Project: Prometheus
Copyright© 2018 by C.H. Darkstrider
Chapter 53
Sex Story: Chapter 53 - A crew of smugglers, on the run from pirates, stumble upon an ancient and long lost ship, from humanity's Golden Age. Join this intrepid crew of women as they unlock the mysteries of the ship and determine the fate of the galaxy!
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual Mind Control Romantic Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Humor Military War Science Fiction Aliens Space Sharing Group Sex Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial Black Female White Male White Female Indian Female White Couple Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Safe Sex Sex Toys Tit-Fucking Voyeurism Big Breasts
Arcann Saubath stared out the window, taking in the light of his home system. He basked in the radiance of his sun, smiling and growling like the dragon he was, happy to feel its comforting rays on his skin once again. The big man closed his eyes and let the rays of his sun wash over him as he thought back to the events of the past few days.
There had been much feasting and celebration on the station over the past couple of days. It had been nearly three AM by the time he had stepped away from the festivities to clear his head. Many of his people there welcomed him back as a hero, though he had done little to deserve such an accolade, aside from coming home as he said he would.
Though he did return with a fleet in tow, well, part of one at any rate. The Third Veldhern Defense fleet was his, mostly, and he should have had the entire fleet on his side. The rest of the fleet should have turned with them and fought against the first and second fleets. From what the man had managed to piece together, the crews of the ships that were supposed to join him failed in their mutinies.
He supposed that was down to error and pride on the part of the crews he had swayed to his cause. Their number were small in comparison to some of the other ships, but the crews assured him that their numbers wouldn’t matter. It seemed like it did, as the mutinies evidently failed, and they stayed in the control of the UCW. Though he felt partly responsible, he knew there was little to be done about the matter.
Arcann sighed and stopped dwelling on the past and instead looked to the future. He was there, and in command of a decent complement of ships. Especially his battlecruiser, The Stalwart, which was a powerful and impressive ship in its own right. Not to mention that they were all currently being rebuilt and refitted from the ground up, as they had taken a beating in their last engagement.
The fact that they had come this far and still held together was no small feat, and one that he was thankful for. With this fleet of ships, along with the firepower they had, including the new pulsar cannons they were equipped with, they would be a force to be reckoned with. The man opened his eyes and continued smiling, as he knew that this heralded the beginning of a new Takharian empire!
His time spent under the UCW had taught him much, as it showed him where his people had gone wrong in their initial conquest. Much of the galaxy had been thought of as inferior beings, using technologies they had no idea how to use correctly. That assumption was dead wrong and was one of many fallacies of the old warlords. These mistakes, he had done well to study, learn, and under his leadership, they would be corrected.
The first step of which was to convince his people to abandon their old ways of thinking, as it was what had reduced them to this. Having to hide from the galaxy at large, like prey, was not something his people should have had to endure. If they knew of this world’s existence, the UCW would be among the first groups here, looking to claim it for themselves. As far as he was concerned, he would die before he saw such a thing happen.
His people had suffered enough with being scattered all across the galaxy, with only one or two worlds gifted to them. Even then, they were under control of those who were little more than Naucturi lapdogs, who did whatever they were told. Arcann refused to allow his people to become as such, as he had often seen the Naucturi abuse their power.
In some cases, he had faced quite a few adversaries himself when climbing the ranks in the UCW. More often than not, Naucturi of the same rank or below him would try to sabotage his actions. Making him look incompetent, stupid or downright lazy had been their aims, though a few had tried taking things a bit further.
Some had tried to make him look like a sleeper agent from some Takharian warlord that was giving the UCW trouble. Such things would have thrown the man off, had they been correct in whom he sided with. But none of those plans to be, as Arcann had ensured, he accounted for what he was doing, where he was and why he was doing these things. He always made sure there was evidence to back up his claims, so no one could catch him unawares.
