The Space Cities of Saturn

The airlock door to the courier rocket opened with a sonorous squeal of semi-lubricated self-sealing stembolts, and from it emerged the distinct and unpalatable whiff of the long confined astro, the reek of bodies not quite cleaned enough by sponge and towel, and the harried tension that could only come from minds pushed to the utter brink by the onset of Space Madness. The two customs officials that stood before the doorway were of the most common stock of Saturnian – Wolfmen, their ears perked up, their tails stilling as they gaped at the sight of Mark Styles emerging into the bustling spaceport that was their home.

Mark breathed in a slow, steady breath, dressed only in a castoff Imperial astro uniform, his hair bedraggled and his face covered with a thick bushy beard, and then breathed out the same sigh he had been holding in with the explosive force of a bolt-rocket pistol being discharged at range.

“Good. God. Almighty! That’s ... ohh, I thought Bastogne was hell and a half!” He turned back as, behind him, Robin Robinson, the Star Princess Zella, and C’law emerged onto the gangway.

“I don’t want to see any of you again,” Zella hissed.

“Bloody right!” Robin growled.

C’law clapped his hands down, hard, on Robin’s shoulder and upon Zella’s. “This is normal for astros who got crammed together that long,” he said, clearly forcing the words out through his beak. “What we need to do is we need to take time away from one another.”

“Right!” Zella hissed. She reached up, fiddling with her earrings. She tugged them free, then popped from each a single glittering gemstone, which she pressed into their palms. She leaned in, snarling. “Those are Plutonian Star Sapphires. They are worth fifty thousand space dollars each. Sell them. We’ll meet here in a week.”

“Agreed!” Robin, C’law and Mark all said, at the same time – for at that moment, there was nothing that could disgust Mark more than the sight of each of their contemptible faces. Being trapped within the small confines of the ship – even with the terrifying potency of the devil weed Marijuana – had pressed Mark to strains that he had not thought possible. And so, he clutched the gemstone in his hand, then turned to face the two completely bemused wolfmen who were waiting for him to provide his docking information.

“ ... how long were you four in that thing?” the wolfman on the left asked – and Mark tried to place his finger upon what was so very odd about the two of them. He ignored it, instead trying to laugh and wave his hand.

“Oh, uh ... two ... three months,” he said.

“By the Mount of Mars!” one of the wolfmen exclaimed, dropping his stylus, while the other gaped.

“You’re all alive!?” He asked. “And not completely mad!?”

“The weed helped,” Mark said, shyly. “But, uh, yeah. We got pretty close to, uh ... Space Madness there...” He shook his head. “I thought they were exaggerating.”

The two wolfmen exchanged a glance – and it was then that Mark realized what it was that was bothering him so much about the two aliens. He was used, by now, to the curious distinctions of the interstellar genders, the wars between the sexes as it were. Upon his home planet of Earth, there was a saying that men were from Mars and women were from Venus – and yet, upon the Earth, the distinction between sexes was relatively slight compared to the radical divergences between the hawkmen, for instance, and their distaff counterparts. While C’law was tall and broad shouldered and a nigh perfect middle ground between man and hawk, with wings and feathers and fur and a beak ... his species sisters were, by and large, nearly identical to human women save for a slightly more amazonian build, a tendency towards coppery hair, and the fact that they themselves also had wings that allowed them to fly through the air.

The same difference was mirrored across each example of alien that he had seen thusfar: Lizardmen were burly and broad shouldered and crocodillian in their exteriors with massive snouts and much sharp teeth, while their women were svelt human women with a few scales about the eyes, long whippy tails, stubby horns and otherwise normal female forms. Catmen were dangerous panthers and playful pumas and cheerful cheetahs, with muzzles and whiskers and the lot, while Catwomen had naught but ears and devilish dispositions. Devilmen were ... well, there were no Devilmen women that he had seen in any of the photo-banks of the courier rocket’s computer systems that he had spent months studying, but still!

Except here, that distinction was stood upon its head, for both wolfmen looked quite human, save for their fluffy ears and golden eyes and wagging tails.

