Kajirae-gor
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 7: The Family Complete
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 7: The Family Complete - Ryker Jamison's mission becomes a nightmare when a wormhole throws his ship onto Kajirae-Gor—a world where uncollared women are hunted. To save his crew, he uses alien biotech collars creating permanent neural bonds. What begins as survival becomes Commander something deeper: four women discovering their truest selves through impossible choices. A story of trauma, healing, unconventional love, and family forged when surrender becomes freedom.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Slavery Science Fiction Aliens DomSub MaleDom Harem Polygamy/Polyamory Interracial Black Female White Male Oriental Female Hispanic Female Big Breasts Small Breasts Illustrated AI Generated
They made their way down the mountain as the sun climbed higher, leaving Torvash’s fury and the compound’s alarms far behind. Maria walked between So-Ye and Zynthara, still weak but steadying with every mile, the meld’s warmth giving her strength she didn’t know she had left.
The brass collar from Torvash’s compound lay discarded in the rocks where they’d stopped for the ritual. In its place, the shimmering meld-collar marked her as Ryker’s—permanently, irrevocably, safely.
Drak’vora ranged ahead and behind, her borrowed knife always ready, golden braids swinging as she scouted. She moved with the easy confidence of a warrior in her element, free and useful and alive.
But through the meld, the four bonded souls felt something else from her. Something unspoken. A tension that had nothing to do with pursuit or danger.
Loneliness.
They stopped to rest as the forest opened into rolling hills, the valley spreading below them, River City visible in the distance. Ryker checked their back trail one last time—clear, no pursuit—and turned to find Drak’vora standing apart from the group, staring down at the city.
Her shoulders were straight, her spine rigid, but something about her posture spoke of decision. Of inevitability.
She turned slowly and walked back to where they rested. Her eyes swept over all four of them—Ryker standing tall and armed, So-Ye and Maria naked and collared and marked as his, tiny Zynthara perched on a rock like a blue sentinel.
A family.
And she was not part of it.
Drak’vora dropped to her knees.
The motion was so sudden, so unexpected, that Ryker’s hand went instinctively to his weapon. But she made no threatening move. She simply knelt, head bowed, hands resting palms-up on her thighs in a gesture of supplication.
“Drak’vora—” Ryker started.
“Please.” Her voice was steady but raw. “Listen to my plea.”
The four of them went still, the meld humming with shared surprise.
“I am a free woman,” Drak’vora continued, her eyes fixed on the ground. “But a free woman without home, family, or support. If I go with you to your ship, I am still alone—among strange people, a strange planet, strange customs. I will be ... adrift.”
Her hands curled slowly into fists, then opened again.
“We have strived together. Fought together. Bled together. And now we are free together.” She lifted her head, her golden eyes fierce despite the vulnerability in her voice. “But I am not truly free. I am exiled. Hunted. Alone. And I...” Her voice caught. “I do not wish to be alone anymore.”
She looked at Ryker directly.
“Please, sky-warrior. Claim me. Make me yours as you have claimed them. Give me a place, a purpose, a family.”
Her gaze shifted to So-Ye, Maria, Zynthara.
“Sisters. Please. Let me join your family. I have fought for you, bled for you, risked my life for your sister Maria. Let me be part of what you have built.”
Silence.
Through the meld, emotions crashed and swirled—surprise from Ryker, shock from Maria, wonder from Zynthara.
And from So-Ye: tears.
Zynthara broke first. She hopped down from her rock and threw one small fist into the air.
“YES!” Her voice rang clear and joyful. “Yes yes yes! I want her! She’s strong and kind and she calls me ‘little sister’ and I love her!”
Maria stepped forward, her newly collared throat catching the sunlight. “I would not be free without your help, Drak’vora. You guided us. Fought beside us. Saved me.” Her voice was firm. “I say yes.”
So-Ye wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then moved to stand directly in front of the kneeling warrior. She reached down and took Drak’vora’s face between her hands, lifting it gently until their eyes met.
“You’re already one of us,” So-Ye said, her voice thick with emotion. “I felt it deep in my spirit this day. I knew this request would be spoken.” She smiled through her tears. “You risked your life for our sister Maria. How can we deny you a life with us?”