Many of these Naucturi were the stupid and arrogant types who often looked down their noses at him. They believed they were owed many of the achievements and accolades that Saubath had earned. Such attitudes would often find them ejected from their positions of responsibility and, in the case of the most arrogant fucks, they were thrown out of the military.
It hadn’t all gone according to plan though, as there were those who were far too well connected for anything real to happen to them. These types often got a slap on the wrist and told to never bother Arcann again. Some had tried, but through intermediaries, so they were not directly involved. But once Arcann had reached the rank of Lieutenant Commander, the efforts to slow him down ceased.
At this point, Saubath had the ability to command more resources and efforts to hunt down those who were sabotaging him. And, unlike when he was a lower rank, he could kick up a big enough stink about it to alert high command. Inviting the scrutinous gaze of the UCW high command was tantamount to career suicide. Even from those of higher ranks, just let the man be, as he had proven himself more than a competent officer.
The man continued to grin as he rambled over these memories, some of which had made him smile. Especially when it came to taking down arrogant snots who had the audacity to believe themselves better than him, when they had yet to prove such claims. His thoughts then turned towards the crews of the ships he had come in with, and he snorted derisively.
His crews had, in general been well respected, but there were a few incidents with some of them. Arcann himself had to get involved in order for things to be cleared, as some of his people had the audacity to feel like they could do as they pleased with his crew. One incident in particular stood out, which produced a deep-throated growl from the man.
One of his navigators from The Stalwart, Melissa Evenia, was having herself some fun while enjoying the company of her crew on the station. She had been a bit inebriated but was coherent enough to still keep a level enough head about what she wanted to do. A couple of Takharian warriors had interpreted her friendliness towards them as sexual advances and sought to have her for the night.
Word among the crew was that Melissa did like to enjoy herself in such ways but was picky with who she did these things with. Like with any woman among his crews, if she said no, then that was the end of it. Any man who disrespected a woman in that manner, or vice versa, was hung up by his wrists in one of the hangars and used as a punching bag for whoever wanted to use them like that. They were also tied up and restrained, so they couldn’t fight back, and they were left this way for a full twenty-four hours.
Once they were strung up like this, the offended party always got first dibs and would rain blows until they drew blood. Sometimes, but not all the time, close friends would also partake in such a beating. It often did the trick as a way of convincing such people not to do or even think of such things again. Most times, those who were beaten in such a way transferred off the ship, seeking a new posting away from Saubath’s brutal punishments.
The two Takharian warriors had tried similar coercive methods on Melissa, but she pushed them off, telling them she’d thrash them if they tried anything. They took this as her being feisty and kept trying, thinking she’d submit if she was slapped around a little. The navigator wasn’t having it and promptly beat down one of them, surprising the warriors.
Seeing this, the second warrior, along with the aid of some other friends, attacked her using their claws and teeth. Melissa fought them off as best as she could, but was overwhelmed within a few minutes. She would have been carried off had Arcann not been summoned and arrived before they could do more than cut and bruise the poor woman.
He had demanded to know what was going on, and while the warriors tried to convince him otherwise; he knew they were lying. Arcann was further convinced when he was shown video evidence of the warriors doing exactly as Melissa had said they were. For this, he opted for his usual stringing up punishment, but he made it for forty-eight hours instead of the usual twenty-four.
Also, unlike his previous punishment, they were to be denied food and water for the entire time they hung. They tried protesting this, as did their buddies, but Saubath literally tore into and thrashed one of the men into a bloody heap. It didn’t surprise the warriors that he did it, but what did surprise them was how fast it went down! Arcann had reduced the Takharian warrior into a right bloody mess in less than ten seconds!
Seeing just how fast, but also how skilled of a warrior he was, took the fight right out of them. He had taken both men and had strung them up personally, taking a few hard shots himself, after letting Melissa deliver a few ... choice blows of her own. After that incident, no one tried anything with Saubath’s crews, not wanting to invoke the dragon man’s ire.
