The Harvesters - Chapter Seven: The Hawg Fest Invasion Part 2  

(An alien invasion story)

by Zapped!

   Kendra Ford is dreaming of running free through her grandfather’s wheat field. The golden shade of the swaying stalks along with the back drop of the blue Midwestern sky, makes the hue of her yellow sundress seem all the more vivid. Her feet are pleasantly barren, while a freshly picked daisy is tucked behind her right ear. In this dream, she’s nothing more than a restless young girl with boundless energy.

- Ah yes; back when life was simple...

   Kendra can already feel the warmth of the early morning sun. It dampens her lithe body with a coating of perspiration, as the smell of the fresh wheat teases her nose. She pauses from running for a moment and seeks refuge beneath an old oak tree.   …It is then, and without any rhyme or reason, that she suddenly feels a wet coolness at the back of her neck. An unseen figure dabbles a wet sponge around her exposed shoulders. Kendra lets out a mischievous giggle and quickly turns to look over her back. She sees that it’s Tanya Wilson, the farm girl from next door…and her playful ministrations feel like heaven. Her childhood friend continues her pampering, dipping the sponge into a pitcher of water and then wringing it out on the ground at her feet. Eventually, the wet sponge works its way over the tops of her shoulders and single line of water runs down the valley of her chest. Kendra shrugs off an unavoidable chill…

   “Hey, do you feel ok?”

…Although the voice sounds echoic and distant, Kendra still recognizes it as Tanya’s. She forms a pleased smile and breathlessly whispers, “I feel just wonderful…”

   That’s when Tanya begins to shake her by the shoulders. Her muffled voice orders, “Come on girl, you have to get up!”

   Kendra dazedly whispers, “But I don’t want to get up. I just want to stay right here with you. …Forever.”

…Now Tanya is poking her in the ribs with a sharp object that feels rather uncomfortable.

   “Would you please wake up?”

   - All at once, Kendra awakens and expels a loud gasp in confusion. She suddenly finds herself in a completely different world: Lying on her side in a field of overgrown weeds and stubble, her left cheek is pressed into the dirty ground. A shadow starts to creep across her features and momentarily blocks out the sun. The biker blinks her eyes and attempts to recognize her unfamiliar surroundings...

  - Wh-what in the hell…?

…A voice speaks out from above and suggests, “Just relax…” 

   A startled Kendra jerks back and quickly looks upward in reaction. She cups a hand over her brow in an effort to deflect the harshness of the early morning light. The biker notices a figure standing above her but their face is darkened from the brilliance of the sun. Said sunlight also highlights the outer edges of the stranger’s hair, creating a weird “halo” effect around their head. The end result makes whoever it is appear rather angelic and heavenly…

   Once again the voice speaks out, “Easy now… Everything’s going to be ok.”   

   Kendra continues to blink her eyes, still trying to adjust to the sudden light. It is only then that she finally identifies the angel that’s hovering above. It’s a female with disheveled chestnut hair and she stands around 5’5” or so. Her clothes are stained and dirty, (much like her unwashed skin). She looks thin and malnourished, while her legs are defiantly unshaven. Despite the woman’s unkempt grungy appearance, her face is admittedly attractive in a poor peasant-girl kind of way. When the stranger leans in close to remove a leaf from Kendra’s hair, the biker notices a set of dog tags hanging down from her thickly veined neck…  

   The angel delightfully greets, “Well good morning stranger. For a minute there, I thought you’d never get up.”

   Kendra raises herself up on the backs of her elbows and studies her surroundings in confusion. She then narrows her eyes and groggily asks, “Wh-where in the hell am I?”

   “Mmm, I wish I could tell you,” confesses the stranger. “It’s an old campground of some sort, but I have no idea on the exact location.”

   “How did I get here?”

   The stranger observes, “Near as I can tell, you rolled in on that V-Rod over there.” She then nods her head over Kendra’s shoulder and adds, “Nice Harley, by the way.”

