1.2 Goddess' Commission

I try my best not to sound intimidated when I speak.

"How can my dangerous charm be of service to my Governess?" She smiles a bit, cocking her head to the side and peering at me with dark, curious eyes. You can bet your ass my Neuropause was flipped on again the moment I saw her mocha flesh descend from the mist. This time, I'd be completely helpless without it.

"You have no latent magicks?" She asks, her eyes descending into mine so easily that for a second I lose faith in my technological resistance. I shake my head, but hold up the arm containing my InteCast external display.

"Any of my ethera is artificial, Governess."

"No—this is something outside your technology. Something in those billions of tiny chemical turbines." Something's responding in me, and I pile a few more blankets on with the Neuropause. It's working overtime now. She laughs for a little while, slowing as she allows the sound to diminish to silence again. I can almost hear the sweat bubbling under my skin, just barely held back.

"I can still tell how hard you're trying, you know." She grins. "Every part of you begging, riding on the razor's edge of graceful control." And now, with the raise of an eyebrow, "Would you like to hear my theory?"

"Please, Governess."

"Your confidence—it doesn't come from arrogance. It's an intimacy with survival." I can't help but to chuckle, and she pauses for a few seconds. Staring.

Even with a few more reinforcing commands, I can't handle those eyes boring into me.

"My Governess' time must be valuable," I say. "How can my intimacy with survival be put to your will?"

"Impatient?" She asks, stepping closer to my floating satin platform. "Anxious to spend some quality time with my sentry, perhaps?" Of course she knows every detail of my visit here. I wonder how late I was. "You speak diplomacy with a bold tongue. I've never heard anyone request I get to the point quite so eloquently." She lets me sweat out her longest pause yet, then her shoulders lose tension, and she looks away. "Tell me—did you plan on taking me so seriously from the moment you received your invitation, my dear?"

Diplomacy is a dance.

"If your title alone doesn't demand it, my respect for Vestinian politics do." My intentional failure to address her officially doesn't make her react at all.

"I feel like you should loosen up a bit." She approaches by picking her legs up and sliding softly onto the floating satin, lying on her side and facing me. "For one, I have an appetite for something sweet."

The Neuropause isn't working. I have to try alternate routes. I'm enchanted by her, and her deep dive into my mind is going beyond anything sexual. It's an aesthetic purity, symmetry, proportion. I feel her all over me, testing my limits.

"You scream conflict." And she's rather satisfied about that fact. I look down at her body, exaggerating the motion enough to make it clear I'm doing it. My blood is boiling.

"Self-control," I reply, smiling at her as I execute my new preset. A deep sensory cut, a wide signal jam, and whole nervous bypasses. I force an artificial mammalian diving reflex, dropping my heart rate and calming me. "Which I hope is only one of the reasons my Governess trusts my talents as a distributor."

She leans in toward me and stares deeply into me. Through me. Enveloping me with radiance.

"You're just so bloody relaxed, you cheating little monkey..." She disappears into the same thick purple smoke as before. As it descends over me, I feel something that's like static electricity go over my body. "...but I can see what you really want." Her voice is suspended in the milky smoke medium flowing past me.

I'm wondering if I should have the Neuropause off. This is the High Governess. Maybe she expects submission.

"It's not every day I'm called to the court of someone so powerful, Governess." Most of the smoke is behind me now, but I don't turn to follow it. "Any resistance to your infinite beauty—"

"Drop the poetry, you stupid boy. I know who you really are." In my experience, never really something you want to hear. "You don't think I know about your gate records?" The Governess said. "One hundred and seventy-five trips to Vestinia...most of those in my city?"

And...a solid half of them pleasure.

"What's the reason you keep returning...knowing that your good fortune could be revoked at any time by someone who chooses not to follow my rules?"

People really do disappear here; there's a warning about it in the IDOX charter texts. Much as Vestinia is a member in the documentation, it's on very limited circumstances. The reason for that, of course, is the subjection of humans.

So for a good-humored and well-connected human that wants to go with the flow, this can be the ultimate playground of submission and domination. Willing or unwilling, a participant would find their sweetest, most secret weakness here.

And what makes this world so familiar is that, except for its strange etheral flux, parts of Vestinia look just like the Earth that wasn't overrun by magic clothes, visual sex and living objects. Some towns and cities are recognizably like the cities of my Systemian Earth, or the Hytypican one of my readers. We all share some major architecture.

But the reason I keep returning? It's the old cliche.

"You've built a beautiful world." I turn to face her, and by now she's a solid form again. "A place where someone like me has to accept that he's ultimately not in control."

She laughs loudly, flicking a finger at nothing. I feel a telekinetic tap on the back of my neck at the same moment.

