Now:

"Your. husband?"

"Yes, Rikk. We married eight months ago, when you were still. still."

He hissed in disgust. "The Coalition must be desperate to get their hands on Lazlo, to send you in with such a cockamamie story."

Ilsa pulled out of his grasp, angry and hurt but not very surprised. "It's true, Rikk. You have to believe me."

"I don't have to do a damn thing!" His tail swung out behind him, knocked a bottle off his desk. "Except be sorry you came back to darken my life!"

She felt a tear roll down her face, but she reached up and wiped it away. She wasn't going to have him accuse her of becoming verklempt to get what she wanted. Her voice remained calm. "Will you help me, or not?"

His dark honey eyes narrowed, the flush below his muzzle flaring red. "Work hard for me, do as you're told, and we'll see. That's all I'm willing to promise. Otherwise you can leave, and good riddance to you."

She breathed in. "I said I'll do anything for him."

He grunted, and then nodded towards the door. She led the way, albeit at his close guidance, out past the dancers, through the club and towards another back door, Rikk snatching the waitress Yvette, a pretty, petite redhead, and bidding her follow.

They entered a cramped, windowless room obviously used by the female staff for changing: there were tables with mirrors and makeup kits, lockers for personal items, and racks of costumes over shoe boxes. The air was thick with a mongrel mixture of perfumes and deodorants, and there was an almost subliminal buzz in the background from the lights overhead.

Rikk took a human chair, spun it around and sat on it, straddling it with a tired groan from the frame. "Staff rules are simple, even you should be able to remember: no stealing, no getting drunk or stoned while on duty, and as we get Coalition and local people in, especially no politics. You keep your tips, but if you want to work in the brothel, the House gets half your earnings. Strip."

She blinked. "What?"

He smirked, as Yvette lifted and activated a handheld metal wand Ilsa recognised as a Vorhavok scanner. "You have to get into your costume, I have to see if you have the body for the job, and Yvette has to check you for bugs, tracers and the like. You'd be amazed how often the Coalition has tried planting spies to keep an eye on me." He made a show of resting his elbow on the chair back, and his muzzle on his hand. "Well, maideleh? Or would you rather just walk out?"

She wanted to say something, anything, plead or argue. But guilt, and a determination to find her husband at whatever the cost, forced down any words, impelled her hands to move over her body, slipping out of her shoes and stockings, unzipping and dropping her minidress to her feet, lifting it up carefully and folding it on an adjacent chair where Yvette carefully ran the scanner over it.

Ilsa didn't meet his gaze, but felt it like a heavy cloak around her.

She realised that she had paused for too long, standing there in her bra and panties, when Rikk piped up again. "You know, Yvette, she never used to be so shy in front of me. The Coalition must have installed some modesty along with other respectable human values."

Ilsa bit her tongue and glared at him, this time not taking her eyes off his as she reached behind and unclasped her bra, handing it to Yvette, her defiance not totally successful in suppressing the urge to cover her breasts. Then, when she'd worked up enough courage, she bent forward to slip her panties down her legs, handing them over as well, silently daring him to say anything now.

But he just shifted in his perch, and she saw his eyes dart down, for a second, to take the rest of her in, his nostrils flaring. Somehow, that was enough to make her finally cover her breasts and bush with her hands, her skin burning, the blood pounding in her skull. She started as Yvette started to pass the wand slowly, over every square centimetre of Ilsa's body. She swallowed, thankful the scanner wasn't invasive, and kept her eyes on his, watched his continued reactions.

Yvette set the scanner aside, looked to Rikk. "Scanner says she's clean."

Ilsa's hands covered herself again. "Satisfied?"

"No," he replied simply. "Technology isn't infallible. Do a physical check."

Ilsa swallowed, and even Yvette, for her part, looked reluctant - or maybe just bored. She set aside the scanner and fitted thin surgical gloves over her hands. "Lift your arms up."

Feeling herself burn, Ilsa obeyed, as Yvette began to circle her, running his hands over every part of her body from head to toe, inspecting the soles of her feet, between her toes, even inspecting the skin beneath Ilsa's pubic curls. Standing again, Yvette reached out and lifted first one of Ilsa's breasts, then the other, to look underneath; Ilsa shook, but said and did nothing otherwise as Yvette checked inside her ears, the hair under her arms, opened her mouth to run her forefinger around her teeth and gums, then ran her fingers through her scalp. There was only one area left. "Bend over and touch your toes." She added, "I'll be as quick as I can."