   Kendra cranes her neck over her left shoulder. She immediately recognizes her pride and joy, which leans on its kickstand just five feet behind her.

   Through her hung-over haze the biker begins to recall the events from the night before: the long road trip that led up to her arrival at the “Hawg Fest” site; the sights and sounds of the annual event; the bright light in the sky and the expressions of awe on those that surrounded her; the brilliant flashes of light and the terrified screams; the high-speed chase out of the festival grounds and being relentlessly pursued by a strange flying craft…   And then there were the never-ending yellow lines in the darkness of the night and becoming far too exhausted to carry on. The biker had come across a seemingly long-abandoned campground and decided to take a rest, if not momentarily…

   - Oh my God…Was it all just some horrible dream?

   Kendra suddenly frowns in guilt at the very thought of having left her closest of friends behind…

   The stranger before her reaches out to inspect a deep cut on her lower jaw line but Kendra jerks her head away in reaction.

   “That’s a nasty lil’ cut you have there.   …How’d you get it?”

   Kendra replies with some of questions of her own. “Wait a minute; who are you and what in the hell are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

   The stranger just shrugs and responds, “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

   A distrustful Kendra fires, “Yeah? Well try me!”

   The woman hesitates for a moment, as if unsure that she should even bother. Then after a pensive moment, she finally extends a hand to reveal, “Payton O’Neil - Private First Class.   …I’m a meteorologist for the military.”

   Kendra also hesitates at first, but eventually accepts the other woman’s hand with her own...

   “Kendra Ford; restless road gypsy.”

   The soldier gives the biker a friendly nod before expelling a lengthy breath…

   “Well, I was stationed at the National Guard barracks out on seventy-five. Sergeant Whittaker and I were down in the “catacombs” for the night. We had been down there for an hour or so, just recording our barometric pressure readings for documentation purposes.   …At one point, we felt the ground begin to shake and the needle started going bananas on the accelerometer. That’s when the sarge decided to make a call up to the communications tower. We only got one reply before the power went out and the line went dead.”

   The biker asks, “So then what happened?”

   “We thought we might be under some sort of attack, so we split up: she went one way, and I climbed up into a ventilation duct and crawled on through. That shaft eventually led to a panel that overlooks the cafeteria.   …That’s where I saw all that weird shit going on.”

   Kendra probes, “What kinda weird shit?”

   “There were these creatures - they looked just like humans, but with green skin. The females were all dressed in these stretchy cat suits, while the males were in these spacey-looking coveralls. Some of them carried these high-tech looking weapons. They had somehow managed to overrun the barracks.”

  Kendra encourages the stranger with a, “Go-on.”

   “Sooo, these creatures…well they started lining everyone up in front of these glass tubes. They were putting these crowns over their heads that had all sorts of wires and cables.  …Once they were locked down in place, the captors flipped some sort of switch. It was absolutely horrible to watch, but I couldn’t seem to turn my eyes away.”

   “Didn’t they try to resist?”

   “I don’t think they could, even if they’d tried.  …It was like they were all being controlled and in some sort of trance.”

   Kendra’s attention piques and she immediately sits up. “You mean like they were hypnotized or something?”

   Private O‘Neil replies, “Yeah, that’s exactly what they looked like!”

   Kendra’s dark eyes dart back in forth in thought. “That sounds similar to what happened at the Hawg Fest!”

   “What do you mean?”

   “I was at the Hawg Fest bike rally with some close friends.  ...There was this bikini contest going on, when the ground began to shake. There was this large ship - like a UFO or something. It hovered in the air above us, until it let off this brilliant white light.  …I know this will sound totally ridiculous, but it seemed to freeze everyone in place. I tried to warn my friends, but it was no use. That thing just kept creeping along, with its light fanning out over the crowd and suspending everything in its path.”

   Kendra’s tale seems to stir Private O’Neil’s interest in return.

