03

Please read the entirety of the summary I posted in the first entry to get a sense of where this story is going. Literotica doesn't allow enough tags to cover the full range of content in this story, particularly as it continues.

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Two

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Rhiatsukojun

All of us were lucky my breeding heat was sated when the two girls got home. And that I'd met the other woman first.

If I'd seen either of these girls when I woke up, particularly the one with the yellow hair, I would have just fucked them until both of us passed out, and I wouldn't have noticed anything was wrong until the next rotation. The other one was passably attractive, though it was hard to tell with the clothes she wore. I belatedly realized the golden girl was in the same outfit, but she'd taken off the outer layer on top and unfastened it enough that cleavage showed.

Both of them stared at me for a moment in shock, then the plainer one went for her bag.

"No!" I barked. I was proud of myself for figuring that one out.

The other woman was still out; she would be until the next rotation, probably, though I didn't know how these women would react to the coming-of-age process. Calling it that seemed silly given that all of the women I'd seen, including these two, looked well beyond the age the ceremony would usually take place, but I didn't remember the scientific name for it.

I'd spent my time gathering information. It wasn't easy. Technology here was more manual than I was used to. I got the sense there was some sort of primitive AI in place; one time when I'd cursed aloud in frustration, a device in the main room had spoken. I tried to engage it more, but of course it was keyed to the native language. Even using the curse word didn't always get a response from it. At least I didn't appear to have set off any security alerts with it.

I eventually found the control for one of the display screens and started there. The directory of information was enormous and unhelpful like the AI, though I did eventually figure out that some of the information was in a different language that I also couldn't understand.

So now it was possible there were two languages here I didn't know. Progress?

I guessed the primary function of the thing was entertainment, oddly enough by drawing on my military experience. I found several recordings (or broadcasts, but in retrospect almost certainly recordings) of wildly different visual quality (still two dimensional either way, so the bar was low to start with). Some of them had very shaky displays, uneven lighting, and lack of detail. Those often lasted briefly before one of the natives would reappear and start talking. Several of those images showed people that seemed to be in combat. The details of equipment were all different of course, but warriors fighting had a look to them, whether they were holding a plasma thrower or a stick. All of those displays never had the warriors talking that I saw.

The other recordings were fake. The clearest telltale was that all the explosives had excessive fire and almost no smoke or debris. When things exploded in reality, most of what you saw was debris, shrapnel, and smoke, unless the explosion was something plasma-based. As I kept watching I found other issues of formation, procedure, and weapon handling (also, courtier shoes in combat was asking for a broken ankle at best).

The biggest shock I had to overcome immediately was that the planet was occupied.

Subjugators were everywhere. If the screen recordings were any indication, they made up a majority of the population, possibly up to seventy-five percent. However, it also became obvious that this wasn't a military occupation. For one thing, most of the ones shown were not soldiers (although training and athletic drill demonstrations occupied a good percentage of the recordings). Some of the still images in the building showed the woman and the girls in the company of at least two of them, and the expressions on the older woman did not seem coerced. The occupation here had been in place for a long time.

I had worked myself up into a near panic before stopping to reevaluate. We knew Subjugator protocols, procedures, social structure, even fashion. Nothing here matched that. The women were not wearing head masks and leashes, and their chests and pelvic areas were fully covered. The men did not have caste pauldrons on. I wasn't sure how much of the populace was armed (the recordings seemed to vary on that point), but I'd observed people walking by the building and if they were armed the weapons were concealed well. Also, again, several of them had been pairs of women and Subjugators, and no duress was apparent.

If this was a Subjugator planet, it was so far from the examples we knew as to be incomparable. It was possible the militant control we'd seen was relaxed a bit in their core territories, but this wasn't relaxed; this was abandonment of the core principles.

That, plus another look outside at the people, buildings, and vegetation, convinced me I was so far from home I needed another approach.

I'd turned my attention back to the screen. Eventually I found recordings that seemed at least partially educational. I was lucky this society seemed to consider basic literacy a universal requirement.