"Yes, she'll be as quick as she can," Rikk taunted. "All my girls go through this, bubuleh. You wouldn't want me treating you as something special, would you? Invites resentment."

Ilsa complied, her breasts dangling on either side of her chin, while Yvette placed one hand on her buttocks, gently parting them while reaching under and cupping her pubic mound, squeezing as if to test the resistance of her pubic curls. Then her forefinger pierced the soaked, aroused outline of her sex, stretching it open and finding her swollen clitoris.

Ilsa shuddered, nearly toppled over; the blood in her body seemed confused as to which part of her to engorge, her head or her vulva, and she thought she'd topple over. Yvette couldn't fail to notice the reaction, increasing Ilsa's own mortification.

Then, thankfully, she moved up to the puckered opening of her rectum, but made no effort to probe inside.

Yvette backed away, removing her gloves. "She's clean."

Ilsa straightened up, covered her breasts and pussy once more, her embarrassment fuelling her anger. "Next time, why don't you sell tickets?"

But instead of an expected quip, all she received was a distracted expression. Then he quickly rose, holding the chair up in front of him as if ready to carry it outside. "Get her dressed in a serving outfit, Yvette, and then instruct her. You both have work to do."

He turned and departed, also rather quickly.

How could he make her go through this? Ilsa asked herself, even as she already knew the answer.

She had a lot to answer for.

Flashback:

The Emperor of the Galaxy sat on his raised perch, his tail swishing excitedly behind him as he viewed the human woman before him. He raised an imperious hand. "Approach, slave, and pay homage to your new master."

The woman swallowed, breathed in, and felt a shiver of excitement run through her at all this, twinned with her fear at being captured by the enemy and presented to their dreaded leader. "I am no one's slave. I am a free woman, an officer of Earthfleet. I demand that you release me, and my crew."

The Vorhavok male was clad in a rich black toga-like outfit, a replicated costume from his people's imperial history. The 'throne' was a covered backless seat on a raised platform in his office. But Rikk was fully into the role he played. "You are in a position to demand nothing, wretched Earthling. And you are no longer free. You willingly gave up that freedom when my forces overran your ship, and you agreed to serve me in exchange for the lives of your crew. Or do you now renege on your agreement?"

Ilsa swallowed, absently tugging at the cuffs that bound her hands behind her back, feeling sweat run down inside her white blouse and black slacks. "No. No, I will honour the agreement between us."

Rikk hissed with a mixture of amusement and desire. "You will refer to me as 'my Emperor'." Then he pointed to the spot at the foot of the dais, where a stack of pillows sat. "And you will pay homage to your new master - or I'll have you stripped and lashed in the Court."

Ilsa swallowed again, her anxiety and arousal making her sway as she approached. The room felt almost uncomfortably warm despite the air conditioning, but she pressed on, lowering herself to her knees before him, to the floor in front of the pillows, and looked up at him. "Like this, my Emperor?"

Rikk growled now, and from behind, his tail snaked around between them, the tip rising before her face. "Pay homage as a Vorhavok slave would."

She smiled, wet her lips and kissed the tip of his tail, kissed and licked around the edges, tasting his flesh, feeling the coiled muscles beneath the olive skin tense. Then she clasped her mouth on it and nipped him.

He pulled his tail away. "You're a bold little one."

She looked up. "Forgive a slave, my Emperor. Perhaps I was expecting something else in my mouth?"

He growled, then rose from his perch and descended before her, the bulge in his costume prominent now. "Indeed, slave? Perhaps, for once, I can be generous." Ignoring her suppressed smirk, he unfurled the front of his costume, drawing out his cock: long and thick and dark, with a flaring head glistening with moisture.

Ilsa kept her balance as she leaned in closer, drawing in his now-familiar odour, musky and salty and delicious. Then she closed her eyes, parted her lips and took in as much of him as she could, backing off almost immediately to an easier mouthful; Vorhavok cocks were monstrously long, forty centimetres and more, but thankfully they never tried putting that much into their mates, unless they were out to reach the female's egg sacs for conception. They also possessed muscles at the base of their organs, making sex with them particularly interesting. as Ilsa had learned over the past year. He hissed with delight as she ran her tongue along the rim of the head, tasting, relishing him.