"And yet, you're making good use of our first meeting together." She can't guilt me about using the tools at my disposal, can she? She hired me for a reason. The satin sheet suspending me suddenly curls down at the end, and I react fast, my feet hitting the floor as I stand up. The sheet falls away under me. "If I have to be clearer, Kalin, perhaps you're not the diplomat I expected."

I know it's not my imagination when I see her breasts perk, swelling just slightly. Caution is one thing, but the governess wants what she wants.


Erect with a the steady pump of my heartbeat. I'm showing awkwardly through my well-fitting escort suit, which is apparently no longer inert. The fabric is happily tightening and spiraling around my growing problem.

"So is your surrender an oath of loyalty?" She asks. My attention is at the fabric of my escort suit, which doesn't normally do anything intrusive like this. I'm not complaining, though. It's intruding rather well.

"I want to do everything in my power to stay in the Governess' good graces." I feel a tickling sensation run up the back of my calves, and I burst out laughing.

"I said drop the poetry, faker. Now loosen up."

"Vestinia's like a second home." I look her in the eyes. "Every time I step through the gate—the risks I take here are welcome compared to some of the paths I've been locked into. But if you've talked to your lieutenant, you know all of this." She waves a hand at me, and I rise into the air.

"You're an excellent that you only reveal what you need to." The governess approaches on the ground with slow, graceful steps.

She paces around my hovering body, sizing me up. Invisible fingers trace around my rib cage and across my chest. A pair of ghostly soft hands drag themselves down the front of my torso, and I feel them stop just above my manhood. They pull away, and I let out a little groan of disappointment. So much for keeping a poker face.

"I've got a very, very important job for you to do, and the risk is rather high." She begins rising up to meet me, her gorgeous body slowly losing its gravity. "You're a man of tremendous ability, and I have an unproductive lack of contacts outside Vestinia."

She hovers closer, and my eyes are locked on hers, dark and rich violet. Her skin is like coffee and cream. Beneath a delicate collarbone, her flesh slopes into two incredible tits. Her thick hair trails around them, black as deep space. I've lost it now. How long have I been staring at this perfect body?

She hovers toward me, and her tits are now just touching the chest of my suit. It almost feels like little electrical charges being transmitted through my skin. The pleasure is absolutely excruciating--and that's when I feel something soft push down against the tip of my cock. Though it's still behind the fabric of the suit, I know my member is a millimeter from untold immortal pleasure.

Something from deep within me tells me that giving in isn't a good idea—that my acceptance of this encounter might constitute contractual payment for whatever I'm here for. I don't know whether to chalk this up to my brain emulating and learning from the effects of the Neuropause over half-a-dozen-odd years, or whether it's good-old insecure, suspicious, power-hungry testosterone that's saved me.

At any rate, milk and honey before me...

"You know I want this, Governess." I say. She smiles wryly. Even sexier now. Even more dangerous. "Every part of me wants it. But we can't." All magic fingers and hands halt. She backs away a few inches.

"There's no such thing as can't," she said, matter-of-fact. "Why do you still feel the need to resist?"

"You called me for business," I say. "So we take care of business first." Her face drops into frustration. Have I just pissed off a goddess? "When you're no longer an engaged client, Governess, I'll be happy to play whatever other role you'd like." She glares at me as we both slowly hover back to the ground. She backs away.

"Then you're in my debt already," she says.

She snaps her fingers, and the rest of the room is faintly illuminated. Art on the walls, expensive-looking furnishings, heavy violet drapes masking what I assume to be a huge window or aperture arcing across the entire far side of the room, and to my left, a door that opens all by itself. Inside is a closet that seems to be a long single aisle, racks on either side and shelves leading back to infinity. The power of impossible etheric architecture.

A black vinyl corset bobs out of the massive closet, joined by a short black PVC skirt. I watch the Governess dissipate into purple smoke again, which drifts toward the hovering outfit. Once inside it, the smoke reforms into her royal body, tightening against the clothes as she fills them.

She lifts her hands into the air, and a glossy black table fades into view. The Governess hovers to a seated position, resting on a cushion of air. I feel the same force bend my knees and pull me toward the hovering obsidian as if being pushed toward the table in an invisible chair.

"One item, one destination." I watch as she traces a finger around something unseen. A glowing path trails in her wake, and when she's formed what looks like a glowing square, I watch her fingers pull at the front of it.

I'm going to do a pitiful job of describing this, but from my angle, I see her pull a drawer--from nowhere. I can't see the drawer and I can't see the cabinet she's pulling it from--only the strange warping pattern I see in an outline of the visible room behind it. When she reaches her hand inside the top of the drawer, it disappears from my vision completely.

Her hand reappears, holding a crimson silk thong. I kind of snicker as she drops it on the table in front of me.