   “You said there was a brilliant white light…”

   “Yeah,” confirms the biker. “…So bright it was nearly blinding. Whenever I close my eyes, I can still see the vivid impression within my eyelids.”

   “Oh my God!  …I ran from a group of aliens - they chased me from the base and pursued me through the woods for what seemed like an eternity. They kept firing these bolts of light-energy from their weapons. Whenever I close my eyes, I can still see them too!”

   “Holy shit! …We must be under some sort of alien invasion!”

   “But wait,” warns O’Neil, “there’s more…”

   The seated biker leans in a little closer, giving the soldier her undivided attention…

   O’Neil explained in detail about how her fellow comrades reacted inside the mysterious chambers, at one point going on to add, “…When they emerged from those tubes, it was if something inside them had changed. And they also had these weird pods over their ears. They were similar to a Bluetooth earphone, but they blinked and made beeping noises. Later on, when I tried to reason with a few grunts from my unit, they seemed complacent and distant. It was as if their minds were focused elsewhere, and I think those earpieces had something to do with it.”

   Kendra inquires, “Have you tried to go back?”

   “Hell no!” exclaims the soldier. “My own people turned on me and accused me of being a fugitive. They wanted to turn me in for some sort of “upgrade!”

   “An upgrade?”

   “Yeah, they kept repeating something about “submitting myself” to the conversion process.”

   Kendra wasn’t exactly sure what that last statement was all about. But the thought of this young woman “submitting” herself to anything elicited a sudden twitch of arousal! The biker secretly pressed her thighs together in silent reaction…

   O’Neil continued, “Anyway, after all that went down at the base, I knew I couldn’t go back. …I ran through the woods until I found this place and I’ve been living off the land ever since.”

   “How long ago was that?”

   “It was March 16^th when I left…”

   “Since mid-March? …Holy shit! —It’s friggin' July already!”

   Payton just shrugs her shoulders. “I guess I lost track of time out here…”

   “Payton, honey - I say we go to the police.”

   Private O’Neil quickly grabs the biker’s wrist and warns, “I don’t think that’s a good idea!”

   “What do you mean?  …We have to contact the authorities!”

   O’Neil expels a deep breath and explains, “A few days after the attack, I tried hiking into a town. During my travels, I was stopped by this state trooper. He had on the same earpieces as the folks from my unit back at the barracks.”

   “So you think they got to the state police too?”

   “Well obviously he didn’t just “grow” them! …Anyway, he asked for my ID and I just showed him my dog tags. That’s when his earpieces flashed red and he kinda froze-up in place. When they flashed green, his entire attitude suddenly changed. He told me to place my hands on the hood of the car and spread ‘um . . . That’s when I ran.”

   “Great. So if the military and the police have been infiltrated, who else can we go to?”

   Private O’Neil winces her eyes and looks out over the field that the two are sitting in. She finally breaks her silence and suggests, “Why don’t we go back to my camp and come up with some sort of plan.”

   Kendra looks over at the woman in surprise and asks, “You actually have a camp?”       

   “Well I wasn’t about to sleep in an open field!”

   Kendra jokes, “Not much of a romantic, huh?”

   “Look: I’ve been taking baths in a shallow crik for the last four months,” confesses the soldier. “I don’t have any soap, shampoo or even a razor. I’ve got a coat of fur growing on my legs and a forest beneath my pits.  …There’s certainly nothing romantic about that.”

   “Mmm, I see your point,” admits the biker. “So where is this set-up at?”

   O’Neil replies, “It’s back there in the woods a bit.  …I just hope you’re not too disappointed by the home décor.”

   The cute soldier offers her hand and pulls her guest up from the ground with a un-lady-like roughness. Her eyes slightly widen when she sees the biker’s true height. She goes on to comment, “Woah! …You’re quite the tall drink of water!”

