Uncrossed (Harem Station Book 7), page 8
The view astonishes me in several ways at once.
There is an actual view—a light gray castle nestled in the mountains off in the distance. Probably made of some kind of stone. A mist floats lazily among the different layers of hilly elevation. It’s something you see in books, or vids, or virtuals. Something that up until now I thought was pure fantasy. There is a soundtrack of birds and wind through leaves. Small animals rustle in the thick branches of the understory.
But that’s not the only view.
Girls. Everywhere.
And all of them are pink princesses.
I’ve never seen so many pink princesses in all my life. And this is coming from the master of the only princess harem outside Cygnian System.
But we never had pinks until Lyra. And right here in front of me there are too many to count. Pink hair and glowing skin everywhere I look.
I stop in my tracks even though my chaperone is still tugging on me to make me follow her.
She turns towards me. “Is everything all right?”
I draw in a deep breath of fresh air. And now that I’m thinking about it, it’s so, so different than the air on the station. Nothing like it at all. Not even close.
Is this really how Cygnia is? None of my princesses ever had anything good to say about it. So I’m having trouble merging this fantasy reality with the one that’s been handed down to me for more than three decades.
“Crux?”
“Sorry. I’m just a little overwhelmed.”
She squeezes my arm, still gripping me through the sheer fabric of her flowing gown. “I understand. Where you came from… well, I’ve heard it’s pretty horrible in the Akeelian System. Sometimes I feel bad about how we keep you guys prisoner here. But then I know we’re giving you a better life than they did.” She hesitates. “We are, aren’t we? I mean, I know you’re a sex slave. And everything about that is wrong. But we saved you, right?”
I don’t know what to say. But it feels very much like my own words being thrown back at me. Because don’t I feed my princesses that same line when they find themselves on my station and in my harem?
I mean it when I say it. Harem Station isn’t a bad place if you’re a runaway Cygnian princess. It’s not like we ever abducted them from their home. Every single one of them came in as someone else’s prisoner looking ragged and sick. I nursed them back to health with juices and fruit.
“Come on,” the girl says. “There’s food and drink for you. That will make you feel better.”
Yeah. Weird. It’s like reality has flipped places. I went from being the captor to the captive.
“We don’t have much time,” she continues, leading me over to a table. There’s bottles of ale and thick, meaty sandwiches. “So you’ll have to recharge quickly.”
“Recharge?”
“I’m sure you depleted your glow a little back there in the woods. Your eyes were quite bright. And the queen will want you in top condition when she meets you. So please, just drink something at least. I’m going to go get my team and then I’ll be right back. Please,” she pleads with me. “Don’t run. We’ll definitely be late if I have to chase you down again. And there’s truly nowhere to go, Crux. There is no way out until we let you.”
I frown at that, wondering what it means. No way out.
But she opens a bottle of ale and puts it in my palm, closing my fingers around it with a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
She turns in a swirl of sheer, flowing fabric and darts off across the green lawn towards a large white tent.
I take a sip of the ale and swallow. It’s really good. Like… very good. But then I try to take in the whole clearing. There are a lot of tents. And so many pink girls. Almost none of them are paying any attention to me. There are other Akeelian men though. With just a quick glance around I can count ten.
None of them are my brothers.
And each of the men seem to have their own team of pink princesses who dote on them. Some are getting hand jobs like this is no particular big deal. Just a little fluffing up before the big moment. Two of them are being rubbed down with oil, several princesses working on them at once.
It’s like a fucking sex fantasy in the Pleasure Prison.
In fact, I think we have one sorta like this. I don’t go in there much. Hardly ever anymore. But I have a vague recollection of Tray telling me about some scenario similar to this one.
Am I in a virtual?
I can’t tell. And that’s new. Because there’s always something a little off about the Pleasure Prison when you’re in there. Even if it’s just your stats being shown in the vision screen over your virtual eyes letting you know how much time has passed and how much time you have left before you’ll be pulled out.
There are no stats in my field of vision. No shimmer in the sky off in the distance.
Everything about this place feels real.
The girl returns with a hyponeedle in her hand. She sees me looking at it. “Don’t worry. It only hurts for a quick moment. Then it’s all over. We just need to make sure you are who you say one final time before we let you near the queen.” She pricks my skin with the needle and there is an immediate and acute sting, then she deploys the hypodrug and a hot burning sensation runs up my arm.
“Fuck,” I say, clenching my teeth.
But she brought a friend with her. And that girl—who looks very much like the one who’s been taking care of me—begins to massage my shoulders. One hand slides down my stomach and I feel my cock stiffen inside the loose white pants as she slips two fingers inside the waistband.
I forget about the sting. In fact, I drift off a little with the new sensation.
“That’s it,” the first girl says. “Just let it take over.”
They drugged me. That wasn’t a test. Or maybe it was, how would I know? But there was definitely some kind of analgesic in that needle cartridge.
I should be pissed about that but I can’t really muster up anything but compliance.
The next thing I know I’m surrounded by them. All the pink princesses have their hands on me.
The girl with her hand in my pants says, “Just one cock. He didn’t mess anything up.”