"You will deliver these," the governess says, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Where?" As I reach out to grab the folded underwear on the table, they leap into the air and take shape. Of course they do. The fabric triangle at the front dances toward me. "If I'm taking them like this, it isn't delivery. It's live transport." The underwear bounces toward me.

"Live transport?" The thong squeals. "You make me sound like an organ or something." Great. I'm going to babysit a loudmouth Vestian.

"Security escort, if you'd prefer." This is my big favor?

"I have a friend in the Syntyche," she says. "I owe her a gift." My jaw drops. The silver collective. The conductors of the conduits.

"The Syntyche?" I stare at the Governess, ignoring the thong swishing side to side. "I hope we're talking about the charter area."

"That would be too easy," She says. "The sensitivity of the situation is the reason you're here," Her tone is sober. I calm myself down a little, but I can't do anything but stare. I'm not sure about this one.

In our regional strata of the Ontoverse, The Syntyche is an extremely important place. The Syntyche path provides a very useful service to those of us who make our living hopping extradimensional breaches. In Xenoskipping, not all paths connect to other paths. Certain resonances are better for transit than others. What this means is that some paths function as go-betweens, with a specially isolated area—kinda like customs—that functions as a sort of interdimensional free zone.

In all of those go-betweens, no path is more useful than The Syntyche. It occupies a resonance band that allows easy travel between a lot of otherwise difficult destinations.

They're generally lax with the ins and outs of the ResGate banks in the transport hubs, which means if you can transport it without disrupting the exchanges, you're pretty much free to bring it—so long as you're discreet. But outside the administrative area for the resonance gates—that "interdimensional free zone"—order is paramount.

The rules inside the Syntyche are not to be broken. And while I break the rules in a lot of the places I travel, when I'm going through The Syntyche proper, I don't even attempt to bend them. It's not worth the consequences, which can be anything from exile to revocation of credentials, all the way up to eradication—so I've heard—for more serious transgressions.

"Skippers try and respect Syntyche law as best they can," I say. "It's a big waypoint between a lot of low-power gates, and I can't really—"

"I'm in a position to offer you much more than a hazard fee," Nyxe says, cutting me off. Now it's serious. I'm very curious as to who her recipient is. This is a curveball that I wasn't expecting. Shit, my head is spinning. Okay. Calm down. What's she got to offer?

"Special Resident Status in your city?" I respond, practically tripping over my own words. Pathetic. Is that all I could think of? Governess Nyxe rolls her eyes.

"Please tell me you're better at smuggling than negotiation," She responds, practically yawning. The thong giggles. Fine, then. Go big or go home.

"Living quarters of my own creation. Custom design. Mobile. Self-powering magic source." I drop my eyes for a second after I finish. When I look up again, she's smiling. Go further. "Another residence, this one permanent, palatial, and somewhere between here and the north district."

"Quite a rare address for a free male," She says. "Especially in my city. But I know of at least one Vestian catsuit that would appreciate your request of location."

I'm not sure if she's testing my reaction or playing with me. I wonder for a second: is she in touch with everything that happens here? That's not possible, even for it?

"So you were in on my unorthodox transportation here?" I ask.

"Not at all," The governess says, grinning. "All her own manipulative nature. But a positive test of your reputation, to be sure." I smile back.

"My reputation for being the most shameless Syssy in history," I respond. The governess shakes her head.

"Oh, it's not as simple as following the path of least resistance. You do more than that." She traces her fingers around another glowing geometric shape. Once again, she pulls open a magic drawer from nowhere. This time, it's right in front of me. I can see the inside of the drawer. The lining is opaque when I look inside it. There's a pair of...briefs? She pulls them out and slides the drawer shut. It vanishes in the same moment.

"What's that?" I ask.

"These will help fulfill your demands once your task is complete," She responds. The briefs jump up and take shape. A decidedly male shape.

"Whoa," I say, looking at the package in the briefs. "Watch where you point that." The crimson panties dance over to the briefs, happy to explore the hovering underwear. I'm a bit more cautious.

"Don't you recognize your own form?" The governess asks. I look back at Nyxe, brow furrowed.

"I mean no disrespect to Your Eminence," I say, probably pushing the attitude in my tone, "But I can't risk my diplomatic position with The Syntyche—even for what I've asked you."

It's a unique and probably quite fragile position, but I don't tell her that. For the few rules the Syntyche has about transport, I've gotten away with a lot. But as much as I've gotten away with, The Syntyche has never been a destination. I'm not sure exactly what the penalty would be for smuggling an undeclared sentience beyond the banks, but I don't want to find out.

The briefs face me now. I think I see a little bit of fire in Nyxe's eyes, and when she speaks, all doubt is removed.

"Systemian," says the Governess, "There are a miniscule minority of unbound males in my world, and the payment I'm going to offer for your services has only been extended to a handful like you." She smiles, but it's a short smile. Her patience isn't infinite, and I just disrespected her generosity. This would be a bad client to lose. Very bad.