   Kendra just flashes her toothy grin and reveals, “Nah; it’s just the heeled boots…”

   O’Neil smiles back and goes on to advise, “There’s an overgrown walking path that leads back to camp. If you take it slow and easy, you should be able to get your bike on through there.”

   “Cool!” says Kendra before swinging a long leg over the Harley’s frame. She then invites, “In that case, why don’t ya' hop on the back and I’ll give you a ride.”

   The soldier looks at the small seat and makes a funny face. “Umm, they don’t give you much of an area to sit on, do they?”

   Kendra looks through her bangs with her deep brown eyes, giving the woman a seductive look. “Just arch your back and hold me tight, honey.”

   Private O’Neil straddles the back half of the bike and wraps her arms around Kendra’s firm midsection. The engine fires to life with a loud roar and a short moment later, the big Harley lurches forward. With her adrenaline now building, the soldier can’t help but let out a little “yelp!” in excitement.

   With Payton hugging her tighter and tighter from behind, Kendra can clearly feel the soldier’s breasts pressing into her back. Like two water balloons, they squish and roll around with every bump and rock in the trail. Alien invasion aside, this momentary rest stop was shaping up to be a rather stimulating adventure!

________________

A Gift to Mother

   Hundreds of miles above earth’s atmosphere, the mother ship Otrakár continues to hover in place. Onboard, within her private sleeping quarters, Princess Theramea lazily turns over on her canopy bed. As her body slowly rotates beneath the finest of Pangorian silks, one of her arms snakes around the naked form that’s lying beside her. The smell of freshly cut roses and raunchy sex still fills the air…

Mmmm…

   The combined aromas might have been enough to send the princess back into a peaceful slumber. But there was a rhythmic Tick—Tick —Tick —Tick noise that was now keeping her awake.

   After a few blinks of her eyes and several languorous yawns, Theramea pulls back the silk sheets, slowly arches her back and then sluggishly outstretches her arms. It doesn’t take long to appreciate the warmth of the tight buttocks that are pressed flush to her toned midsection — its deep cleft a near perfect fit for one of the royal’s protruding hipbones.

   Theramea fights off yet another yawn, letting her quivering lips gradually curl it into a mischievous smile. She then reaches up and slowly runs a hand over the curvy profile of the overturned body beside her. “D’Nesh,” she quietly whispers.

   The female doesn’t react to her touch, nor whisper a reply in return.

   Theramea picks up a handful of rose petals and casually sprinkles them over the female’s coke-bottle-like curvature. The princess expels a playful giggle and repeats, “D’Nesh?”

   Still no reply.

   Growing impatient, Theramea briefly shakes her young charge and repeats, “D’Nesh, I’m talking to you!”  …The princess furrows an eyebrow before giving the female’s shoulder a harsh tug. The servant’s head lolls over lifelessly in the royal’s direction, her crystal blue eyes at half mast and staring into her master’s, yet at the same time — not seeing her.

   Theramea notices that the creature’s pupils are dilated. Her lips are slightly parted too, exposing the pristine whiteness of her upper front teeth. The princess leans in even closer, looking deep into D’Nesh’s unblinking eyes. The royal is so turned on by her lover’s vacant stare that she can’t help but lean in and steal a kiss from her unmoving lips. That’s when the princess notices the constant Tick—Tick — Tick — Tick sound once again...

   Theramea immediately turns her head and looks just beyond the side of the bed. There, atop a lone nightstand, an ancient metronome continues to swing to and fro on its axis; the chrome plated finish reflecting beautifully across the nearby wall. It clicks back and forth effortlessly, its incessant cadence drawing even Theramea’s own attention…

   The princess cracks an even broader smile, recalling the bedside hi-jinx from the night before and how she warned the young servant of the device’s capabilities. With one hand she squeezes her lover’s cheeks together, forcing her immobile lips to mimic the words, “Silly thrall! …Thought you could beat the metronome, did you?”  