Arcann snickered slightly at that, remembering how terrified everyone was of him after the fact. Most people on the station still looked at him with a good deal of fear, as they were all scared of offending him or his crews. The crews took it all in stride, seeing no need to be callous to those who treated them with respect. This fact made Saubath smile, as it told him he had well trained and disciplined crews.
“Brother? You all right?” Kuhlac’s voice called out, snapping the man out of his recollections.
“I’m fine, brother!” Arcann told him with a laugh. “Just enjoying the sun and remembering some fond memories is all.”
“It always is good to get a sun soak in before serious business happens,” Khulac agreed, as he stepped up next to his brother.
“Serious business? What kind of serious business?” Arcann questioned his brother.
“The Elders have learned of your arrival. They have requested your presence at their chambers at once,” Khulac told him.
“Took them long enough! They dragged their tails in calling me down, so I see no reason to hop when they demand. A few more minutes,” Arcann stated.
“Mmmm-hmmm!” Khulac agreed, as he too had closed his eyes and was soaking up the warm rays of the sun. The Saubath men stood there for a bit, just enjoying the comforting heat of the star, sighing in contentment. After enough time had passed, Arcann opened his eyes and sighed in resignation.
“Well, time to finish this,” Arcann said with a soft growl. Khulac nodded and followed his brother out of the solarium, staying on his heels.
Arcann knew that the most difficult part of coming home was facing the Elders. For as long as he could remember, the Elders had some sort of stranglehold on the people of their world. Whatever they demanded to be done was done. Whenever they spoke opinions, they were quickly turned into law. Whenever they acted to carry out certain things, it was viewed as a holy action.
Saubath had believed that this was so and had been a fervent believer in their ways. He had worshipped the Elders as the personifications of their gods, as that was how he and many others believed. They handed down edicts and passed laws, all in the name of their gods. It was believed that they were the very avatars of their gods and to defy them was heresy. But Arcann knew this to be nothing but lies, treachery and deceit.
He didn’t know how, but somehow, the Elders were using some form of mental manipulation to make everyone believe such things. He remembered their control being used to keep the troublemakers in line and the docile ones fervently obedient. Because of such control, their rule was absolute, and no one ever challenged them. No one dared to, as doing so was seen as apostasy.
As far as Arcann was concerned, that was one thing that would end today. He had seen the Elders do things that would make even the most authoritarian tyrants gush with envy. Mainly because the people obeyed them so readily, without thought or complaint. He watched families be ripped apart, their women taken as concubines for the Elders, while the children were made into servants or discarded and left to starve.
After he had come into his own, being sent away from his home system, was when the control of the Elders began to slip away. It was slow at first, but with each day he had spent away from them, their commands became less important next to his own. It wasn’t until he had enlisted in the UCW military that their hold over his mind was utterly broken.
He then started to remember all the horrendous and horrific things that he had witnessed as a child and young adult. All the brutal tyranny and hedonistic garbage that the Elders did came crashing back, nearly overwhelming his mind. It had been a damned miracle he had retained his hold on sanity in those early years.
As he progressed in the military, Arcann would start seeing a therapist. Off the books and under a false name, so no one would catch onto where he was really from. Though the Elders had done a number on him and his mind, he still agreed with their eventual endgame. But instead of them leading the charge to rebuild a new Takharian empire, it would be him that would lead his people into a new golden age.
He continued with his sessions, but Arcann also got into Advanced Psiops, as a means of hardening his mind against any form of intrusion. The training involved much when it came to signals, cues and body language, along with what each race responded to on a subconscious level. Then there was the training he’d done with the Naucturi Wyches, for those who’d proven themselves beyond the initial training.
When he trained with the Wyches, there was a lot he had to keep hidden and he had to be clever about how he did it. Arcann had gotten his hands on some black market tech and knowledge, so he could keep those memories of home locked up. If any Wych were to see those memories or get more than a little curious, then it was all over.
He’d been thankful that the tech had worked and kept those memories tucked away. Not only had he learned much about how Wyches worked, but also how the mind worked and what you needed to do to keep it stable. It was this knowledge that had given him the advantage he needed to catapult himself up the ranks, all the way to Commodore. It would also be needed for what lay ahead of him just now.