" more request," I say. I see the fire in her eyes again, but since I'm already taking huge risks, why back down? "I want an non-commissioned gate in my permanent quarters."

"Then you'll be taking the job," the Governess says, smiling again. "When you're done creating your abode, one of my lieutenants will assist you with a gate." The briefs drop and fold up in front of her, sliding over on the table and in front of me. "Take them, and our trade is accepted."

I hesitate for a split second, then take a deep breath. I grab them, holding them up in front of me. They're flat now, just a pair of dark red briefs.

Ask for a Nyxepolis condo, get a pair of magic underwear.

"So the details of where I'm going and who I'm making the delivery to?" I ask.

"She'll take care of that," The Governess said, motioning to the thong. "And she'll give you her utmost cooperation to make sure that your task is safely fulfilled." She looked back at the thong. "Is that understood?" I find myself about to answer her until the panties speak up.

"Of course, Governess," the panties respond, turning to me. "Be thankful that the hardest part of your job is the delivery," The crimson fabric says, "because my hard part doesn't even start until then." I don't ask. Whatever the High Governess and this pair of panties have to do with their recipient in the Syntyche, I don't want to know.

But I do think about what she says. Since I'm a human and she's a living pair of panties, she has more to worry about. My guess is that the Syntyche would, at worst, reclaim my useful materials by incineration or something like that. With her, a curious magical object, they'd probably attempt to figure out what makes her tick in the worst and coldest way--some kind of terrible techno-dissection.

But then, I'm just imagining this. Like I said, I know little to nothing about the actual administration of law in The Syntyche. I know the environment, the apparently rigid culture and the vast list of no-nos, but I've never actually gotten into trouble, or even heard anyone else tell a story about it. The tone of the world just makes you not want to know. The customs and attitudes there are so distinct, so absolutely socially structured that you're horrified if you're out of step for just a single moment.

There's something I respect about that kind of structure. Whatever the reason, that same respect is why I choose to travel through The Syntyche's countless ResGate Concourses when I want to find new places and shorter routes between dimensions. I trust the ResGate Banks created by their creepy omnipresent technology more than even my native Systemian engineers.

"And now it's time you were escorted out," The governess says to the crimson panties. They fold up the same way as the deep red briefs and drop in front of me.

"Ready when you are," the panties say, the voice coming from the folded fabric on the table in front of me. I look down at them.

"You can't just follow me to the gate?" I ask, surprised at their enthusiasm about being stuffed, limp, into one of my pockets.

"It's best if no one knows you're carrying them," The governess said. "Not even my own subjects." I think about what she's saying and realize that I have to wear my escort suit out in order to accomplish that.

"So I get to keep this?" I say, motioning to my own suit. It starts unzipping from the neck as soon as I do.

"No," The governess responds. 'You'll have to conceal your package more intimately." My suit peels itself off my arms and over my hips, exposing me. My body hovers away from the magic conference table as the suit comes off of my legs the rest of the way, landing on the floor, still filled to my form.

The briefs spring to life and hover over to my feet, sliding up my legs. They're completely seamless, I now realize, except for the waistband and leg holes. They're cut perfectly for me, of course. The pouch in the front re-situates my parts, an experience that elicits a reaction from my already stimulated body. Now the thong jumps off of the table and fills to shape again. It hovers toward my waist, but my eyes are on The Governess, intently watching this dance.

It occurs to me that she said something about the briefs being tied to her wellspring of magic. Does that mean they're directly tied to her? The thought is all over me. It fills me with gooey dripping lust and scares the hell out of me at the same time.

"Don't mind me," the thong says, interrupting my thoughts. "I'm just going to make myself at home in here." The thong slips into the waistband of my briefs, tickling the area just under my stomach as it deflates against me. Then it tickles something else entirely, coiling around me like a constrictor around a tree branch. I've got to turn the Neuropause back on, but just when I start the command...

"Relax," The governess says, letting the word roll off her perfect pink tongue. She's amazing at commanding attention. I'm looking at her now, and the look in her eyes makes me think I was right about them being tied to her. My body is surrendering to the underwear gently shuffling itself around my cock, but my mind is still here.

"Governess, with all respect," I say, smiling at her. "I've promised an engagement with one of your--um--sentries." When I say it, she starts laughing. The thong wrapped around my dick ceases the special attention.

"A sentry? You are a brave little Skipper. Do you have any idea what she's going to do to you?" She asks. My mind drifts to being smothered by giant leather pants. I fight it off and spit out something.

"Suffocate me for all I care," I say, trying to be as casual as possible.