   Theramea releases the female’s face, leaving the poor thing to gape half-lidded at the sheer draping above them. The princess decides to push her own luck; if not out of pure boredom then simply to test her own resolve. She bravely challenges the artifact; her dark eyes wavering back and forth in perfectly timed rhythm. But within moments, her eyes become glazed and her curious expression slowly turns to a more dumbfounded look. A puddle of drool begins to collect within the princess’s mouth and a lone strand of spittle soon forms. It dangles from her parted lips until breaking free and dropping in the center of her lover’s forehead. Then at once, an unexpected alarm buzzes in the distance, its intermittent noise gradually breaking the princess out of the ever-deepening trance…

   When Theramea finally comes to, she shakes her head to rid off any lingering cobwebs…

   Wooo! …No wonder why my assistants fall for that thing so easily!

   The annoying buzz sounds yet again and a voice that’s familiar as Captain Kiyar’s soon announces, “Princess, I hope I’m not disturbing anything…”

   Still a little woozy from the metronome’s after effects, Theramea nearly tumbles over her lover’s prone form. She drags the silken sheets to the floor with her and finally makes it off the side of the bed, leaving the entranced D’Nesh to lie naked and exposed in a rather lewd position…

   An annoyed Theramea stomps across the room with her bare feet sinking into the lush flooring and rose petals below. With every forceful step, her naked ass cheeks wobble together as her exposed breasts bounce freely on her toned green frame.

   The princess scoffs, “This better be important!” as she approaches yet another naked female; this one standing stock-still in the middle of the room. Nia was a promising Cadet who was stationed on the collection ship ‘Chimera’ just 24 hours ago. The teenaged recruit considered it an honor to serve in the Orion Forces and her greatest wish was to meet the Royal Family in person. Quite naturally, Princess Theramea was more than happy to grant such a wish to the hopeful Cadet. Now Nia served a greater purpose: acting as a living statue that made for one very sexy lingerie rack…

   “I have the final results from the biker festival that you requested,” presses the captain.

   The princess rolls her eyes in dramatic fashion. “And that couldn’t wait until later?”

…A bitter Theramea strips a pair of panties from one of Nia’s daintily upturned hands and steps through a leg hole. She hops along on one foot, frantically searching for the second hole, before pulling the flimsy thong up over her thighs. The princess then yanks a wispy sarong from Nia’s outturned forearm and hastily pulls it up over her shoulders. As she wraps the sash around her waistline she scorns, “I thought I told you that I need my alone time, captain!”

   Theramea rushes off to the other side of the room, leaving the recruit, recently turned statue, to stand alone. Then, with a simple wave of her hand, the princess summons-up the user interface for her computer. The viewing screen appears out of thin air and the royal sinks back into her plush Boudoir chair.

   Kiyar’s smiling mug soon appears on the nearly translucent viewing screen. He cheerfully greets, “Ah, there you are!” But as he views the backdrop of the room beyond, a concerned expression begins to spread across his face. To the left of the screen, a young female trainee stands posed in the nude. She seems frozen in place, undoubtedly the victim of a suspender weapon, or quite possibly hypnotized by Theramea herself to look that way. A single long stemmed rose is clamped between the cadet’s teeth. To the far right, another female lay fully exposed in the spread-eagle position upon the princess’s bed. She too is stock still; her eyes stare vacantly at the canopy above. Rose petals, lingerie and a myriad of sex toys are strewn about the room…

   Kiyar just shakes his head in disappointment…

   “I thought you were going to take Nia underneath your wing?” fires the captain. “I thought you said you’d personally train her to become a respected warrior?”

   The princess shrugs her shoulders rather nonchalantly and goes on to openly confess, “We were just getting to know each other. But then I uncovered the metronome to show her how it worked and the next thing you know . . . Well I suppose things got a little out of hand.”

   “I once told your mother not to give that relic to you.  …It’s not some toy to be played with!”