“Well, I’m glad you survived without killing anyone,” the one on the left said. “As it is, your ship will need to be registered and the fees paid ... we have a money exchanger, if you require it!”

Mark sighed as he realized that his three long term co-prisoners aboard the courier rocket had just left him entirely alone to handle the onerous paperwork. “Take me to them,” he said, gesturing and the two wolfmen led him away from the gangplank and through the warren like structure of the spaceport. The money changer was a little grumpy looking Ferretman, who measured out the space dollars that his single sapphire was worth, scowled at the exchange rate, then shook Mark’s hand once he had made sure everything was on the level. With that complete, Mark simply had to fill out several space forms, to ensure that the courier rocket he was parking within the spaceport was all handled legally.

With that complete, he was escorted through the spaceport and out into the Space City known as Ringcity One.

Mark stepped out...

And took a moment simply to marvel at the sight before him.

He stood now within a cylinder of almost twenty kilometers in length, from end to end, and ten kilometers in width. The cylinder itself spun in a stately way, and that spinning itself provided the single Earth gravity that pinned him and the millions of other people who dwelled within to the floor of their artificial home, in the exact same method used by the Plutonian Ice Castle. However, where the Ice Castle had been vast and intimidating and austere, Ringcity One looked as if some fantasist had imagined a city of tomorrow – and constructed it today. Gleaming white monorails smoothly wove between gently curved buildings, while glittering light projections took the place of more sedate Earthly billboards, advertising products and entertainments the likes of which he had never imagined – all of it using the same English language he had been born and raised on, thanks to the Empire of Space listening to the broadcasts of Earth.

The adverts proclaimed the services and products that bedazzled his thoughts and imagination: Heart Pain? Buy a New Heart, Specially Designed by the Clone Vats of Skezzinar! Our Low Rates Cannot be Beat!!! warred with Atomic Rocket For Sale, Cheap! And competed against Skellian Verge stars in FOR ZARDO, FOR LIFE, the newest film in the Cinaplex Multidome!

Mark stepped from the port and into the thronging mass of people, his hand dipping to his pocket where his wallet rested – and whistled slowly. “Talk about shore leave, Styles,” he whispered to himself. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, opened it, counted the space dollars within, then nodded slowly.

The first thing to do was to find himself a place to stay. He walked through the thronging crowds of aliens, only to see the first sign that not all was sanguine within this city in space: Three of Emperor Aytan’s deadly Clone Troopers stood at the corner of the street that ran beside the spaceport, their heavy rocket-bolt rifles hung from their shoulders as they looked around themselves, clearly here to intimidate the local population. Now that he had noticed them, the last poster he had seen reinforced itself within his mind – and then was added by the scrolling news ticker that ran along one of the skyscrapers that thrust from the curved cylinder that he was walking upon. Running there was a steady procession of Zardonian Propaganda that would have made Goebbels blanch at it’s bald faced patriotism.

TERROR PIRATES IN ASTEROID BELT SLAUGHTERED BY BRAVE IMPERIAL FORCES!!! FIRSTBORN OF RESCUED TRANSPORT PILOT TO BE NAMED IN HONOR OF OUR GLORIOUS EMPEROR! PRAISE BE TO ZARDO!!!

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we?” Mark muttered.

He came, then, to a monorail station. As he stepped within range of what seemed to be a kiosk, the floor opened and from the ground emerged an articulated steel and silver woman of outstanding beauty. The fact that she was made entirely of metal did not distract Mark from her expertly sculpted breasts, the prominent gray nubs of her rubbery nipples, the curves of her steel hips. The jointed, segmented nature of her body didn’t, also, distract him from her cheerful smile and her bright copper-red hair, which was made entirely of fine wires and hung about her grayish cheeks, accentuating the artful decoration of tiny freckles that someone had painted upon her artificial features.

She had her hands clasped before her and she beamed at Mark. “Welcome to Monostation One, Mark Styles,” she said. “I am GEN-E 5, the mechanical guide robot for all new visitors to Ring City One! How might I direct you?”

“Well, hah!” Mark said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m glad you introduced yourself so promptly – I’d have to ask, ah, how you’d know my name before I knew yours.” He kept his eyes fixed above the level of her chest, out of some old instinct carried over from his days upon the more prudish, less sexually advanced world of Earth. He was so flustered by the effort it took to not oggle her chest that he said: “How ... do you know my name, Miss ... Five?”