"Ahh." he hissed, reaching out and holding her by the hair. "If only your fellow Earthfleet officers could see you now: bound, kneeling, servicing your new Master."

Her nipples now reacted almost painfully, and her pussy grew wetter and hotter, soaking her inner thighs.

But then she withdrew, licking her lips and looking up at him. "I think that's enough for you, my Emperor. I don't imagine Vorhavoks have the discipline that humans do."

He growled playfully at her now. "Such impertinence from a slave. You should be careful, such boldness could get that sweet little tailless bum of yours smacked." He covered his erection and stepped around her, his tail returning to stroke the side of her head. When she turned her head to watch him move behind her, he snapped, "Face forward, slave!"

Ilsa froze, the frisson of desire that had already ignited within her now sparking and spreading to the rest of her body, forcing her to fight to stay steady as she felt him kneel behind her. "What are you going to-?"

Then she yelped at the hand that suddenly and sharply struck her left buttock, sending a pulse straight to her pussy.

"Do not speak unless spoken to," Rikk informed her. "Is that clear, slave?"

Ilsa swallowed, her head spinning. "Yes. my Emperor." She squeezed her thighs together, imagined the moistness from within seeping out to stain her knickers. It was undeniably dynamic and exciting, a new facet to their lovemaking: that air of authority, that husky sibilant voice, that penetrating gaze - and that body, oh God-

Another slap snapped her awareness back like a rubber band. "Who do you serve now? Earth? Or me?"

Ilsa's mouth had dried, until her tongue had stuck to the roof, even as other parts of her grew hotter, wetter, and sweat beaded down the curves of her suspended breasts in her blouse. "I- I serve you, my Emperor-"

He was moving behind her, doing something involving his tail, she was certain. Now he pressed himself up against Ilsa's proffered backside, his clawed hands running up and down her hips and thighs, guiding her forward. "And who do you belong to now?"

Ilsa felt her nostrils flare with her quickening breath as she eased her upper half down onto the pillows, until her head and aching breasts rested on them. "Y-You, my Emperor-"

Rikk's crotch ground against Ilsa's ass, his voice retaining that air of composure, of command, laced with a wantonness that fed Ilsa's own hungers. "That's a good little slave." He pulled back enough to let one hand move down over one of her cheeks, to the tops of the back of her thigh, and then gave her a sharp slap. "Open for me!"

Ilsa obeyed as best she could, with his legs giving her little room to manoeuvre, sheer arousal and embarrassment at how quickly, easily she responded to his voice, his touch, his very presence, making her feel utterly and shamelessly selfish and self-indulgent.

Now she shuddered as she felt something move near her skin, a sweet, intense buzzing that reached into her very core. She glanced behind to see his tail, and the small metal object he'd obviously just attached to it. "Oh, fucking hell."

He hissed, holding onto her tightly as he drew the infrasonic exciter along her skin, the vibrations tuned to induce feelings of bliss, another technological treat from the Vorhavok, though it had eventually been removed from the market as humans tended to overindulge to the point of risking neurological damage. It passed over her breasts, making her gasp and whimper.

Rikk chuckled. "So much for human discipline." He moved against her again, this time his hands snaking around to the front of Ilsa's slacks, fiddling with her catches and zippers. Ilsa wanted to stay in character and make a token protest, but that part of her had been sent scurrying into a far corner to wait, swathed and silenced by an ever-dominating lust, as if driven by the subsonic waves now caressing her neck.

She bit her lip as she felt Rikk undo her slacks, roughly tugging them - and her knickers, damp with her juices - down over her bum and thighs to the tops of her parted knees. The cool air in the office failed to overcome the overpowering heat of Rikk's gaze on Ilsa's naked, trembling flesh. Not so his touch, his claws now retracted and his fingertips trailing up along the contours of her ass, along the undercurves and up towards the dimples steepling her cheeks.