Khulac was still with him, quiet as a mouse when they boarded The Stalwart, heading straight for Arcann’s cabin. They arrived there in short order, with the elder brother pulling out his armor and started arming himself with it.
“Need a hand there, brother?” Khulac offered.
“A little help would be appreciated! Thank you!” Arcann told his little brother.
Khulac then walked forward and helped his brother with the undercoat layer, helping where he could. It was a vacc suit, not too unlike what Inari and the rest of the galaxy wore, but different in the manner that it was thicker and bulkier than most suits. There were small armor plates woven into it, placed at strategic points within the armor itself. This was designed to minimize exploitable weak points in most armor designs.
It was an older design favored by the Takharian Empire centuries ago. Several races had tried to duplicate the suit, but it proved to be too costly, heavy and cumbersome to move around. For the smaller, squishier races, it couldn’t be done effectively, but for the monstrous Takharians, it was easy to manage. Such armor plating made Takharians near unstoppable juggernauts on the battlefield, especially in manners of close combat.
The only other race that could defeat Takharians in close combat were the Khontarans, and with good reason. Not only were they on par with the dragons in sheer size, the extra pair of arms gave them the edge they needed in combat. Not to mention how every man, woman and child was expected to learn the Kha’Varen, the martial art of the Khontaran people.
The only saving grace as far as Saubath was concerned was their lack of numbers, as they didn’t breed as fast as Takharians did. But that was a demographic that was changing fast. Some species proved to be compatible with Khontarans on a genetic level. Also, the children of such unions often took after their Khontaran parent more, sporting many, if not all, the traits that made Khontarans what they were.
“There. Last plate is secured,” Khulac stated.
“What? You’re done already?” Arcann asked, looking down at himself. Indeed, Khulac had secured the final plate into place, making sure that his brother was fully armored before he picked up his helmet and warblade.
“If you would stop daydreaming, you might have noticed that I got it done in record time too,” Khulac snarked, taking a jab at his brother.
“That you did! Come on! We have work to do,” Arcann told him, taking his helmet and warblade before striding out.
The pair of them left his quarters and made their way to the hangar bay. It was a short trip, one which seemed longer than it should have, given the situation they were in. Khulac took a few deep breaths as they stepped out of the elevator and made their way to the ship that waited for them.
“What’s wrong?” Arcann asked, sensing his little brother’s apprehension.
“It’s just ... I’m not looking forward to facing the Elders. You know how they can be,” Khulac warned.
“I’m well aware. Just know that they may be able to control others, but not me. Not anymore,” Arcann replied, setting his face in a grim smile.
“How?”
“Just know that there are methods where such control can be ... sidestepped,” Arcann stated cryptically. “I’d tell you more, but we have work to do.”
Khulac nodded as the pair of them boarded the ship, which was little more than a shuttle, and got things going. It didn’t take long for them to power it up, and seal all the doors, before they got it flying. Arcann brought the ship to a hover for a moment, orienting himself before tapping the throttle. Not even a split second later, they zipped their way out of the hangar and headed down for the teal marble below that was their home world.
“How is it you are able to ... sidestep the control the Elders have on you?” Khulac questioned, still worried about his brother becoming an unwilling sap for the Elders, like many had before him.
“Out in the galaxy, there are groups, some of which are cults, that train themselves to repel any mental intrusions. There are even entire branches of various militaries that are devoted strictly to learning about the mind and resisting the influence of others on yours,” Arcann stated, giving his brother a knowing smirk.
“You ... you were part of such groups?” Khulac asked, awed that such things were possible out in the galaxy he didn’t know of.
“I was, for a time. It was part of my training, so I could retain my will, no matter the situation I would find myself in,” Arcann told him, only giving his brother a half truth. While he loved and trusted his brother dearly, Arcann knew that the Elders might have some level of control over him. Once the Elders were handled, then he’d come clean to his brother about everything, but not before.