"Dangerous charm," The Governess repeats, smiling. My suit on the ground opens up as my legs slide back into it. As I put my arms through the holes, it curls up my sides and zips the rest of the way. I hover down to the floor. "Take him to an echo bay," The governess says. My suit begins walking on its own as I turn my gaze toward her. "I'll have your new friend meet you there," she says. "And from there, you'll be returned to the north gate." Just before she's out of my field of vision, I see her disappear into a cloud of purple smoke again, leaving the outfit standing in her shape. "Have fun..." I hear the ghostly voice say, echoing behind me as my suit walks me out the door and back into a great hall.

The architecture here is adorned with tapestries and long curtains hanging from the walls. Instead of being carried this time, my feet are touching the floor. It seems squishy, and I look down to see that instead of the hard linoleum-esque flooring my mind entertained when the sentry carried me through before, the shiny black surface is a kind of soft plush vinyl. In fact, every surface in this hall appears to be comfortable enough to fuck on.

My suit is approaching the end of the hall, which opens up to a large aperture, probably to receive a lot of flying traffic at once. I get a little nervous that my suit doesn't slow down. It knows what it's doing, right? I doubt it when it steps a few feet from the edge and turns around. It takes one big step back, and I don't feel anything under my heels. Oh, shit.

"Hey, maybe you could just--" No dice. The suit does a reverse swan dive from the side of the tower. I can't help but gasp a little. I'm at the mercy of my over-acrobatic escort suit, now sailing gracefully down what I imagine has to be a couple hundred feet.

I slow evenly, and I'm awed when my toes hit a nearly identical ledge, just softly enough not to be uncomfortable. My suit takes a step into this new hallway, striding gracefully through a level with more vestians and a couple of humans walking the corridors. There are a couple sentries here, too--in the distance I see a huge pair of sky-blue sneakers patrolling. As I'm walked to the center of the hall, I see an atrium with no railing, clothing and humans passing through it and ascending and descending to different levels. My suit walks off the edge and sails gracefully down one floor. I pass closely by a pair of red thigh boots and black panties along the way, and as my attention is drawn to them, I feel a pulse down below. It's the thong wrapped around my half-flaccid cock, playing with my obvious vulnerability.

My suit walks me down another hallway. On these lower levels, the floors are smoother and more substantial than in the tower above. Still light on the shocks, though. Rubber, maybe? I approach a door that opens on its own, and what I see inside floors me.

An echo bay is a special room normally kept in the manors of Officers or Lieutenants. The Governess Generals, including Nyxe, have halls of them. The official name for it is an Emotional Amplification Chamber, but the natives have a better label: sex furnaces. I've heard of them, but never seen the inside of one. As a diplomat, I always assumed they were for a certain class of power-generating sex slaves.

It's a tall room, shaped like half a capsule. The domed ceiling seems to have small ridges on it, and the walls below it are a silvery-white reflective color. There's a shelf running around the outside of the room with various toys and accessories on it. The floor of the room is more like the plush vinyl in the tower, and instead of a bed, there's simply a raised platform with the same upholstery as the floor, only thicker and softer.

My suit unzips itself and pulls off of my arms again. As it trails down my legs, I lift a foot to let the suit come off of it, then the other. The thong wrapped around my cock makes me shudder with surprised pleasure as it uncoils and dances out of my briefs, quickly stuffing itself inside the suit as it zips itself back up. I watch as the suit folds itself and sets itself on the shelf with the thong panties tucked inside it.

The light in the room dims slightly, turning a red hue. Something in me feels warm. I don't know if the lights or the change in atmo have something more behind them. I'm guessing since it's called a sex furnace, there must be some kind of analogous 'heating element'. When the door to the room slides open again, the shape of a female bottom-half steps through them, the warm red light reflecting off her soft leather thighs. Her hips sway rhythmically as her saunter brings her giantess curves closer to me.

As she approaches, I'm reminded by what the Governess said about my bravery. What was she going to do with me? The door to the sex furnace slides shut as she speaks.

"Trying to get me into trouble?" She asks with that same mysterious western-Mediterranean accent. With the contours in front of me, I'm back to my old spirit of generosity. Whatever she wants from me, I'm ready to give. "Well?" The leather pants demand, getting close to me.

"I mentioned meeting you, that's all." I explain. "The next thing I know, I'm brought here."

"And what did you have to say about our meeting?" The pants ask. They step close again, and one leathery leg curls around to my side, rubbing against my arm. "That you were oh-so-anxious to be my little man-toy?"

I'm definitely feeling my snake pump itself to life now, but I'm a little worried about the situation following. Sexy as this massive feminine form before me is, I hope I've got the equipment--or at least the technique--to make her happy.