By the time the two new women walked into the house, I had a solid grasp...of maybe four words. Ten others I had a decent guess at their meaning, but they mostly related to creatures I hadn't seen. Numbers I was better with (thank the Empress they used base 10).

I had quickly figured out from the recordings that the small tablets were used for communication. That was the first thing I had to prevent. Peacekeepers seemed to be militarized here, and I couldn't afford a full-on confrontation.

"No!" I repeated as the plain woman kept moving her bag. Then I moved.

They were not prepared for my full height. I wasn't either at the beginning, as several of their light fixtures could attest. I crossed the room quickly and took the woman's bag. She was barely able to put up a resistance. Then I held my hand out for the golden haired one's. She also handed it over, trembling.

Once I had them, I threw them back on the long seat, then moved them over to the wall.

"No...walk," I said. "Walk" was one of the words I was less sure of. They seemed to get the idea.

The plain one let out a yelp as I patted her down. Then she shrieked and swung at me when I checked her breasts. I grabbed her arms and secured her wrist with one hand. Then golden hair jumped on me.

The attack was so pitiful that what actually distracted me was the feeling of her body against me. We futas were highly sexual; three sessions a rotation was considered painfully limited. The feeling of her breasts against my back and her thighs wrapped around me (even from behind) distracted me for a moment.

Then she grabbed my hair and pulled and I remembered she was actually trying to attack me.

I still had the plain one held in my hands. She'd started kicking at my legs and with the shoes she had on and it was somewhat painful just because of repetition. I could very easily break either one of them. That was another clue I wasn't anywhere near home, but I couldn't figure that one out.

I reached around and got my hand around golden hair's neck. I pulled her around and pressed her against the wall. Both of them had been shouting the whole time. "Help!" was a word I sort of figured out as well, and I now knew it was a distress call. My hand around golden hair's throat stopped her shouting. I was very close to stopping her breathing. Her face was reddening.

"Stop it! Stop it!" the plain one shouted. "It" I wasn't sure of. "Stop" was one of my four words, though why it often appeared in red octagons was a nuance I didn't understand yet.

"No?" I asked. I did not have anywhere near the vocabulary to ask them to stop fighting and listen to me.

"No," the plain one said, and her tone sounded amiable, though most of it was because her friend looked like she would pass out soon. I loosened my grip, but didn't move.

Golden hair took a deep breath and coughed a little while plain checked her. They both looked up at me, obviously scared, but plain had a little defiance too. I reached a hand up and she flinched away.

If I tried to touch them again, it was going to be a fight, I could tell. I needed to secure their comms. I didn't have the words to explain that.

Then I looked over at the display.

=-=-=-=-=

Robin

If I hadn't gone to the bathroom before leaving Commander, I'm sure I would have peed myself. There was a subtle aroma that suggested Jemma might have.

Whoever this woman was, she was insanely strong, which made no sense because she looked...well she looked like Jemma, except more so. She had on a onesie that was very tightly fit but it left her shoulders and arms bare, and not much else to the imagination. Actually that wasn't true; the crotch seemed padded, maybe with a cup or something. It made sense; the cheerleaders had underwear that basically had built-in pads so they wouldn't flash camel toes while doing splits and poses.

Except it didn't make much sense when you looked up. The top looked painted on; I knew exactly where the nipples on her enormous breasts were. Maybe her beliefs or culture didn't hide breasts? I mean, you could walk around New York topless.

However, the main point was she looked toned and fit, but not bulky. She didn't have muscles bulging out anywhere. But she'd clamped onto my wrists and it had felt like iron wrapped in hot gel. She'd lifted Jemma off the ground with one hand!

She also, obviously, didn't know English. Or much English. She clearly didn't want Jemma or me moving.

Instead she tried charades.

She walked over to the wall next to us and stood with her back to it, her arms out to either side. She made sure we both saw, then pointed to us, then to the wall.

"What the fuck?" Jemma asked.

"She wants us to copy her," I said.

I slowly stood and copied her pose. Back to the wall, arms out to either side.

"Yes," she said.

I'm sure two words would be enough for us to communicate going forward. Though she did sort of get "walk" right.

