Booty Hunter (Harem Station 1)

In other business, I did find some clothes, so I’m not naked anymore. I stole a pair of boxer shorts—who wears those anymore?—and a t-shirt from his closet. Which, by the way, was one of the tasks I had to complete on the list.

Organize Serpint’s closet by color.

As if that took more than ten seconds. He owns black t-shirts, white t-shirts, black military pants, two leather jackets, and one pair of boots.

But he does have nice hangers. They’re made of the same soft silver material as his bed cover.

He gets a gold star for that.

I sigh and look around his living room. It’s a big space. “Is he coming home soon?” I ask the bot. “I’m so bored.”

“Master Serpint has been in the medical bay all day waiting for Booty to wake up.”

“Who the hell is Booty?” Does this asshole have a girlfriend? I huff a little. Not possible.

“The ship.”

“Ohhh.” I laugh. “I should’ve guessed that one.”

I’ve heard about bounty hunters getting overly attached to their sentient ships. He’s definitely one of those freaks. The way he acted after mentioning she was hurt. Yeah, pretty sure this guy has a thing for his girl.

I yawn and reposition myself on the couch so I can put my feet up. It’s been an exhausting day and it’s not even half-spin yet. He could be gone for hours.

“So… maybe I could like… use that magical shower he’s got in the bedroom?” I ask the bot.

“I don’t think so, princess.”

“But I’m dirty. All this manual labor has worked up a sweat. Don’t you think Serpint would appreciate you taking initiative to clean me up so when he gets home I’ll be pretty and smell like flowers?”

The bot considers this.

“Please. I’ve been good.”

He makes a beep that is definitely the bot version of a snort.

“I have. And I’m sore from being manhandled. I’m sure Serpint—”

But just as I’m about to finish begging, the door slides open and the man of the hour walks in.

“How is Booty?” the bot asks.

Serpint looks at him and growls. And it’s not the sexy kind like he was doing earlier, either. It’s the don’t-fuck-with-me kind.

Well. That sucks. He’s in a bad mood. But I need to slip into my first scheme immediately if I have any hope of pulling this off.

So I groan. “Oh… ohhhhh… ohhh.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Serpint asks, grabbing the bottle of whiskey that came with the food and pouring it into a glass.

“She’s experiencing discomfort,” the bot chirps.

“Something up, princess?” Serpint asks, turning his back to me to open the door to the fridge. He reaches in, grabs something and then turns, holding it in his hand so I can’t see what he has.

I squint my eyes at him because he’s squinting his eyes at me.

“Ohhhh… ohhh—”

“Cut the shit. I know what you’re doing.”

“What?” I ask, sitting up. Then for real, I squeak out a little gasp of pain because seriously, that pussy ring might be infected and it really does hurt like hell.

“Where did you get those clothes?” he asks.

I look down at his t-shirt and boxers, then back up at him. “Surely you didn’t expect me to stay naked all day.”

He takes a sip of his whiskey, then tosses a passion lime up in the air and catches it with the same hand.

I squint my eyes again and he grins. “Fancy a little passion lime, princess?”

“Uh… no. But thank you.”

“Why not?” he asks, stalking towards me. “Afraid it’ll bring your luminous flux levels up enough to make you glow the way you’re supposed to? Hmm?”

“What?” I put my hand over my heart. A spectacular attempt at indignation.

Which he does not buy. Because he pulls a folding knife out of his pocket and cuts the lime in half.

Good god. Just the smell of the little green fruit is enough to degrade my inhibitor.

I stand up and walk away. But the rapid motion makes the folds of my pussy rub against the new ring and I have to squeeze my legs together to put pressure on the shooting pain between my legs.

“Oh, shit,” I say. Then I turn on my best, demure, sad, I’m-a-damsel-in-distress face and say, “Really. There’s something wrong with me, Serpint. I think I need to go to medical.”

“Need a little passion lime boost, maybe?”

“Enough with the jokes, OK? I’ve been mutilated by that rogue bot and now my most cherished lady parts are infected.”

He glares at me. “Eat this first. Then after I check you and find you’re telling the truth, I’ll send a medical bot up to take care of it.”

“A bot?” I shout. “A bot is what did this to me! I want to see a real medical professional. And I can’t eat that,” I say, pointing to the fruit.

“Because it will blow your cover and out you as a princess?”