"—Believe it or not, I've actually never had a human male before," She says shyly. Her tone doesn't reflect her actions, because a knee comes out of nowhere and pushes my chest back. I lose balance and land on the soft vinyl plush platform. "I'm used to your females--particularly the finer pneumatic dolls with firm, bouncy parts. You're a bit more—rigid—but I've heard that human men release like a volcanic eruption," she added. "Is that true?" The pants stand up on the platform and kneel with my body between the two legs.

Now I'm laying on my back, looking up at the pair of giant leather pants pinning me down. My cock wants in on the fun; the swelling pushes it tight against my briefs.

"I don't want to hype it up too much for you," I say. "I'm not really even sure where to start."

The leather legs lift off of me and quickly spin around, landing and pinning my hips to the platform with their enormous thighs again. Now I've got a great view of the back of the pants. I can't get over those proportions. My attention is drawn to my arms as the ankles of the pants flop gently over them before becoming more rigid again and pressing down.

"Right where we left off, skipper," The pants replied as they slide back against me. "Am I still making a good case for any particular interests?" My estimates of her dimensions run through my head again, and in the meantime, my cock tries to convince the rest of my body that being drowned in leather might not be a terribly awful way to end my career.

"Indisputably good," I tell the pants as the glossy leather ass leans in closer to my face. "Just do me a favor and remember that I have lungs." The seat of the pants are right over my face now, about to plunge me into soft, tight darkness. They don't, though. They hover just above me, a giant plump leather peach with pockets.

"Well?" I hear the voice on either side of me, coming from all around. "Get to work." I reach out to the perfect shape the only way I can. After I lick my lips, I lean forward and trace the tight seam with my tongue. The pants slide back as I wet my tongue again. "That's riiiight," She says. "Prove that you can follow orders, and we can try something even more interesting." I can't help but think I'd be doing a better job if my arms were free. I wiggle my forearms under the base of the legs cuffing them down.

"Let me touch you," I say, making my voice drip honey. The leather around my arms becomes weightless and formless, almost as if it's moving through a dense fluid. I pull my arms out and reach toward the tight black leather as the cuffs of the ankles fill to shape again. "Your shape is so perfect," I say, running my fingers gently up the curvy thighs. "A beautiful giantess just—" Her ass presses into my face, covering it and muffling my compliment.

"Shut up and lick," She says.

I obey, wetting the fabric with my lips and tongue again as I press my face into her. I reach down as far as I can go, and the scent has turned me into an animal. It's not just the leather. It's something else, some subtle sweet smell. The lower legs of the pants flop around, straightening the legs and spreading them. I don't need any visual clues to know that the Sentry is now suspending itself above me, all of it except for the center of its shiny leather ass. My hands find it more productive to cling to the leather waistband than to try and grasp at the firm incredible leather globes.

The pants squeal as my mouth goes to work on them. They slide higher and higher on my face, and as I reach the junction with the front, they let out a shrieking laugh. I watch as they pull away, hovering up into the air. The red light seems more intense now, and the air is thick with something—some confusion to my senses best described as an essence...

"I feel like I could fly forever," The pants say, hovering steadily above me. I watch as the pant legs orient themselves with the ground again. Now the pants stand next to the platform. "Feeling experimental?" She asks, swinging her hips back and forth. Obviously there's only one answer to this. Despite firing an incredible load into a tight latex catsuit not hours ago, I've been hard as machine steel for every second this sentry has been pressed against my body.

"Of course," I purr. "Whatever you wanna play." The pants giggle and bend down, sitting on the platform beside me. I watch the button come undone as the pants unzip themselves. They deflate most of the way, looking like a half-filled pool toy.

"I want you inside me," She says, laughing. I look into the half-inflated pants and down at my briefs, now giving every detail of my manhood away. "Don't worry," she continues. "I promise it's going to be fun." I pull myself over and slide my feet into the leg holes. The moment I do, the zipper flies up and the pants button again. "Now just relax. This is going to feel a little strange at first, but I know you'll love it."

And she's right. Already I can feel pressure all around my lower half, but I also feel a lightness, almost a weightlessness. The pressure extends down past my toes, I guess because her legs are longer than mine. It takes me a second to notice that I'm floating—hovering in the centers of the pant legs. When the pants stand up, it becomes totally clear that I'm not touching the interior of the pants at all, that I'm completely magically suspended instead. Now I feel tickling on the soles of my feet. I howl in surprise.

"Oh god!" I cry, bobbing up and down. My body flows with her motions, and when I cry out, the force holding me in place gets a little tighter, specifically around my dick.

"I can feel your blood pumping!" A loud echoing giggle. It's so dark and feminine that my dick stands at full attention now, ready to burst. "Ooh...especially through that part of you. Lets do something about these, shall we?"