She straightened, her bare shoulders pulling back, her collar gleaming.
“As the Matriarch of this family,” So-Ye said, and through the meld they all felt her claiming the title, owning it fully for the first time, “I say yes. With joy.”
Drak’vora’s breath shuddered out of her. She bowed her head again, this time in gratitude.
Ryker stood silent for a long moment, looking down at the tall warrior kneeling at his feet. Then he sighed—long, deep, theatrical.
“How am I going to explain this to Star Command?” he said to the sky. “A nude collared pilot. A nude collared comms officer. A nude collared pixie empath. And now a nude collared seven-foot black Amazon with elf ears?”
So-Ye pointed down at her own bare mons, completely smooth now, and deadpanned: “All hairless, too.”
Maria looked down at herself—her own body hair nearly gone after only hours in the collar, drifting away with every breeze—and made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh or a sob.
“Oh god, we’re all going bald.”
“Not bald!” Zynthara protested, touching her white hair protectively. “Just ... smooth!”
“So smooth,” Maria muttered.
Drak’vora, still kneeling, looked up at Ryker with the faintest hint of a smile. “I can help with the diplomatic logistics. I was trained in statecraft. I know how to navigate bureaucracy.”
Zynthara bounced on her toes. “And I can tell you what they’re all thinking!”
Ryker looked at each of them in turn—his pilot, his comms officer, his empath, his warrior—and felt the weight of what he’d built settling onto his shoulders. Not a burden. A responsibility. A family.
“In for a penny,” he said quietly. “In for a pound.”
He reached down and pulled Drak’vora to her feet.
“Come on, girls,” he said, turning toward the distant city. “We need to stop at Kael’dris’s on the way back.”
River City - Kael’dris’s Shop
The old shaman looked up as the door opened, his milky eyes somehow still sharp, still seeing more than they should.
Five figures entered: one armed man, four naked collared women of wildly different sizes and colors.
Kael’dris’s weathered face split into a slow smile.
“Sky-warrior,” he said, his voice a warm rumble. “You return. And you bring...” His gaze swept over them. “ ... a family.”
“We need one more collar,” Ryker said simply.
The shaman’s attention fixed on Drak’vora, taking in her height, her bearing, the way she stood protectively behind the smaller women despite her own vulnerability.
“Vorathian,” Kael’dris said. “Royal blood, unless I miss my guess.”
“Exiled blood,” Drak’vora corrected. “But yes.”
“And you wish to be bound to them.” Not a question.
“I do.”
Kael’dris stood slowly, moving to the cabinet where he kept the sacred tools. “I prepared a field collar for you before,” he said to Ryker. “Did it serve well?”
“Perfectly.” Ryker gestured to Maria. “This is Maria Vasquez. She’s wearing your work.”
The shaman approached Maria, studying the collar at her throat—the shimmer of an activated meld, the bond pulsing faintly beneath the metal. His fingers hovered near it without touching, and he nodded, satisfied.
“Good. Clean binding. The blood took well.” He turned back to Drak’vora. “And now a fourth. You are building something rare, sky-warrior. A quartet bond. Most men cannot handle even two women melded to them. You carry three and seek a fourth.”
“They’re not a burden,” Ryker said quietly. “They’re my crew. My family.”
“Yes.” Kael’dris smiled again. “Yes, I see that.”
He laid out the tools—collar, blade, small brass bowl. “This will be different from the field binding,” he said. “Here, I can perform the full ritual. Stronger. Deeper. The bond will settle more quickly, with less disorientation.”
He pricked his own finger first, letting his blood—the catalyst—drip into the bowl. Then he gestured to Ryker.
One by one, they came forward. Ryker. So-Ye. Zynthara. Maria. Each gave blood, each drop falling into the bowl where it swirled and mixed with the shaman’s, taking on that faint otherworldly glow.
Finally, Drak’vora stepped forward. She held out her hand without hesitation, and Kael’dris pricked her finger with practiced precision.
Her blood—darker, richer than the others’—dripped into the bowl. The mixture flared briefly, light pulsing once before settling.
“Sit,” Kael’dris told Drak’vora.
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