If there was one thing he’d rather not do, it was to be too free with his thoughts and mindset with anyone before the Elders were dealt with. With the group of older Takharian men who ruled over this planet with an iron fist, it was better to hold your tongue. Arcann remembered a particular rule that was taught to him by a human man. He referred to himself as a ‘Russian’, which the former commodore supposed was an ethnic subtype of human, but the lesson stood out in his mind.
‘The biggest mistakes come from too much talking. Be more silent.’
Such a lesson was a valuable one, as it was one that he’d had to adhere to if his mission was to succeed. He’d never seen this ‘Russian’ again, as he’d been transferred to another posting soon after meeting Arcann. But the words of wisdom he had for the then young Arcann Saubath had been invaluable. It had been many of these lessons that had helped propel him from a young enlisted soldier to the rank of commodore in the UCW.
Arcann looked over at his brother, who still seemed unconvinced by the knowledge he’d been told. The dragon-man sighed and instead focused on what lie ahead of him, knowing that he was going to have his hands full pretty soon. The shuttle hit re-entry, and they settled into a large bank of clouds before breaking out into open skies.
The man was hit by a bout of nostalgia, as he looked down at the place that had once been his home. So much he remembered about this place, yet he could also see that much was also changing. It seemed that the old house of the Elders was undergoing reconstruction of some sort, as many laborers toiled away on it outside.
Arcann growled to himself, seeing that the Elders hadn’t changed one bit since he’d been gone. The massive home, which was nearly a palace at this point, was being expanded and improved upon. Normally, Arcann couldn’t fault such upgrades, as it was required to project an image of power and strength. But when everyone else lived in squalor and had to fight each other over scraps, then he took issue with it.
As they flew over the various habitats, Arcann could tell that this place hadn’t changed, if at all really! The only thing that had really changed was the fact that the homes of his people had become even more broken and destitute over the years. Something which he would have to rectify, given the chance.
Khulac continued to guide the ship, eventually veering away from the palatial residence of the Elders. Arcann did a double take and turned to face his brother, wondering what was going on.
“I forgot to tell you that the Elders aren’t residing in their home anymore, not since old Ghras’thak died in an accident during building,” Khulac told his confused brother.
“So, where are they living while the house is under construction?” Arcann questioned.
“The old arena.”
Arcann snorted derisively, knowing that the Elders would have done something that bold, because they could. The old arena was an architectural relic that hearkened back to the old days of where their species still fought each other in mortal combat. It had only been once their race had reached the stars and started to colonize their worlds did such barbarism finally stop.
But that didn’t stop fights still happening when it came to matters of honor or to settle disputes. The last great warlord had decreed that fights could still happen, but they had to be free of death and outright carnage. Only in the matters of public executions in the punishment of the most evil criminals did such things happen. Since then, the arena had been largely untouched, save for a few teenagers going into the structure on a dare.
Arcann smiled, as he had often snuck into the arena himself, always playing pretend with Khulac in the middle of it. They would re-enact old battles that they’d heard of in the stories, each one of them taking turns as to who played the great champions of their people. Such memories hearkened back to simpler times, simpler mindsets. The dragon-man was jolted out of his reverie as Khulac set the shuttle down by the entrance.
“We’re here. Steel yourself, brother. You never know what sorts of tricks the Elders might decide to pull,” Khulac warned.
“I am aware, Khulac. Let’s go inside and get this over with,” Arcann said with steely resolve, climbing out of the shuttle and striding towards the entrance of the arena.
As the brothers strode to the entrance, they spotted a pair of Takharian guards, both of who stared ahead impassively. They noticed the approaching men, but ignored them, as they kept staring straight ahead. This seemed a little odd to Arcann, as he remembered many of the guards for the Elders being a bit chatty and sometimes even likeable in his youth. These strange and almost robotic men seemed a little too rigid, even by Arcann’s military standards.