A fluttery feeling comes over me as I'm lifted out of the pants. My briefs yank themselves down off of me, and I'm quickly put back into place. I watch the briefs fill themselves out again, in the same way I was just occupying them. They dance away and stand in front of the leather pants, almost as if they're watching. Once I'm hovering inside the leather pants again, I feel my cock being handled by unseen fingers.

"I can feel every inch of you!" She cries. As unseen force begins to pump, pull, and squeeze my cock, I reach out in front of me and grab the waistband of the pants. The hands multiply--caresses move over my thighs, fingers tickle my feet, hands squeeze and lift my ass, and I feel the invisible attention of one hand and two pairs of lips at my package.

"That's incredible," I say, sighing. I feel the pair of soft invisible lips wrap around my shaft and bob me in and out as an equally invisible tongue gently plays with my tip. A hand grasps and pumps at the start of the shaft. I'm losing myself in pleasure, and the real kicker is the unseen mouth toying with my satchel. It licks me a few times before I feel the lips encase and purse around my balls.

The pressure around my hips and thighs is pulsating, and I lightly gyrate in my hovering position as I lean back, looking down at my flesh being manipulated by the interior of the sentry. I hear giggling echo through me. It makes my cock stiffen, which makes her squeal. The vibrations echo into me again, now on a positive feedback loop.

"Mmm...what on earth have I been missing?!" Her voice explodes in a wailing moan as we begin rising into the air. The light is glowing an intensity that seems to go spectral. I'm being bounced against the seat as the pressure around my cock gets tighter and tighter. Now the sensations have morphed, and the lips around my manhood feel more like the folds of a velvet pussy.

As the sensation builds, I can sense us both approaching simultaneous orgasm. We're connected, almost as if my occupation of this space constitutes a kind of neural symbiosis.

No words now, just savage howls and moans. The invisible pussy and unseen mouths and fingers all over me give way to other sensations. Leathery. Smooth. Squeaky.

What I'm feeling is the Vestian sentry. I'm feeling her body, just as she's feeling mine.

It's kind of hard to explain to non-skipping Syssy that you think you know what it feels like to have a zipper. But that's just the beginning of it. I can feel her curvature wrapping around this space inside her, an ethereal network of Vestian sensation.

For a second I'm distracted by a sensation both alien and eerily familiar. I can feel myself being examined from her perspective. This is just such a wild feeling that I'm inclined to use my neuropause for something other than defense.

WARNING! (SynMapParam&mod[all]) User is in a stress state outside normal parameters. Recording and emulating synapse maps and/or charge matrices in/of this state can be dangerous and are not recommended. Continue?

What harm could it be to go through a frame by frame of this total mind-and-bodyfuck later? I rarely see a "WARNING" message from my neuropause, if ever. There are some readings like INFOMTN:, CONFLCT: or CAUTION! when I try to execute some exotic commands with it, but never WARNING! and it makes me wonder...

I feel invisible fingers wrap around my ass and jerk me forward. I'm being pulled in and out of the magic pussy, and I can feel the sensation from both sides, fucking and being fucked. Just like that, of course, my mind is no longer bothered by the ominous message from the vitally-integrated artificial adaptation to my neural circuitry. What warning?

Why not risk my sanity over this kind of experience? It's not like it'd be the first time.

"Come," She says softly as I float inside her, that single word surrounded by passionate incoherent words without consonants. The resonance across my nerves is phenomenal: hot and sweet, femininity surrounding me, taking control of my body, forcing surrender from every part of me. We're bobbing a few feet in the air, in the exact center of the chamber now. I think about what she asked. Like a volcano? That's a lot to live up to, but with the way I'm built up...

It starts as rumbling. I feel my feet kind of being tickled, but it doesn't take me long to realize it's vibration instead. I peer down through the legs of the pants to the holes at the ankles well below me. The pants are swinging their legs, and though my legs move with them, a heel or the side of a thigh makes contact every once in a while, and it's sexual electric when I feel it from her side as well as mine.

The positive feedback loop builds to a boil, and I feel the humming vibration overtake my knees, my thighs--

Slow fluidity. This is surrender. My arms extend and stretch, my back arches. I'm not doing it; she is. I try and stretch my legs and contract my glutes, and the leather form responds. The contraction feels amazing, and it pushes my body forward, thrusting my shaft gently and fully into the invisible pussy. We're sharing bodies. She must be feeling it too, both of us vibrating, harmonizing, synchronizing—

"Mmmmmhmm..." I moan, desperately seeking the language I need. "Lezdooitnow," I puff, "Ritenow, now, NOW!" Through the vibration, the pushing and pulling go mad. The lights in the echo chamber go from red to purple in sunburst patterns. Sexual waves crashing on synapses, flooding them.

She cries out as I erupt. When I come, my back arches so hard that we do a kind of aerial backflip. Volcano indeed.

