorskrai halted, mid-dictate, growled.

The Shotar turned. “Kitana!”

“Bitch!” Thundered Lord Vorskrai, clutched at his cheek. Blood dripped from where the concubine clawed him. “She’s a hellcat!” Indigent. “Does she not know who I am?” The Guilthari reached for Kitana, but Sharr pulled her out of his range. “Your concubine needs her ass tanned.”

“I must apologize.” The Shotar said, displeased he must offer apology to this Guilthari, whom he loathed. Though, Sharr had a good idea what provoked Kitana. Vorskrai did barge uninvited into his lair, and Sharr Khan hadn’t hidden his dislike for the man. None of which excused Kitana’s reckless conduct. Foolish girl. “I think my concubine thought you came here to insult me.”

“Milord. Can’t you see what he’s do –”

“Shut up, Kitana.” Sharr Khan said, more for her own welfare, than his.

Blue eyes narrow. Nadia observed. Deliberately, did not insert herself. Breasts rose and fell with each serene, regular breath, appeared as if they might pop out of her taut, daringly low cut cobalt nightgown. Next to Nadia, ready and waiting for instructions, hovered Barnabas, her personal bucket headed, black and gold butlerdroid.

Oh my God, Kitana thought, as she caught sight of the Queen, where she stood, back to the doorjamb. Does she wake up ravishing? A very female sentiment struck Kitana. Nadia’s auburn hair hung in beguiling, wild twists and curls. The Oskien couldn’t help but think to herself. Wish, I got out of bed looking that good.

“I won’t sign that declaration –”

“What?” Damianus replied bewildered. “I’ll ruin you –”

“Unless, that is.” Sharr Khan continued. “I become owner of your hrisanar mine. Not only this lone deposit, but all future such caches which you, and your Guilthari happen upon.”

“But… But,” stammered Damianus. “The hrisanar belongs to the people, it is theirs.”

That of course wasn’t true. The mine, as did the rest of his Workers Amalgamate, belonged to house Vorskrai. To claim otherwise was propaganda.

“No. It is mine.” Sharr Khan stated without qualification. “Additionally, Drakorian Guard will be assigned to watch over your operations.”

The Guilthari shrugged. “Very well.”

Sending away Damianus Vorskrai with a curt gesture, after signing the tablet, the Shotar stepped over beside his Majordomo. “Shreik, my old friend. I have something particular planned for you. We must discuss your ascendency as first Chancellor to these Nine Lords.”

“Me?” Asked the Majordomo incredulous.

“Yes, you Shreik Trakan.”

Lord Damianus Vorskrai triumphant, might have, as he exited, ogled Nadia, given her fetching appearance. That is, did he not fear her. Indeed, his apprehension ignited on a tour he’d attended three months before with the Imperial Family, of the city presently named Numai. Those in attendance included Nadia’s Father-Creator, Dr. Turhan Korelia, attired in his typical shimmery-blue Nehru jacket. Escorted by Sikh warriors, provided by India’s ruler. The Falcanian delegation was assaulted by a Muslim, who yelled: ‘Allahu Akbar, death to all abominations!’ Evidently, this Islamist did not intend suicide, as he wielded a pistol. Sharr got shot in the shoulder, as was his custom, he wore a jodtok. The armored vest saved his life. Nadia’s Father-Creator, wasn’t so lucky. Unbound, Nadia advanced furious. Bullets shredded her clothes, yet slammed harmless onto inorganic, gynoid flesh. Abominations? The Muslim had no idea. The Queen wrenched the autopistol away, crumpled it. And then proceeded to crush his skull.

From that day on, Lord Damianus Vorskrai retained a healthy fear of Nadia Korelia.

Kitana worried, where she stood beside Sharr Khan’s big chair. Though, everyone seemed to forget that she was there. Sharr Khan conferred with his Majordomo, in an effort to make sure this new government did not result in the travesty he imaged it would become. The Queen motioned for her to come over. Glancing at the Shotar for a second, Kitana went to the doorjamb.

“I saw you strike Damianus.” Nadia let out a long breath.

“Your Grace… I, I needed to do something. That man –”

“Even if I’d been in that nest with Sharr, this problem would have resolved itself as it did. Don’t blame yourself.” Nadia noted. “You were trying to defend Sharr, I understand it. A commendable, if misguided impulse.” She sighed. Who was she kidding? Nadia would have enjoyed being the woman that put those claw marks on Lord Vorskrai’s cheek. “This doesn’t change the fact you’re going to get punished.”

Kitana clutched tighter to her coverlet.

Shreik Trakan departed Sharr’s lair, walked between the two women, said. “My Queen.” Nodded kindly toward Kitana.

“KITANA.” Sharr Khan called angrily soon after.

“One second, Sharr my love.” Nadia took Kitana’s hand. “You’d better tell him.”

“Tell him?”

“About how things have…” Nadia licked her lips. “Changed…”

“You know?”

The Queen motioned at her temple.

“Oh, right. I forgot about that. Remind me to never lie to you, your Grace.”