Then Ilsa felt one commanding finger touch the apex of the sweet, wet valley of skin between her buttocks, sliding down. And it descended, pausing to tease at the puckered opening to her rear. And as it continued further down, through matted hair, Rikk leaned in closely as if to whisper in Ilsa's ear. "I own every part of you, my slave. Including . this."

Rikk's finger reached the puffed, wet, waiting entrance to Ilsa's pussy.

And entered.

Ilsa moaned loudly, shamelessly, twisting like a worm on a hook as Rikk's finger expertly drove into her, again and again, Ilsa's hot, wet flesh moulding itself around the extended, hard digit as it repeatedly, rhythmically filled her up, over and over, releasing clusters of tiny, lovely climaxes.

"You are mine, slave," Rikk hissed, the exciter up and down her spine, freeing one hand to stroke her, occasionally slapping one of her cheeks to make her yelp, as the finger on his other hand still thrust relentlessly into her.

And as the sweet assault continued, Rikk leaned in still closer, until Ilsa felt his hot breath on her neck. "And I shall take you, where I please, when I please. And that will please you. You shall come to long for my touch, my mastery."

Ilsa was lost, unable to deny, acknowledge, make any coherent response - and when she felt Rikk's thumb swivel about to stroke her clit while still penetrating her - and then, touch her rear entrance with yet another finger - she cried out and collapsed, seemingly kept from melting into a puddle on the floor by Rikk's tail. Her body shook, her nerves charged, suffused with the bliss of such a powerful climax, and her limbs spasmed in reaction to the white-hot fire in her pussy. The blood was crashing in her ears like waves, and all the sounds she heard around her were muffled, as if underwater.

But as her strength returned, so did the clarity of her senses, and she felt the hard, twitching staff against her thigh, and Rikk's struggles to free himself from his costume. She turned her head to one side, futilely blew the hair from her face, and growled, "Rikk, get that in me, now!"

Then came the knock on the office door, and the familiar if unwelcome voice. "Boss, you said to remind you when it's eight o'clock."

"Shit!" Rikk cried out. "Carl, you have the worst timing of any of your misbegotten hairy race!"

Ilsa tried not to laugh. Really. When she had calmed down some, she noted, "Hey, he's just doing his job." Then she shook her cuffs at him. "Care to free me, my Emperor?"

He did, letting her lie on the pillows to recover while he rose to change into more appropriate clothes. After a moment or two, she pulled her slacks and knickers back up her body, smiling with the afterwaves of her climaxes. "Come on, business before pleasure."

He grunted, back in a more sedate blue Vorhavok caftan. "Maybe we should make our pleasure our business as well?"

She grinned. "What, do human-Vorhavok porn?"

"Well, it brought us together, didn't it?" He removed the exciter from his tail and put it in his desk drawer. "Glad you liked the toy, it cost a fortune. But I'd better lock it up; you might run away with it."

"Don't worry, I prefer the real thing." She drew back to him, pressed against his diminishing erection and kissed the side of his muzzle. "I'll make it up to you later. But we've got some VIPs tonight."

She started to turn away, but his tail snaked around her and pulled her back into his embrace. He pulled back to see her with both his eyes, and his pleasing growl ran through her like electricity. "Here's looking at you, kid."

She warmed to his touch, but still couldn't help but frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, an adopted human gesture that made him look like a velociraptor with a twitch. "I just thought it sounded romantic."

Ilsa reached up and tapped him playfully on the snout with her forefinger. "We'll have to work on that, maybe watch Sabrina again. Now come on, Godzilla, let's get to work."

He unwrapped his tail, but let the tip of it slap her on the ass as they left the office and entered the main body of La Belle Aurora, Rikk and Ilsa's place, one of the better night-clubs on Casablanca's Boulevard Muhhamad. It was an establishment that perhaps had more ambition than money to make those ambitions reality, but it was still in its early days. It was all hard, metallic, angular lines and planes, like some child's Mechano set, the wire mesh, chrome and plate-glass look dominating the main room, where girder work criss-crossed the ceiling, leading to the long metal bar with its silvery sheen.

Onstage was Samantha Dooley and her band. Decked out in a tight black vest, leather wrist bands, baggy Army camouflage trousers and Doc Marten boots, Sam clutched the long, thin chrome microphone stand, twisting it in place as she moved about the stage, like a farmer struggling with a particularly stubborn weed - but fully in her element.