Jemma took a minute but she pressed herself to the wall the same way. Then since we were close enough, she gripped my hand. The woman tensed when she saw it at first, but she didn't seem to care when we didn't do anything else.

Then she turned on the TV.

Jemma looked over at me, confused, but I was just as clueless. The woman broke into our house, took our bags, and assaulted me. Now she had us standing against the wall while she watched TV?

The behavior plus the lack of speech suggested to me that she had some sort of severe mental issue. I thought there was a disorder that impaired mental function but gave ridiculous muscle development, but I couldn't remember what it was. Or if it was real.

I don't know how long we stood there but my arms started getting tired. I let the arm not holding Jemma's hand slip down a little.

The woman's head snapped over and she glared. That's when I noticed her eyes were

purple

. And bright, vibrant puple, not deep violet. I had thought colors like that were only possible with contacts. She watched us for a full thirty seconds (I counted). Then she checked back on the TV.

She cried out something and jabbed at the TV with the remote. She'd paused it. Then she walked over and pointed.

She'd pulled up one of those cop procedural shows they reran everywhere for Boomers. The guy on the screen had his gun pointed off screen and was talking into his phone. She pointed at the gun, then looked at us and pointed to the table.

"No."

The whole exchange suddenly clicked for me. "You...she thinks we have guns," I told Jemma

"What?"

"She wants us to put our guns on the table."

"We don't have them...We Don't! Have! Guns!" Jemma said loudly at the woman.

I worried the shouting would upset her, but she just considered Jemma passively, then looked back and forth between the screen and us.

"No?" she said, and it was definitely a question.

"No," I confirmed.

She seemed to accept that. Then her finger moved to the phone on the screen, and she pointed at the table.

"No."

That I sort of expected, and there's no way she'd believe we didn't have phones. I pointed to my backpack.

"It's in my bag," I said, with no idea if she'd know what that meant.

She looked over at the bag she'd thrown on the couch. She moved over to it while keeping her eyes on us. It took her a second to figure out the zippers, but she pulled it open. I gasped as my laptop began tumbling out but the woman caught it with scary fast reflexes and set it on the coffee table. She dug around, removing a rat's next of old wired earbuds, some spare shirts, and a bra before she clued in to the smaller pocket inside where my phone actually was. It joined my laptop on the table. Then she looked at Jemma.

She pointed to Jemma's bag and Jemma nodded. I felt like my stomach just leapt into my throat. She never kept her phone in her bag. When the woman turned to grab it, Jenna snaked her arm behind her back.

Suddenly the woman was just

there

. She had Jemma's arm pinned above her head, her phone gripped in her hand. The woman reached up and gently plucked the phone out of Jemma's hand, her eyes fixed on Jemma's. Jemma looked scared and flushed, breathing heavy. I could practically see her heart beating at the top of her breast. I also noticed the woman glance down at the exposed cleavage.

Our school uniforms were the standard "schoolgirl fantasy" style; white button-down blouses under vests or sweaters with knee-length pleated skirts and knee-high socks. It was cold enough that most of us girls were in sweaters, but Jemma and her friends almost always ditched the sweaters immediately so they could unbutton the shirts and show off their cleavage.

The woman definitely seemed to notice, and I wondered if she was a lesbian. Or bi? Pan? Either way her look didn't seem to be one of a woman objectively checking out another girl's equipment. I'd seen a lot of guys look at Jemma and the twins that way. And a few girls.

Before anything escalated, the woman backed off with the phone. She set it down next to mine. Then we all stared at each other. I had no idea what this woman's plans were for us, and I started to wonder if she knew either. She wasn't easy to read, but her attention didn't seem to be fully focused on us anymore, as if she were waiting for something.

I'm not sure if Kathleen was that thing, but the woman came shuffling into the room and Jemma and I looked at each other in panic.

Jemma's mother only had a sheet on, and not even on; she had it gripped at her shoulder and was hoping gravity or something would make it fall into place correctly. It didn't. One of her tits was hanging out, and the sheet pulled back and forth as she moved forward, exposing and hiding her vagina.

