Welcome to ground zero of "Griffin writes about subby boys getting the stuffing fucked out of them by hard-dom men"! That's gonna be a theme going forward.
The big kinks 'n' squicks list up front and centre (because god knows there isn't enough tags to cover them all lol) in vaguely descending order:
-MC is a tboy/cuntboy/pussyboy/etc etc and is boned by a cismale
-Of the above, one is a catboy and one is a cat...man lol
-While there are others present in the room for the sex, they're not heavily commented on
-MC begins the story explicitly non-consenting (the word "r*pe" is used), and becomes consenting via "heat hormones" that produce an effect in the vein of being drugged/drunk, or if you prefer, "bimbo-ified"
-Explicit references to impregnation and mentions of birth
-I guess if you squint there's kinda scent kink
-Mentions of blood/minor injury
-Space pirates!
I condone
only
the practice of safe and healthy non-consentual fantasy play.
Talk to your doctor to find out if CNC is right for you. Side effects may include subdrop, domdrop, leaky pussies, upset stomach, and fatigue. Consult a medical professional if orgasm lasts longer than five hours.
***
When the alarms started blaring, bathing the comms room in red and blue flashes, everybody knew what it was before the computer readout spoke a single word. "AGGRESSIVE VESSEL HAILING," bellowed the synthetic voice over the sirens, at almost the exact same time another, different voice clip shouted, "AGGRESSIVE VESSEL APPROACHING, CONTACT IMMINENT".
"Fuck's
sake
!" The head of comms ripped his headphones off his triangular Felid ears, lurching halfway across the console to slap a code into the keypad. The alarm cut itself off mid-BWOOP, and the head of comms whirled in his chair, fluffy snow-white tail swishing behind. "Captain, orders?"
The Arachtaur perched on her captain's dais steepled her long, spindly fingers. "Open channels," she chittered. "Cast received signal to screen and enable video feed of myself only."
"Ma'am!" Another sequence was punched into the keypad, and the Felid sailed his hover-chair back to his normal position. "Sending handshake... connected." He steadied himself with a slow breath and brought one of the headphone's cups to his ear. "Live ready."
"Open channels."
Every visual-processing organ in the room focused on the 3D image cast into the room, fizzling at first and only in blue, then solidifying, stabilizing, and consolidating until it was like the real thing was floating right above the main deck's consoles.
The first sound that made it over the connection was the clatter of the head of comms' headphones clattering to the ground from his nerveless grip.
The captain ignored it, professional that she was. "May I ask to whom I speak?" she clicked.
"You may not." The towering, jet-black, sleek-furred Felid hovering overhead crossed digitigrade leg over digitigrade leg. "Instead, you may prepare to be boarded. Comply, and you have nothing to fear."
The captain's mandibles clacked. "Most disagreeable," she said. "Federation regulators will notice a deficit from a shipment of this magnitude. You risk a quarantine of your space."
The panther-esque Felid smiled easily, razor teeth flashing. "Let
us
worry about that. Prepare to be boarded."
The channel force-closed, the image vanishing. "Stations!" the captain hissed, venom frothing on her fangs. "All hands! Do
not
engage, repeat, do
not
engage! Lives are not worth cargo! Defensive measures only!"
"Ma'am?" The head of comms scrambled up to the captain's dais as the room exploded with movement--movement the captain had been just about to engage in herself before she was stopped. Arach faces as a rule were hard to read, but her mandibles clicking was never good. "I-I'll be fast, please!" the Felid sputtered in a rush, icy eyes darting to the door and back. "P-Permission to be dismissed, Ma'am, I-I...!"
"Ensign!" the captain spat, venom sizzling as it dripped on the dais' steel. "Denied! All hands are needed!"
"B-But Ma'am!" He glanced at the door again. "T-The Felid, the pirate captain, he... I-I mean, I... I'm in..."
"Stations, Ensign, or I'll have you court-martialled for insubordination!" the captain hissed, sharply and definitely turning away from him to fetch her personal weapons from the cache under the dais. Ears drooping and tail curling around his leg, he marched, wooden, back to his post and stared blankly at the hypnotising flashing of his comms console. He barely heard the computer, even though it was yelling "UNAUTHORIZED DOCKING, UNAUTHORIZED ENTITIES IN CARGO BAY, UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY OF PERSONNEL INTO BRIDGE--"
With a flick of a switch, he cut all audio from the ship. In the ensuing deathly silence, a gentle mechanical
woosh
sounded from the door--and not a single heard footfall followed, as padded great paws stalked into the room. He wasn't looking. If he didn't look, maybe it'd be okay.
"My. What an audience we have here."
He shuddered; he
felt
that voice in his bones. His head lowered his head, hands curling into fists and sharp nails pricking his palms.
"To what do we owe the pleasure, pirate?" asked the captain.
"Oh? Nothing much. I'm just here to ensure nothing...
stupid
is done up here in controls, yeah? Don't you worry, we're not interested in slaughtering the lot of you or taking you prisoner. At least... probably not. I could be convinced."
His nails dug in hard enough to break skin, a hot dribble of blood rolling down his knuckle. No matter how much he strained his ears, the pirate's steps were completely silent; he had no idea where he was. Slowly, hoping against hope it wasn't too much movement to be suspicious, he brought his bleeding hand to his muzzle and cupped it over his nose. The scent of blood washed through his sinuses and overwhelmed his senses--perfect.
"I do hope you have plans for when the Federation brings down its wrath on your head," the captain commented dryly.