The pair were admitted without so much as an acknowledgement, and walked into the main tunnel that led to the arena itself. As they reached the end of it, the main gate that barred entry into the arena proper was wide open. Also, there were no less than four additional guards posted by the entrance, ready to usher them through if need be. Like the ones at the arena entrance, these men seemed more robotic and less ... normal.
Arcann knew this couldn’t be good, but there was no turning back now, so he marched on. Khulac looked over at his brother and sighed, knowing that if his brother was walking into the jaws of death, then he’d follow. The slightly smaller brother steeled himself and strode side by side with Arcann, knowing that they were in this together.
As they walked into the arena itself, they were greeted by open sky above them, as this place had been built many centuries ago, before any form of modern technology. Arcann stared around at the arena and saw that it had been lavishly decorated, as was the norm for the Elders. They never resided anywhere, unless it was completely decked out in how they wanted it to be, and made more than comfortable for them.
They never went anywhere without their pleasures and their vices, which was evident at each Takharian Elder who sat in the bleachers. Much of it had been converted into their versions of what passed for an audience chamber, complete with all of their comforts. Food, wine, women, everything they wanted and more was at their fingertips, just waiting for them to reach out and take it.
Arcann disdained such decadence, believing that you shouldn’t let yourself become complacent, no matter your station in life. This was why he was such a stark contrast to the Elders, being fully fit and ready to tear apart any enemy at a moment’s notice. Such ideals were obviously lost on the bloated and slovenly Elders. Each one of them had grown fat to where it was almost morbid with how big they were. All except one.
The one in question was a female Takharian, which was a true oddity, since there had been no female Elders for ages. She was attractive enough, as she looked less like a dragon and more like a hybrid breed, given her more humanoid features. Also, her scales were of the most iridescent violet, which was a truly rare color among their kind. Then there was also the hair she had, which looked a bit ... odd.
Most Takharians had what would be considered a fringe or a crest atop of their heads. Though more than half of them were bald, as their people had evolved past the hair that most species had. This woman had hair on her head that would almost look like what he’d heard humans call ‘dreadlocks’. The color of such hair was also odd, looking like a cross between lime green and bright yellow!
Regardless of such an oddity, Arcann also noticed that, unlike her counterparts, she took care of her body. She was lithe and fit in a way that suggested the woman was dedicated to honing her body to perfection. Also, his male sensibilities had perked up, noticing that she had curves that were, for lack of a better word, robust. The dragon-man noted that she smirked at him, as though she liked what she was seeing herself!
“So ... the chosen son of our people ... finally returns to us,” came a hardened, croaky voice. Arcann turned and caught sight of the Elder who had spoken. His true name hadn’t been spoken in so long, that it had been forgotten, as he had been referred to his title for so long.
“Eldest,” Arcann replied, bowing his head in the smallest gesture of respect possible. He could hear the fattened dragon growl in annoyance, as he wasn’t being shown the respect he was due.
“Is that all you have to say to those ... who set you on this path? To those who gave you everything?” the Eldest barked, not liking how defiant Saubath was being.
“Gave me everything? More like you gave me scraps, and I had to build myself from what little you did give me!” Arcann shot back, his ire starting to rise.
“Build yourself, you have! The fleet you have brought back for our armies to command is ... impressive enough! It will do for what plans we have, but I find myself ... disappointed in you, boy,” the Eldest sneered, looking down his snout at Arcann.
“Oh? And just how is it I have disappointed you, oh great and powerful Elder?” Arcann questioned in a mocking tone. Khulac stared at his brother open-mouthed, thinking that Arcann had lost his mind for speaking to an Elder that way!
“Not only have you become an ungrateful upstart, but you have also become a human loving wretch! You were told to only collect those who would side with us and only those who were of the purest blood you could find! Your departure from the true values of our people is evident in bringing the unclean races to our home!” the Eldest snapped and many other Elders vocalized their agreement.
“They are weak fleshlings who are soft sacks of meat!”