   Theramea looks over her shoulder at the girl who still retains her stock-still position. (It was a pose she’d surely been holding since the night before, and one that the princess and D’Nesh jokingly referred to as “the hook” throughout the entire sex-fueled evening). The royal turns back to the screen with a noticeable smirk and cruelly suggests, “I think she makes a rather attractive piece of bedroom décor, don’t you?”

   Kiyar makes another disappointed face and reminds, “You can’t keep taking my fresh cadets and turning them into your mindless, sexual playthings!”

   Theramea just shrugs her shoulders in a sheepish way and innocently murmurs, “And I’m so very sorry for that…”

   The captain heaves a deep sigh and reverts back to his main reason for the call. “Anywaaay; the assault on the festival netted a total of one hundred eighteen females, with twelve percent of those scoring within the .090 through .100 range. The remainder of them scored within the .070 through .089 ranges.”

   The princess probes, “Why so little? …There must have been thousands at that festival. I would surely think that a crowd that size would yield an impressive number of quarry.”

   The captain confesses, “Well as it turns out, biker events don’t always attract the most desirable of human females.” He then suggests, “Perhaps we should focus on another, more respectable event.”

   Theramea fires, “We obviously need to do something! Mother will be quite miffed when she sees those numbers!”

   There is an awkward moment of silence before Kiyar suggests, “Maybe we should call upon one of the hybrids.”

   “Do we have one in the area?”

   “Records indicate that test subject 108 is located somewhere within the Rossville sector.”

   The princess instantly questions, “What do you mean by “somewhere” in the area?”

   “The translator implant the subject has is an outdated Nucleus Four model.”

   “A Nucleus Four? …We just released the Nucleus Eight!”

   “Yes, I realize this. But in order to utilize the Nucleus Eight’s newer technology, he would have to undergo reconstructive surgery and we’d have to insert a new cochlear implant. Cochlear implants aren’t exactly predictable and melding the two might not produce sound reception any better than what he has now. And in order to—”

   A buzzing signal cuts Kiyar off in mid-sentence and alerts the princess that she has unexpected company. She apologizes to the captain for the intrusion before pressing the intercom button.

   “Yes?”

   The voice on the other side of the intercom replies, “I’m here to deliver the statue that you commissioned, your highness.”

   - Already?  …Theramea’s mood instantly spikes. 

   “I’ll be with you in just a moment!”

   The princess quickly returns to the viewing screen and apologizes, “I’m sorry captain, but we’ll have to discuss this matter some other time.”

   “But it’s important that we—”

   Theramea cuts Kiyar short and promptly lectures, “Need I remind you, captain; you’re not only responsible for the entire Rossville region, but fully accountable for the converts within your sector. Now I suggest you concentrate your efforts on locating the missing hybrid and updating his equipment so that we can proceed as planned!”

   “Yes, but I—”

   “Don’t make me call my mother over such a simple issue, captain!”

   With that said, Theramea waves a swift hand over the viewing screen. The display vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared, and the captain’s heated rebuttal is instantly cut short. The princess presses another button on her vanity to release the electric door strike before swiveling around in her button-tufted chair…

   “You can bring her in now!”

   The reinforced door slides open with a “shush-it” noise and a strange old man appears on the other side. He’s a rather peculiar-looking fellow wearing mismatched clothes, gaudy jewelry and with a colorful kerchief wrapped around his neck. Born of Saturnian descent, Zaftig Moon looks more like an intergalactic gypsy than the revered artist that he is. He enters the elaborate Boudoir with golden bangles jangling upon his wrists and rolling an upright shipping cart before him. Strapped to the cart’s tube-frame is a sheeted figure in white with enticingly feminine proportions...

   “Good morning, your highness,” greets the old man with his usual beaming smile.

   “Ah, Zaftig! . . . I’m so glad that you’ve completed her early!”