I catch a few more words from other girls. “He’s good.” And “She’s ready.” And “Let’s go.”
Then I’m being walked forward. Back into the trees. The girls are all around me. Touching me everywhere. My ass, my cock, my neck, my back, my shoulders, my chest.
There is not a single place on my body that doesn’t have a hand caressing it.
We walk into a clearing and now I can barely manage to stay on my feet.
“It’s OK,” the first girl says.
Someone is removing my pants, hand caressing me all up and down my legs.
I’m very fucking hard now. And I’m not gonna lie. This is like a dream come true.
I have been around my share of princesses, but they were never mine. They were just employees.
These girls feel like mine. Like they only exist for me.
Wait. I shake my head and take a deep breath. I’m here for Corla. This is a breeding ceremony. She is my soulmate. We are going to connect.
Again, I vaguely realize, then chuckle. Because I just fucked her very hard in the last… whatever the hell this is. Dream? Glimpse? Who knows?
Who cares?
“That’s it,” one of the girls says. I’m lying down now. One girl is already sucking me off. I reach down and grab her hair, winding it up in my fists.
Another gently pries my fingers off her and the hair falls out of my grip. “No, no, no big man. Be nice now,” she chastises me gently.
But I don’t even care. Because another girl straddles my chest and then eases her pussy right up to my mouth. I grab her hips and begin to lick her. She tastes like a sweet slice of tushberry fruit.
I’m just starting to really get into it when they stop. The girl gets off my face and the one sucking me lets my cock slip out of her mouth.
I blindly reach for them—and I do mean blindly. Because I can’t even manage to open my eyes now. I’m in the middle of an intoxicating sex-induced fever dream.
Or drug-induced. Could go either way.
“Move away, girls,” I hear someone say.
Corla. Oh, for sun’s sake. It’s her. Finally. My Corla.
“Let me get a good look at him.”
I want to open my eyes and see her. Just gaze at her as she lustfully takes in my body. It’s very hard though. My eyes do not want to cooperate. But I concentrate. This might be my last chance. How do I know if I’ll come out of this and pop into another opportunity with Corla?
Because that’s what this has to be. I don’t know what the spin node is doing, but it’s quite obvious that I’m being cycled through different scenarios with Corla. It’s all about Corla.
I force them open and all I see is a bright mass of silver-white light.
Yes. She is mine. She is all mine.
And in that moment my second cock emerges and hardens. Almost instantaneously.
“What in the sun god’s name—did you girls already bring him to climax without my permission?”
There is a chorus of denials.
She grabs the girl who caught me in the woods by the arm and throws her aside. And that’s when I get my first real glimpse of my queen.
“No,” I say, barely audible. “No,” I say again. “Not you. You’re not her.”
“Shhhhh,” Queen Corla says, bending down towards me. “What do you have here, Crux? Hmm? What did you do to make your second cock pop out like that before his time? Is this a trick?”
There’s another chorus of denials from my fluffer team. Something about tests, and assurances.
I regret opening my eyes. I want to close them again. Like… now. And forget I ever saw the thing hovering over top of me. Because she sounds like Corla, and they are calling her Corla, but she is… she is not my queen.
She is old and wrinkled. Hundreds of years old by the look of her. And her face looks like it’s melting. Thick, deep wrinkles cover her entire body. And I can see them all because she’s naked.
“What happened to you?” I blurt.
“What?” she snaps. “What did he just say?”
My team of girls begins to back away from her.
“Get over here,” she commands them. “Help me. This one might just be the one Akeelian we’ve been waiting for.”
“No,” I say, even though I know I am that man.
She holds her hands out and the girls support her as she climbs on top of me. Once she’s settled on my hips, she takes both my cocks in her hand and begins to pump them.
“You’re not her,” I say. “You’re not her! We’re the same age!”
She laughs. Throws her head back and laughs. Her neck is nothing but layers of loose skin. Then she stops abruptly and stares down into my soul. I feel my eyes glow bright when her white eyes lock with my violet ones.
She’s still squeezing both my dicks, gripping them in her dry white palm, and I suddenly want to vomit.
“So you’ve heard the myths, hmm?” She strokes my cheek with the tip of her too-long fingernails. “About the star-crossed soulmate they made for me in Akeelian System.”
“No,” I say. “It’s not true. You’re not her. You can’t be her. We are the same age. I know this. I saw you. We were together.”
She laughs under her breath. “This one is quite talkative.”
“We gave him the full dose,” my girl says. “I promise you, we did. We checked him.”
She reaches over and pats the girl on the cheek. “It’s fine, dear. You did well. This is the one we’ve been searching for.”
“He is?” The girl’s voice is shaky.
“Yes,” the Corla-thing purrs. Then she looks at me as she raises her hips and begins to push my cocks towards her entrance.
I struggle, but the team of girls flit into action and hold me down.
“No,” I say.
But she rubs the tip of my two cocks against her dry pussy, ready to sit down on them and make me do my job.
“No!” I yell. “No! No! No! This will not happen!”
There is a sudden whooshing sound and I feel myself being pulled backwards. Like I’m being pulled out of the Pleasure Prison.