I'd seen Kathleen naked before; alcoholics on a bender don't always care about dressing fully, and I'd had to strip vomit and booze-soaked clothes off of her more than once. I usually offered to do it, actually, because I felt like it was wrong to make Jemma strip her own mother naked to clean her off.

So the partial nudity didn't freak us out, exactly, but we had no sense of how our uninvited guest was going to react. Kathleen was mumbling something as she came out, then she saw the other woman.

"More!" she said desperately, and I realized that was what she'd been saying all along.

"Mom, you can't have more to drink right now," Jemma said, moving over quickly and trying to hold Kathleen back.

Fortunately the blue-haired giant didn't move to stop either of them. I edged closer but I didn't want to crowd Kathleen; if she was blind drunk she reacted badly to being cornered. But I got close enough to notice something was off.

I couldn't smell any booze. She usually reeked of it, especially when she acted out of it like she was now. I didn't think of it until right then, but she also wasn't going for booze; all of that was in the kitchen (Kathleen usually bought a bottle of something hard and then a pack of seltzers for when that ran out).

"Jemma, she's not trying to drink," I said. I don't know why I felt it was important to point that out, but I wanted to contribute.

"What?" Jemma turned to ask, and that was enough of a distraction that Kathleen broke her grip.

Jemma's mom practically dove at the blue-haired woman, but she didn't flinch. At first I wasn't surprised because I knew the woman had nothing to worry about; Jemma had gone full alley-cat on her and she barely noticed. But then Kathleen started almost clawing at the woman's crotch. The outfit she wore didn't move at all in response, another baffling thing.

Then the larger woman sighed. After that my brain had too much to process.

First, she swiped her finger along the bikini line of the outfit (it formed a bikini "V" at the bottom so all of her legs and half of her ass cheeks were visible. They were good looking legs). Then the outfit

dissolved

from that point down. It looked like a movie effect.

While I was trying to process that, Jemma and I both let out a gasp when a cock fell out as the clothing vanished.

I had not had much experience with penises in person. Because of hanging out with Skyler a few times I'd met and hung out with some trans people, and one of the particularly unshy and confrontational girls had flashed me her remaining bits as a joke or a dare, so the fact that the woman with tits had a penis wasn't my major issue.

I'd seen porn, and this thing that fell out between the woman's legs would give most of the performers there good competition. It was big, and it was getting bigger as it got hard. I again wasn't an expert, but it seemed partially hard already, and my mind went back to the woman checking out Jemma's tits.

Next thing my mind had trouble with; there were no testicles. The shaft just came out from between her legs, and as I tried to figure out how that was possible, shocker number four became obvious.

Behind (beneath?) the cock shaft was a set of pussy lips. They were unmistakable, and at the same time made no sense at all. I knew my mouth hung open and my brain was too busy figuring all of that out to spare the energy to close it.

I blame all of that for me not noticing for a few seconds that Kathleen had taken the woman's member, wrapped her lips around the head, and tried to give her a blowjob.

She wasn't getting very far because the shaft looked as thick as her arm; her lips barely got down to the crown of the head, but she was trying her hardest and jacking the shaft with her hand to compensate.

"MOM!" Jemma finally shrieked when she got over the shock of...well...everything.

"Wait your turn, honey," Kathleen said, briefly taking the cock out of her mouth.

"What the fuck!?"

"Oh come on, honey, you may still be a virgin but I know you've sucked off a cock before. There's only one thing that leaves that kind of crusty residue and it was all over your bra that one time," Kathleen said.

The brutal honesty from Kathleen wasn't that shocking; luckily for us she was a playful, giggly drunk most of the time, but alcohol was like giving her a truth serum. I'd heard all the details of Jemma's childhood issues with bed wetting, and I unfortunately knew how well both Jemma's and my own father performed in bed.

What threw me off was that she sounded like she was totally in control. Her words weren't slurring, she wasn't cutting herself off with giggles or hiccups (she did that too; it was like she modeled her drunk self off of old cartoons), and she didn't have red eyes. If she wasn't naked sucking on a strange woman's dick I'd have thought she was completely sober.