“Oh, please, you can call me GEN! Or Gennie! I’m not a miss,” she said, giggling.

“Well, you don’t quite look like a mister to me – though, I hear some folks out here in space like being misters no matter what they look like,” Mark said, grinning at her. “And if you are, might I add, you’re the prettiest Mister I’ve met yet.”

“Oh! You!” Gennie giggled, her cheeks blushing thanks to some dull red emission semiconducting diodes that flicked on just beneath her skin. “No, no, I’m not a Miss or a Mister because I’m ... well, I’m property of the Metrorail Company. They purchased me right when I was built and I work and live in their company quarters on station.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I am supposed to be giving you the tour! You just, uh, flummoxed my vacuum tubes right up with that pretty comment!”

Mark, though, frowned. “Company quarters?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s quite generous! The Metrorail Company lets me live and charge there, free of charge. They pay out in Metrobucks too – I get a great deal at the store for space parts and upgrades!” she said, nodding cheerfully. “Now, speaking of Metrobucks, do you want the tour spiel?”

Mark frowned even harder, but didn’t say what was right on his mind. Instead, he tried to lighten his expression and said: “Uh ... sure, Gennie. Spiel away!”

“Well, this is Ringcity One, the biggest city in the Kingdom of Saturn,” Gennie said, cheerfully, gesturing around herself. “With these monorails, you can reach any section of Ringcity in almost no time at all – and for cheap too! What kind of places do you want to visit first, Mark?” she asked. Then she did a quick double take. “Oh! And I’m sorry, so sorry, the reason I know your name is that my memory-banks are updated every six seconds by the spaceport traffic control so that I know how to help new visitors. And who the new visitors are.”

Mark chuckled. “Handy for a tour guide. And ... well, to be honest, Gennie,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “What I need most right now is a place to stay.”

“Well, what’s your economic price range?” Gennie asked, giggling. “You can’t exactly stay in my place, after all!”

Mark grinned at her, slightly. “Honestly, that sounds nicer than the best hotel in Ringcity.”

Gennie made a low whirring sound, as if some cooling fan inside of her had just gone from middle to high power. Her cheeks were so red now that they were literally glowing, like every single semiconducting diode was flaring to life. “W-Well, I, ah! That, uh ... hehe! Oh!” She ducked her head forward, wringing her hands together. “ ... I do have a ... b-but ... but it’s against company policy...” She whispered. “I ... I technically have already violated it – we’re ... we’re flirting on company time!”

Mark took her hand, grinning slightly. “We got a saying, back on my home of Earth...”

“Y-Yeah?” Gennie asked, her glowing, camera lens eyes widening.

“Boss makes a dollar, you make a dime. I say we fuck around on company time,” he said.

Gennie let out a squealing squeak, a literal spark shooting out of one of her carved ears. “Whaaa- no! No! That’s completely against my programming!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “I ... I couldn’t do it. Even if I badly wished to.”

Mark considered that. How would Jasmine get past that kind of thing? He thought to himself. Putting himself in the mind of his long lost comrade in arms, he snapped his finger, then grinned. “Gennie, your directive is to follow all your corporations rules?” She nodded. “And, your other directive is to serve company customers and make money, right?” She nodded again. “Okay. Any other directives?”

“Uh ... allow no non-bots to come to harm, through action or inaction!” she said, nodding sagely. “It’s the basic routine all of us robots are programmed with, right into our magnetic reels!”

“Okay,” Mark said. “So, here’s the logical flaw there. I gotta find a place to sleep. If I don’t find a place to sleep, I’ll be out on the street – lots of harm on the street. Could get mugged. Could freeze at night. Could just get run over by some peddlecab or something. So, if you don’t take me back to your place for drinks and conversation, that’d be letting me come to harm – and since I’ll be paying for those drinks at your company store, you’re keeping the company from making money. That’s two directives to one!”

