AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is Mister Grey's first attempt at writing erotic fiction. This was written for the romantic interest in my life, so the general goal was to write something exciting for a woman, and I'd love to hear if I was successful. mister.grey@ymail.com is open and excited to hear comments, positive or otherwise. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing this.
Col. Drake hadn't given up hope when he was ordered to engage the Grey Queen – the greatest space pirate history had known – by himself. He hadn't given up hope when his own ship's shield dropped, or even when he was boarded by her infamous Iron Raiders. When they broke in the door to his quarters and bound him by the neck and wrists, he felt himself waver. But he knew something those Iron automatons didn't: his left arm was cybernetic, and there was a gun inside.
The Grey Queen and her ship, Oroboros, had wrought destruction and mayhem in every corner of Allied Space. The Oroboros was a one-ship armada, its technological superiority and armaments weren't understood in any capacity. Its shields had been witnessed to falter only a handful of times, and in those instances the entire ship had simply vanished, not cloaked – but vanished.
So the decision was made: the greatest hero of mankind would be sent on a suicide mission to kill the Grey Queen. The gun implanted into his wrist would kill her. She would certainly have him prostrated before her, to grovel for the life of his men, to see him broken and sealed into those metal shells, to become an Iron Raider himself – her evil would be gone, and Col. Drake might even make it out alive, might even see his wife's smile again, hold Vanessa against him and smell her hair.
Four Raiders escorted him, one holding the chain attached to his neck, dragging him through the labyrinthine halls of the Oroboros. Its spirals and circular construction made no more sense inside than out. The convoluted pathway split and rejoined seemingly without logic or even geometry. The metal walls were lined with twisting metal tubes, lacking any circuitry that should be present in a ship capable of interstellar travel. Down a distant corridor, he thought he heard the echoes of distant screaming. There was no time to linger. The massive door in front of him opened into the court of the Grey Queen.
The room was enormous – the ceiling vaulted hundreds of feet above him; the metal floor disappeared over curves at the edge of his vision. The chain around his necked jerked him forward. His palms were slick with sweat and perspiration slid down his forehead into his eyes. There was no one and nothing in the room except for himself and the Raiders.
"Where are we going?" he said aloud, not expecting a response. One of the Raiders shoved him from behind, and he was barely able to catch himself with his manacled hands, just stopping his face from slamming into the cold, metal floor. Disoriented, he rose to his feet to find the four Raiders leaving the room, the huge gate sliding shut behind him. He stood confused for a moment before reality snapped back to him, and he began working furiously to undo the manacles locking his wrist together. If he couldn't get them open, it would be impossible to free the gun from his cybernetic arm. As he felt them loosen, a rumbling came from deep beneath him.
A hole began to form in the floor, a hundred yards ahead of him. Two twisting, metal spires rose from the ground, and as their length escaped the dark beneath, the back of an enormous throne emerged, the polished steel wrapped in gnarled, metal spikes. He stared in amazement as she rose, seated on her shining throne: the Grey Queen.
She was not the enormous, sinewy warrior he had expected, but small, sylvan, curved. Her short, oak-colored hair was styled into tiny spikes, rising away from her narrow face and deep blue eyes. Her broad, dark lips curled into the faintest smile, and the Colonel nearly gasped as her shoulders breached the darkness.
Her chest was only covered in a leather 'X'. Two bands of leather stretch from her shoulders to her hips – she was totally exposed. Drake's jaw went slack as he saw the pale skin of her breasts: small and round, her perfect, pink areolas ending in tiny, stiff nipples. Her taut belly lead down to the top of a leather garter belt and panties that held up a pair of tall, black boots. She reclined on the throne with her legs spread wide and a single finger tracing the contours of her jaw, her neck, and then her clavicle. "Come to me, Hero. Walk to your Queen."
Drake swallowed and took a step towards her. He worked to settle himself, trying to ignore the movement in his pants. He was a married man who had a job to do, and his situation couldn't be much better. They were alone, she was unarmed, and he had figured out the manacles, which were much less sophisticated than Allied cuffs. He'd escaped from far worse and figured he could have his gun drawn and fired within a second – he was Col. Drake, a goddamned living legend.
Her deep, blue eyes were locked onto his, and as he neared her, he felt his heart quicken. His face was flush and heat rose in his chest, his cock stiffening with each heart-beat, with each step that he took. He closed his eyes hard and forced an image of Vanessa into his head, her long auburn hair, her eyes were... what color... brown! Her brown eyes, that kept turning blue in his head, her face narrowing to a sylvan point, no, wait...
No more than thirty feet from her, she now stood toward him, bending at the waist, running her hands from the bottom of her lean, firm calves, over her soft, long thighs, up her taut, flat stomach and onto her perfect little breasts, which she massaged as he watched, his mouth wetting and his dick rock-hard and straining against the front of his pants. "I believe you have something for me, Hero?"
Drake shook his head. Now was the time. The manacles slipped from his wrists, a panel in his arm opened, a spring-loaded gun launched into his hand and the barrel was instantly pointed at the head of the Grey Queen. As he began to squeeze the trigger, he found himself breathless, and his grip began to weaken. "Oh, Hero," she said, squeezing her left breast as she slipped a finger into her mouth, "Your worlds would fill with tears if you came so close and missed. Come closer, Hero, and save your people."
The room began a slight spinning as he took another step closer. Drake could take the wings off of a fly at a hundred paces with a handgun like this, why couldn't he pull the trigger? He stumbled a little as he climbed the stairs to her throne, the gun now pressed at the center of the 'X', right between those small, perfect breasts. The perfume of her skin filled his nose, and he licked his lips. He didn't even need the gun. She must've weighed just over a hundred pounds, Drake was a six-foot tall marine in the Allied Extra-Planetary Navy, he could just lean forward and grab her slim, pale neck... so smooth, so soft.