   “Oh but I have, my dear!” the sculptor proudly replies. The stubby old man sets the cart down in an upright position and then dutifully bows before the princess. He waits for the royal to grant him a nod before going on to say, “…I just hope that you like the results.”

   “If she’s anything like your past works, I’m sure that I will.”

   Theramea looks on with a note of anticipation as the old man unfastens the cargo straps from the cart. Once the retaining straps are withdrawn, Zaftig casts them aside and then eases the cart out from beneath the figure’s base. The artist then grasps the edges of the cotton sheeting and in grand fashion he announces, “I present to you: Leeza, the Golden Nymph.”

   As the protective shroud is dramatically whisked away, the princess expels a loud gasp in delight!

   “Oh Zaftig, she’s truly magnificent!”

   Standing between them is a life-sized female nude, coated in 24-karat gold. The statue is posed in a rather provocative manner, with head thrown back, arms outstretched from her sides and with her bountiful breasts thrust outward. One glimmering leg is upraised and bent at the knee, as if she were about to plunge into the sea from the highest of cliffs…

   Theramea slowly circles the nude statue, marveling at the exquisite detailing with each new step. Every line, curve and even the smallest of dimples has been captured in gleaming gold. And there is something about the reflection of light coming off of her too; like a certain glow or maybe even a flicker of life that seems to come from within…

   —Mmm. More like caught up in the eternal afterglow, maybe.  … Heh!

   Theramea holds back a smirk as she casually reaches out and touches a hand to the statue’s body. She lightly traces the curve of a thigh with the very tips of her fingers. Then her curious hand travels down further, eventually finding the statue’s metal-coated pubic mound. There’s a small slit there— not quite wide enough to insert a finger into and far too stiff to actually be of any use. But it didn’t matter; her 24-karat pussy would no longer be tainted by the semen of mere ordinary mortals...

   “Did she put up a fight?”

   “She was still entranced when I posed her,” answers the artist before adding, “A lot easier to dip her that way…”

   “Hmm, I suppose so...”

   As Theramea’s hand travels over one of the figure’s gilded breasts, a hardened nipple scrapes across her bare palm. An unexpected chill runs up her spine and the princess immediately shakes it off. That’s when she starts to imagine what it must have felt like being dipped in pure liquid gold. …The mere thought of her entire body being encased forever and the sheer ecstasy of those last few moments; struggling to inhale the air that is no longer present, the blood rushing to her engorged nipples as they tighten in place, and the pinging of her enflamed clit as it permanently hardens during her final orgasm…

* Sigh*   …What a way to go!

   As the princess continues on with her agonizingly erotic critique, Zaftig looks on with indifference. The artist had done close to a hundred such commissions throughout his lifetime —and not just for the royals. Devious dictators, immoral generals, and corrupt constables - anyone with far too much power on their hands and an unlimited budget would often come to him with such covert assignments. Wives, concubines, daughters - even the occasional male lover; they had all passed through the sculptor’s studio at one time or another. It was never a concern where they came from (or why) and Zaftig knew well enough not to ask...   

   Although the artist had gotten over the initial excitement of seeing the naked form long ago, it didn’t necessarily mean that he couldn’t appreciate it. That’s probably why Zaftig was staring at the parted halves of Theramea’s wispy sarong and admiring the pair of ripe melons bursting from within. It was a rare treat to see the princess displaying her “Royal” goods so openly...

   Theramea senses that she’s being watched and casually cinches the parted halves of her sarong back together. She glances up just in time to catch the artist turning his head away with a noticed smirk. For a brief moment she considers reprimanding the aged sculptor —but thinks better of it.   …He might be an eccentric old fuck but he also happens to be very good at his craft!

   This surely wasn’t the first “private commission” the princess had given him and apparently it wouldn’t be the last...

   By now, Zaftig has turned his attention to Nia, whom still remained frozen and standing with a long stemmed rose within her clenched teeth. He studied her awkward pose and after a minute is curious enough to ask, “Is this a new toy?”