Gennie began to tremble. Her eyes slowly grew more and more red, flickering and crackling as sparks hissed and buzzed out of her ears. Mark felt a sudden nervous lurch as he saw her trembling. He looked around, ready to call for help – but then the sparking stopped and Gennie blinked. “Oh,” she said. “ ... that’s ... a good point.” She bit her lip, making the rubbery texture depress under metal teeth. “Want to ... ah...” She fidgeted, shyly. “T-To come back home and ... uh ... have drinks?”

“I’d love too,” Mark said, grinning.

She took his hand, then stepped away from the platform, the two of them heading into the milling press of Ringcity One.

Claudette groaned as she squirmed, wriggling around in the big, comfy bed that she was sprawling in. The last thing she clearly remembered was purchasing a gift for her lover, Altair Polaris, the Pirate Queen of Ceres. She could already picture Alta’s bashful expression as she handed the gift over – and then she would ... well, she wasn’t sure which she hoped for more. Would Alta profess undying love to her? Or would she express it more ... physically. In the way that Claudette would, if pressed under torture and torment, rather prefer: Via thrusting Claudette onto her hands and knees and filling her eager pussy with her massive, throbbing girlcock.

She opened her eyes in confusion as her hands, rather than pressing to a comfortable set of headboards or pillows instead bumped against something hard ... and close. Her eyes opening brought only more confusion and fear to her breast as she realized she was in something dark and close and confining. She could see not a thing within her prison and her hands fumbled, pressing left, right ... she laid upon something comfortable, but it was banded by thick wooden slats to her left, to her right!

Her heart thundered in her chest and Claudette forced back a scream as she realized to her horror precisely where she was, and what had happened to her.

She...

Was within...

A coffin.

It was far worse than Claudette knew – she was in no mere coffin at all! But rather, she was entombed within a space coffin, made of hardened laminated faux-wood crafted by the finest coffinmakers on the whole of Mars, and quite unbreakable even to superhuman strength. To her, it was as inescapable as the depths of a distant black hole! Claudette breathed evenly, steadily, then pressed her palms against the wooden slats: It’s okay! She thought. Wherever I am, Alta will save me ... Alta...

Alta!?

Her memory flashed, then, upon the horrible memory of the all consuming voice, speaking within her hypno-ensnared mind!

Now, you will write a letter to Altair Polaris – telling her how you needed to go to Mars. You will write to say that you never truly loved her, but only remained with her for lack of better options. You will sign it with the name Claudette T.S Grant...

“No!” Claudette cried out, despite herself. “It is a lie, my Alta! A lie!” But she knew it was hopeless – that her voice would never carry through this damned coffin, let alone to the distant Salty Sirius that was the home of her now distant and falsely spurned lover!

The coffin lid slid open, and dark gray light shone down upon Claudette, who gasped and sat up before she could stop herself. She breathed in the stale, dead air of the chamber beyond – and gaped as she looked right into the eyes of the very woman who had captured her upon the asteroid of Eros! Those selfsame red on black eyes, slitted and alien, glowed faintly as the woman crooned. “My mistress’ doll is awake? And such bad dreams...” she cupped Claudette’s cheek – and Claudette just barely resisted the urge to slap aside that hand, to scream in rage and fury and fear!

For she knew ... if those eyes once more swirled ... if she was once more ensnared within their hypnotic grasp, she might never escape again! And so, instead of tempting the strange, bat eared woman, she allowed her jaw to go slack, her eyes to go out of focus, and simply sat there, waiting for orders from her vile vampiric captor.

The vampiress chuckled, then stood. “Doll, stand,” she said.

Claudette stood, letting her head loll to the side.

“Doll, speak – tell me your name,” the vampiress said, smirking wickedly.

“This doll has no name, lest you wish to give it one,” Claudette murmured, and tried to ignore that this deep abasement and submissiveness ... was causing her traitor body to grow moist and wet between her thighs, a gathering tingliness that made her wish to blush quite badly – but instead, she forced her flush aside with her long training ... not at being a space adventurer or spy, oh no! This was instead the decorum that had been hammered into her by the strict requirements of being a good maid. And it worked – the vampiress saw no blush as she chuckled.