And that’s when I get it.
This isn’t real. It’s all fake. Just like I suspected. None of this is real.
But when I come to, gasping for breath, I’m not inside a gaming pod. Nor a medical pod.
I’m lying on a table. Chained to the table, I realize. There’s filth all around me and the stench of death permeates my nostrils.
There is no clean air. There is no mountain castle nestled in a mist. There are no pretty glowing girls.
Just rows and rows of Akeelian men chained to the walls surrounding the table I’m lying on.
And one girl.
My girl.
Corla. Still age sixteen. Hanging from wrist shackles above me. My cocks already inside her.
She is naked, her normally silver hair now covered in some dark, dirty oil, barely conscious. But her eyes flutter open just long enough to see me. To lock her gaze with mine. “Help me. Please, help me, Crux. Please,” she begs. Over and over again. “Please help me.”
And then I’m bounced out, screaming her name—“Corla!”—and making all kinds of promises I know I won’t ever be able to keep.
CHAPTER SEVEN - CRUX
I sit straight up in bed, breathing hard. “Corla.” It comes out as a whisper, but in my head it’s a scream.
“What?” What’s going on?”
I look to my left and see her. My wife. Christopher’s wife. I’m in his bed again.
Carla sits up and places a hand on my bare shoulder. But I flinch away, the touch of virtual girls still lingering.
“Christopher, what’s wrong? Are you OK?”
The laugh bursts out before I can stop it. Because no. No, I am absolutely not OK. I don’t understand what’s happening, I don’t understand who she is, or who I am, or what the fucking point of all this is.
“Did you have another bad dream?”
“Yeah, Carla. I had a bad dream. Just go back to sleep.”
“No,” she says, scooting over closer to me. “No. Not if you’re upset.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“OK. That’s fine. You don’t have to.” She sighs, sleepily. But then she wraps her hands around my upper arm and leans her head on my shoulder. “I just wish we could get to the bottom of this.”
I frown in the dark hazy light of too-early morning. “Bottom of what?”
“All these nightmares. That’s the fourth one this week.” She sighs again, clearly frustrated. “I hate seeing you like this. They really seem to trouble you.”
“Four?”
“I think it’s a lot, Christopher. I think you should…”
But she stops. And when she doesn’t continue, I look down at her. Her hair is soft and light, light blonde. What Corla would look like if she wasn’t a Cygnian princess, maybe. “I should what?”
“I already know what you’re going to say.”
“I should what?”
“Talk to someone,” she says.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I know you think you have to be strong all the time because you’re the governor and you can’t have this get out. Not in an election year.”
I take a moment to wonder what an election year is. I didn’t really think about it the last time I was here. I mean, I know what an election is. People vote on shit. But how that factors into the whole governor’s job, I’m not sure.
But whatever it means, it can’t be good. So I say, “No. No, I don’t want to talk to anyone. It’s just a freaking dream. It’ll pass.”
It has to pass. Right? I mean, this Christopher dude isn’t even me. He might look like me, but that guy isn’t me. So even if he is having recurring nightmares, they aren’t related to what just happened to me.
And holy fucking shit. That last one—I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of that nasty old Corla out of my head. Ever.
That saggy bitch might’ve just ruined my soulmate lust.
But then I picture the real Corla. She wasn’t old. She was very young. Like the exact age she was when we met on Wayward Station. Did she not make it out? Obviously not. Maybe neither of us made it out? Maybe, in that incarnation, or nightmare, or whatever the hell it was—maybe there is no Harem Station? Hell, maybe there’s no Wayward Station either?
Old, saggy Queen Corla didn’t know who I was.
But that was the virtual.
Those Cygnians in that reality—if that’s what it was and if it was the Cygnians in charge of that disgusting breeding facility and not the Akeelians—they knew enough to put us together.
But that could just be because I had violet eyes. They were breeding us for that.
Suns, I just want to forget it. All of it. Even Corla begging me for help.
Especially Corla begging me for help.
Because there’s nothing I can do. For all I know I’m stuck inside the freaking spin node and I’ll never get out. I could be stuck cycling through sex nightmares with my not-soulmate for all eternity.
Nope. That’s a bad idea. I don’t think I can do it. Even if I pop back to this semi-normal state between the bad ones. I can’t do it.
Carla hugs my arm a little tighter. And even though I know she’s not mine, and even though the last time I was here she was very pissed off at me for talking about my real life and there was some hint there that people in charge of things were about to… I don’t know. Take us prisoner or something—I can’t help but think that her, being next to me, is… nice. It’s nice to feel like maybe at least one person in this sun-fucked universe is on my side and gives a shit.
I sigh. Loudly. Heavily.
“Come on,” Carla says. “Lie back. Try to put it out of your mind.”
I don’t even know where I am. It’s definitely a planet though. Fire. People are obsessed with fire here. That only happens on planets.
She tugs on my arm until I give in and lie back in the bed. Then she snuggles up to me and I’m not gonna lie, excitement pulses through my body at her closeness. This is a much better version of my not-life. It’s tolerable, at least. Especially after that disgusting virtual I just popped out of.