“Nadia, will do just fine Kitana.” The Queen glanced over at her butlerdroid. “Barnabas,” she commanded. “Have breakfast prepared in my Day Room, and get a selection of clothes readied for Miss Kitana. Also, have my assistant clear my schedule. I suspect Sharr is going to have a long day ahead and I want to be free to help.”

Body first, Barnabas rotated where he hovered. and then bucket head swiveled as the mechanical valet hurried away to carry out its mistress orders.

Impatient, Sharr Khan grumbled. But stayed his temper. Nadia had allowances very few others did not. The sudden rapport between his Queen and concubine though hadn’t been something he’d anticipated. What did they conspire over?

Maternally, Nadia went with Kitana, hand in hand to go see Sharr Khan. “Sharr,” said the Queen soothingly, hoped that she might ablate his anger. “Kitana has something very important she needs to say to you.”

“First, I shouldn’t have scratched Lord Vorskrai. I was wrong.”

“I’m glad you understand that Kitana.” Sharr Khan spoke in a low voice. Sort of a deadly, reserved anger. “I’m still going to punish you however. And am somewhat astonished Damianus didn’t demand to watch.” The Shotar would have been hard pressed to not let him. “Is that all?”

“No!” Kitana quickly said. “I’m.” She gazed downward at her toes. “Pregnant.”

There went his wall of anger. “I see.”

“You see?” Nadia scowled. “Muster some enthusiasm.”

“Nadia. You well know, I am thrilled by every child born in this palace –”

The Queen had a particular skill which let her put Sharr Khan in his place without making him lose standing. One of the few women who could get away with raising her voice to him. “I only want you to congratulate the mother of your new baby.” She pushed her finger into his chest. “Whom I might add, meant to stand up for you.” She sighed. “I understand just as you do, that we cannot go around insulting our caste lords.” Nadia assured. “I know Kitana will submit when you ask her to. First though, tell her you’re happy.”

Obviously, Kitana earned Nadia’s seal of approval.

Sharr Khan kissed the girl on her lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Milord.” Said Kitana out of breath.

The Shotar pointed toward an embellished wooden wardrobe. “There’s a slipper in that cabinet Kitana, fetch it.”

Submissive, Kitana plodded over to the heavy piece of furniture.

“Nadia, give us the room.”

“I think I’ll stay.”

On occasion, Sharr thought, Nadia enjoyed watching him spank his concubines.

“It’s not that.” Nadia said, so as to disabuse him of his errant thought, which blazed in her positronic brain like a live wire. “Don’t take your frustration toward Damianus Vorskrai out on this poor girl’s backside. Punish Kitana, but only because she overstepped her place.”

Dismayed when she opened the cupboard, Kitana rummaged through the shelves. Clearly, Sharr Khan had a kink. There was an assortment of canes, were she not newly gravid, probably one of those he’d ask her to fetch. Straps, some slit and others not. All very mean looking items. None she really wanted to be spanked with. The slipper itself seemed rather heavy, sort of flattened. It must have gotten lots of use. Perhaps cordwained exclusively for this task?

“Place your hands on the chair.” Sharr said after the concubine handed him the slipper.

Kitana dropped the coverlet, bent over in the recessed area where Sharr Khan usually sat to watch his concubines strip. Behind her, the Shotar flipped her tail aside, pushed Kitana further into the chair, so that she supported herself on her elbows. Buttocks became a wider target. Grrr! Only a few hours ago, she’d been giving him a blow job in this very spot.

Whack!

“OW!”

Whack! He spanked one cheek, and then another.

The girl hollered, jumped out of place a few times, yet quickly got back into position.

“Please stop!” Implored the concubine. The slipper reintegrated the fire that already simmered in Kitana’s tumescent buttocks. “It hurts.” Sobbed the girl. “Stop. Please! Please! Please!”

Yet, the Shotar proceed onward, not deterred. He spanked both Kitana’s ass and thighs until they were a deeper shade of red.

“Enough.” Nadia spoke in a hushed voice.

To be sure, Sharr Khan had heard his wife. Probably agreed with her even, but did not, right off finish spanking. Mustn’t leave Kitana with the wrong impression, that the Queen, and not the Shotar, ruled his roost.

The Shotar helped Kitana stand up, and sat himself in the chair, pulled the crying Oskien onto his lap. The Queen quietly took her leave. They’d be expected to take breakfast with Nadia, and Barnabas would soon return with clothes for Kitana. For now, Kitana pressed her forehead to his while she sobbed. The intense crying, eventually became little snivels, soon giggles, and then somewhat to his surprise, Kitana planted a hungry kiss on his mouth.

“What’s so funny?”

“The comedy of errors, which got me spanked three times in the course of so few hours.”

“Not errors –”

It did not take much effort. A wiggle of her ass…

Then she reached into his pajamas, tugged.

He ejaculated into her hand. There, all the tension which he’d acquired since his confrontation with Lord Vorskrai melted away. Before he could admonish her further, Kitana instead kissed her Shotar. Gleefully declaimed. “I’m going to be a mother!”

“Yes.”