“Perfect. I was worried the ultra-sleep would mess up your hypnosis,” she said, nodding. “Take in the chamber, Doll. You now stand upon the finest of all worlds ... the Kingdom of Mars!”

Claudette swung her head around, slowly, taking in the grim chamber she was within. It was a gazebo of sepulcher grandeur, situated on a ziggurat of black stone that rose from what seemed to be a vast, barren red desert. The walls of the gazebo had thin transparent screens covering them – and the whole place felt grim and quiet and silent. A dull sun hung overhead, seeming small and distant and cold. Claudette turned her gaze back to the vampiress.

“It is nice,” she said.

“Hah, oh Doll, you have such a way with understatement,” the woman said, then snapped her fingers. “Follow me.” She turned, then started to the edge of the gazebo – where, almost concealed from Claudette’s sight by the fact it was black stairs on black stone with shadowy darkness in the tunnel below, there was a set of stairs leading down and out of the ziggurat without traveling out into the arid wastes beyond. Claudette walked after the vampire as she continued to speak. “My name is Countess Spaceroy, and I am the finest servant of the Vampire Queens of Mars.”

“That is excellent, my Countess,” Claudette said, evenly.

“It is indeed,” Countess Spaceroy murmured. “Ah, I almost wish that the Queens did not want you for themselves. Though, I suppose, you are not a virgin are you? You’ve been defiled by male and female touch alike?”

“No, my Countess. My pussy has been quite defiled,” Claudette said, her monotone voice clearly pleasing and irritating Spaceroy at the same time. Claudette was doing everything she could to not lapse into a panic – maintaining this detached falsehood of her supposed hypnotism was growing harder by the moment.

“Alas. I so would have loved to have bathed in your blood, my sweet,” Spaceroy murmured, softly.

“This doll would have been ... quite glad to have offered my blood in such a fashion, my Countess,” Claudette said, her nipples hardening despite herself as the Countess laughed and clapped her hands together.

“My gods, you are abjectly broken are you not? I had no idea I had hypno-programmed you so hard – or maybe, you have a mind built for submission and servitude. No matter, I could order you to walk upon your hands and knees, like that of a lowly Earthling dog, and you would not merely do so ... you ... would get positively wet at the idea of it...” Spaceroy crooned, her cold fingers pressing between Claudette’s thighs, slipping two of her fingertips into Claudette’s cunt before Claudette could so much as draw breath. She shivered, biting her lip to keep from screaming – or moaning – and felt a flush of pure mortification trying to break out on her features, for her cunt was soaked at the very thought!

“This Doll is ... quite broken, my Countess,” Claudette whispered.

“Delightful! Delightful!” The fingers withdrew and the vampiress showed her fangs as she lewdly and overtly slid her two soaking wet fingers along her tongue, flicking them up and then licking her fingertips clean. “Demonstrate it, Doll.”

Claudette moved, smoothly, to her hands and knees, her palms pressing to the floor. Her eyes looked up at the Countess, who chuckled, quietly. “Bark, dog!” she said, her eyes gleaming cruelly.

“Woof!” Claudette let out, trying to ignore the hot drips of arousal sizzling along her thighs.

“Pathetic...” Countess Spaceroy whispered, then lifted her foot, pressing her toes against Claudette’s forehead, the arch of her foot baring before her. Her foot was oddly batlike, allowing her toes to grip upon Claudette’s hair as if it was a hand! She held her there, growling. “Lick my feet, dog!” Claudette’s tongue darted out, and she thanked Jesus Christ that the woman’s feet were quite clean thanks to the sterile environments of the various Space Kingdoms. Claudette kept licking as Countess Spaceroy moaned and whispered. “Yess ... yess!”

She shoved with her foot, casting Claudette’s head aside, then stepped backwards. “Present your ass, Dog! I shall have you attired properly for the Queens.”

Claudette swung herself around, pressing her achingly hard nipples against the ground. She did not dare guess what it was that the vile vampiress was going to do. She hoped it would-

The plug pressed to her ass and thrust in. It had been lubed, but even so, she had been unprepared for the sudden entrance into her ass. Claudette clenched, groaned, biting her own wrist to keep from crying out in alarm – and then she felt the weight of it. She looked back, and her eyes widened as she saw the plug within her was tipped with a long, fluffy tail, like ... like a...