   “She’s just resting with her eyes open,” jokes the princess.

   The sculptor passes a hand through Nia’s line of sight but her stare remains unbroken. He then props his double chin upon his knuckles and offers a quick evaluation (as if she might hear)... “Let’s see what we have here: cropped hair; boyish hips; bee-stings for breasts and a lanky body besides? —You poooor little thing. You surely wouldn’t have made it as an Orion slave girl!”

   The artist pats Nia’s motionless head in pity before turning to report, “She’s dreadfully awkward. …Quite androgynous, in fact… But I think I could still make something of her…”   

   “Sorry Zaftig, but not this time…”  

   “Are you sure?” presses the artist. “She’d be an excellent start for the custom bookends I’ve been promising you!”

   Theramea chuckles at the thought but answers, “No, that’s quite alright...”

   The sculptor turns back to the entranced girl and apologizes, “I’m so sorry that we didn’t get to know each other, my dear. But I have this feeling that we’ll cross paths again someday…”

   The princess shakes her head behind him and warns, “I think that’s enough, Zaftig.”

   The artist immediately turns away; his thwarted plans for a Nia sculpture momentarily forgotten…

   Theramea commends, “I have to say that your attention to detail is unsurpassed and once again you’ve managed to come through for me. I’m quite certain that mother will enjoy adding this one to her private collection.”

   The artist bows his head in appreciation. “But of course she will, your highness.”

   Theramea goes to her vanity and removes a velvet satchel from one of the drawers. She releases the drawstring and dumps a considerable amount of mixed gemstones onto the vanity’s surface. She quickly sorts through them and a short moment later, she returns…

   “Here’s four Thalonian Rubies, just as you asked for…” The princess dumps the red gemstones into the artist’s opened palm before adding, “…And I’ll toss in a fifth for getting her done so early.”

   “Oh my! Well thank you, your highness! …Thank you so much!”

   Zaftig quickly scans the cherished red rubies within the palm of his hand before dumping them into his front pocket. He’s about to turn and make his exit when Theramea grabs hold of his shoulder…

   “Not so fast…”

   “Your highness?”

   “Not a word about our little transaction —to anybody!”

   “N-na-na-not a word!” stutters the nervous sculptor.  

   Theramea goes on to threaten, “…And if Kiyar somehow manages to hear of the whereabouts of Lieutenant Leeza here, it will surely be the last of your statue-making days —got it?”

   Zaftig doesn’t need to be reminded. The princess had her own ways of dealing with those that crossed her; the evidence was standing right here beside them, covered in gold. The uneasy artist nervously replies, “B-b-but of course not, your highness! …N-n-not a word!”

   Now seemingly in a hurry to leave, the old man grabs his cart and the rest of his belongings and quickly makes his way to the door. As he does, he notices D’Nesh’s naked form lying spread-eagled on a canopy bed. The artist slows as if hesitant to ask something…

   “Sorry Zaftig, no more statues for today.”

   The jumpy artist quickly replies, “Oh, ok! …It never really hurts to ask, you know!

— Heh-heh …I’ll be seeing you!”

   As her bedroom door hydraulically opens and then hisses closed again, the princess can’t help but crack a smile. She lets an errant hand glide over the sweet rise of Lieutenant Leeza’s backside and then looks into the smooth orbs that were once her eyes. She goes on to poke, “That poor old man. He’s been working with inanimate statues of women for so long that he probably wouldn’t know what to do with a living one!”

   The statue remains silent and unmoving, of course. But if she could somehow offer her opinion, she’d speak of the artist’s skilled hands and the sublime tenderness of his loving touch. She’d reminisce of the pride in his expression as he molded her body into the final position that she is currently posed in. This was a privilege that only she and those many statues that had come before her would truly ever know…

* * * * * *

To be CONTINUED… with Test Subject 108...