NOTE: This story features mind control worms getting in intimate places with women, if that's not your bag then you may wish to skip it.
*****
Ghostly echoes rang out through the weightless vessel. Phillips' plasma cutter glared in the sepulchral darkness and the time ravaged ship hull gave away. He stepped through the smoking hole and came into an open chamber, bathed in distant cobalt light, throwing a cool cast on the carvings inside.
"This is Phillips..." he checked in on his comms, "we hit the jackpot, captain. Definitely not a lost merchant. This is some xeno work. Old, too. Very old."
"Very good. Wait for sweep teams." Captain Jelsur's voice came back in reply, her voice traveling easily through the oxygen rich air. "ETA one hour."
"Roger that." His hands were already drifting over the chamber's central object. Despite the alien nature of the chamber, what with its long winding serpents and worms along the pillars and macabre faces etched in stone, what his hands ran over was undeniably feminine. Yet inhuman. Jutting breasts filled up his palms, flared opulent hips invited the lingering touch of his fingers. The figure formed the top of the lid of what appeared to be a gigantic coffin.
With great effort, Phillips opened the sarcophagus and gasped at what was inside. A cosmic beauty, an immaculate reproduction of what was on the lid... but alive.
Her skin was as dark as onyx, and yet highlighted with swirling tattoos, ancient designs that illuminated her tremendous curves. Massive and rounded breasts, standing like mountains of soft flesh, glowed in the dark from the swooping electric blue alien calligraphy that encircled her flesh. Her heavy voluptuous mounds rose in time to her breath and Phillips' breath caught in his throat.
His mouth salivated to her supernaturally lush curves and he coughed the excess drool back. The woman's eyes snapped open, revealing a pair of pale, fiery blue orbs. He stumbled back down the stony steps in surprise, his trembling hand reaching for his wrist communicator.
Long black fingers wrapped over the sides of the sarcophagus and the woman stood up in one fluid motion. The gigantic slopes of her tits stood out in silhouette, backlit by the chamber's eerie azure iridescence. Phillips lost his breath, paralyzed in admiration as he took in the curvature of her equally luscious ass, round and protruding, so well formed he imagined her cheeks could hold the stem of a wine glass between them.
Her mesmerizing eyes bore into his own. "You will not cry for aid, mortal." She moved down the steps, her colossal ebony globes bouncing with tortuously erotic motion before his male instincts. Her beatific aquiline features haunted him in the dim, cold light.
"I... will not..." he repeated, his free thoughts receding before her irresistible pull, his eyes caught in between looking at her own and her jiggling assets. Her skin shined like polished obsidian, her belly sculpted yet smooth. From her luscious hips and taut belly his eyes roved up to the swooping curves and valleys of her thick and heavy breasts, their soft rippling as they careened to her step promising supreme tactile pleasure.
"I am Xela. You will lay before me and carry my will." She loomed over him and removed his helmet, her toned and sleek leg pushing down on his chest until his back was on the ground. "And then you will carry my will into others. I am Xela."
"Xe... la..." he intoned, as drool fell from his lips and his world became nothing but the blazing stars of her eyes and the sweet temptation of her ample curves.
"Yesss..." she moaned as she pried apart his suit, taking care not to destroy it for future deception. Chills ran along Phillips' back and arms as her voice plucked at his senses, sensual and slithering into his mind. Her smile was strange, her lips plump and glistening in the cold light, parted as if inviting him to imagine what they would feel like upon his mouth or further below.
His brain scrambled to fathom the seduction he had been pulled into. He felt as if he was observing his body from the outside, powerless to scream... powerless to fight. Anything that could compel one as completely as this creature couldn't be entirely benevolent.
Her cool skin glided across his body, and her plentiful breasts skimmed and squeezed against him. He wished she would press their silken roundness against him for longer. As she straddled him, he watched, mesmerized by the flow of tattoos between the rise of her breasts. Their unearthly blue glow and curved shape emphasized the sheer size of her voluminous midnight black orbs, their teardrop shape, their heavy fullness and the marbled nipples that begged to be sucked.
"I am Goddess of Lust and Death..." she whispered, her words like tantalizing drops of liquid silver around his ears. They filled his mind and when his hand grazed against the lush swell of her hip, all lingering thoughts of escape faded into the ether. "My lust, is for the soul. The death I seek, is of the free. My weapons are my children and every casualty is not a mind lost, but a mind reborn..."
Blood pounded in Phillips' head and he waited with light headed anticipation for her to lower herself atop his throbbing manhood. Her smooth belly writhed, the wet, shadowed lips below quivering to slake their desires upon his shaft.
"Mmhh..." she purred in the empty chamber, her wanton slit devouring Phillips' manhood. "You will be the first, the beginning of the end..."
Phillips grunted and bucked his hips up, desperate to quench the burning in his loins. He reached for the woman's mammoth black tits, hanging just above his face, until she pulled back away from his grasp, relishing her own pleasure as she arched her back. Her round mounds billowed and jiggled to her sharp intake of breath, and all his muscles strained as he fit his fingers around her silken flesh.
Her strong thighs and wide hips rode him viciously. All reason had been driven from him once he had felt her bountiful melons bounce against his palms, her copious breast flesh flow through his fingers, his hands bright against the abyssal darkness of her complexion. He felt her powerful heart thunder through her swinging bosom, and relished the soft kisses on his lips, her undulating belly against his hard stomach like a warm serpent.
"Give yourself to me, and become like a god!" she moaned, her heavy breasts pressed against his face. Phillips stiffened and his body screamed in ecstasy as he buried his seed deep in her womb. With each pulse, tremor and throb he gave everything he was was to her.
Old memories of old girlfriends crystallized and broke. The daughter he gave that one hooker on Seti IV flowed as surely from his remembrances as did the loyalties to his crew. Xela had given him death.
But she had also given him life, a rebirth.
The last he felt before darkness claimed him, was the strange, pleasant sensation of slithering along his manhood.
Xela's weapons of war.