“There we go. Good Dog.” Countess Spaceroy purred. She lashed out with her hand and Claudette gasped despite herself as a collar clicked around her throat, connected to a leash, which Spacery held in her cold, pitless hands. She stepped away, then tugged upon the leash, and Claudette followed the indication, swinging herself about, to crawl on her hands and her feet!

“Now ... we shall take you to the Queens.”

The two moved into the darkness, and deeper into the hellish depths of Mars, the Planet of Death!

The doors to Gennie’s cabin opened and she stepped into it, gesturing around herself. “Welcome, welcome, make yourself at home, Mark,” she said, while Mark had only eyes for the deliciousness of her chrome rump as she swayed her hips – sauntering towards the back of the room. The apartment was relatively small and spartan, with windows looking out at the vastness of the curved cityscape of the inner habitat. Glittering lines of monorail traffic whisked by, and the city seemed to reach out into the sky, visible above them as the horizon curved up, rather than down.

“This is quite the place you have,” Mark said, as the door smoothly slid shut behind him. Seeing that Gennie was already taking out glass vials and glittering decanters, filled with sluggishly sloshing liquids, he chuckled. “Can I drink that?”

“This?” She held up the black decanter. “No, this is pure crude from Titan’s oilfields. But this?” She wriggled the red bottle. “Ceres brandy.” Her eyes whirred and clicked in the robotic equivalent of crinkling one’s nose.

“Ah, excellent,” Mark said, but as she turned to pour, he stepped up behind her, his hands gripping her hips, holding her as he nuzzled against her smooth, chrome neck. His voice was soft. “But we didn’t come here to drink, did we?”

“N-No...” Gennie whispered.

“And how much does that wine cost?”

“ ... six thousand pay stubs,” she admitted, softly, as his hands slid along her belly, feeling the smoothness of her metal chassies. His palms paused, right before the swell of her breasts as his lips kissed up along her chin, feeling the warm glow of her blush emitters. His lips reached her ear as he nibbled on the hardened edge of her earlobe.

“Lets not waste that on me then.”

“It’s not a waste!” she squeaked, then gasped as Mark cupped her breasts. “I ... brought you here to make the company money, not ... ah!” She cried out in pleasure as Mark’s fingers found and gently rolled her achingly hard robotic nipples. Mark nuzzled against her neck, grinning as he murmured in her ear.

“Remember what I said about company time?” He purred.

“Yes, but...” Gennie squirmed, wriggled, then gasped as she was spun around by Mark’s strong, eager hands. Her chrome cheeks flushed bright red as her robotic rump bounced on the bed in her room, but before she could speak another word, Mark was upon her knees and leaning forward, nuzzling between her thighs, licking gently upon her metallic skin to draw himself bit by bit closer to her synthetic sex. Gennie bit the back of one knuckle, looking aside. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, just some tuning up,” Mark said, leaning in close to breathe in the scent of a robotic woman – finding that her lubrication was nearly odorless ... though, it was quite plentiful. The lips of her pussy were made of the same rubbery material as the other ‘soft’ parts of her body, though his finger found that it was quite a bit softer and more pliant than her nipples. Touching her, though, did not provoke the soft gasp or moan that he had hoped – instead, she squirmed and looked down at him.

“Is everything all right?” Mark asked, gently.

“S-Sorry, I just never enjoyed that part of sex very much,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “I take pleasure in my partner’s pleasure, not really ... anything else...” She sighed. “I suppose it is due to my mechanical nature – I’m built to serve, after all!” As she spoke, Mark leaned forward and saw that while her sex was robotic, it retained several familiar aspects that he had seen back on Earth, including that most helpful anatomical features, the clitoris. However, even here, her robotic nature was present, for the clit was actually more akin to the wheel used to scroll through data on the computer-devices of the Empire of Space, seated within a hood of sculpted metal. Unlike those wheels, it had a series of numbers, with a tiny white marker indicating that it was currently set to One on a scale from One to ... well, Mark could not see the maximum, hidden as it was by the clit-wheel’s rotation.