We're both going mad, our voices no doubt reverberating well beyond the half-capsule shaped chamber of the echo bay. At some point the red light abruptly bursts into the intensity of the sun and goes dark.It doesn't matter. The only thing I care about right now has nothing to do with visual response.

Ten seconds later, I'm still producing—milked by her unseen touch as the orgasm subsides. There are soft white lights illuminating the chamber from the ground, and my sexual growls have faded to short, exasperated sounds. She does the same, her cooing turning into a hyper giggle. We slowly hover back down until the seams of her ankles are inches from the ground.

"I think I'd like to keep you," The pants say as a chirping laugh follows.

"I'm sorry," I say, still panting. "You've roped yourself a 'special condition' male. You know I'm not from here." I feel a soft and even squeeze around my midsection.

"You know that doesn't matter," she says. "You're not protected by your native world anymore, are you?" I get shaken back and forth, still suspended in the pants. "If you come to Nyxepolis unescorted, you can be traded anytime." She bounces me up and down a little when she's done speaking. I know she's just playing with me. The constant assertion of feminine superiority is part of the culture, and in these situations, I don't mind being treated like a toy.

"Did we break the chamber?"

"You know," she giggles, "that's kind of what I think, because once the light went out it felt like a flood of energy running through me. I have more than I know what to do with." We lift up and spin around twice, and when she lands back on the ground, I stay suspended in the air. My briefs sail toward my feet and pull themselves up as I hover back toward the ground. Before I reach it, I'm pulled back into the air and flipped.

"Hey now, careful!" I laugh.

"Sorry babe," she replies, "I'm just so flush. I've got to use up some of this energy to make this tingling settle." I hover just over the platform and drop onto it. "There you go," she says, walking toward me. "did you have a good time?" Her legs are crossed over each other, and my eyes are drawn to the tight hips and thighs again.

"Incredible," I say. "Never done anything quite like it."

"Good. We'll do it again sometime." She replies and turns, heading toward the door of the chamber. It opens. "If you're working for the High Governess, I assume you'll return soon."

"Certainly," I say, barely getting the word out before she leaves.

Once she's gone, I look at the shelf with my suit on it. Before I can go to grab it, it descends on its own, unzipping and waiting for me. When I step into it, it zips itself up, and I feel something scurry into my briefs and coil around my still-recovering manhood.

"Warm as bathwater in here," The thong says. I make no reply to her as my suit begins heading for the door. "Wait!" She says as I feel something yank my member back.

"Watch it down there," I tell her quietly. "What do you want?"

"Well, since you're so...willing," she starts, "do you mind if I play with you just a bit to keep my base charge up?"

"Times I determine in places I decide," I say. "Mission first." The thong grumbles a muffled complaint. "What was that?" I ask.

"Mission first, huh? You had no problem stopping off here with that sentry," the thong replies.

"Listen, you're not my client. You're just another agent of the job."


"Meaning you and I are teammates. Coworkers." I look down at my midsection. "I don't know if you've ever skipped, sweetheart, but the Syntyche isn't your horny-go-lucky home. I have to have control over the situation. I know I'm 'just a male'," I sneer, "but when we step through that gate, Governess Magic isn't rule of law anymore. The moment that happens, I'm your guide and bodyguard."

No response from her. She just softly coils around my member and stays put.

"Don't mope," I add. She's still silent, but I can't let it bother me. She has to know that everything needs to go perfectly when we leave this place, and I have to get this Vestian to behave.

I exit the chamber, and as my suit walks me out, I see the leather pants cavorting with a couple other sentries, talking and laughing.

"Ready?" She asks, walking toward me. They're my ride to the north gate.

"All set," I reply. The pants walk past me and toward the aperture, and my suit automatically follows. At the landing aperture, the pants turn around and bend their knees, leaning forward. "Um--"

"Just grab the back of my waist," She says. "I'll take care of the rest." I do so, and her legs slip around either side of me and squeeze gently, pulling me off my feet. This leaves me held between her thighs, my upper body resting in the valley between her round, leather ass. What a seat. "Hold on tight. I'm still buzzing on your release, and I want to go FAST." I tighten my grip, and we fly away from the aperture. I look down at the island, and then to the surface of Nyxepolis far below.

"You've really never done that before?" I lean in and ask as we sail toward the small tower containing the North ResGate.

"I've had plenty of fun with human women," she laughs. "Plenty of playtime with other Vestians and the Governess' consorts, but that device protruding form the front of you is really something. Worth the hype, I guess." My ego spikes for just a second until I realize she's really talking about the cock and not so much my cock.

As she promised, we fly fast. Before long I'm already back at the sky-aperture for the north gate. Once I'm just above the platform, the pants let my feet touch it and release me. They fly a few feet away and turn around.

"I'm Evisea," she says. "I'm the only Governess sentry in the city with that name. Find me again if you care to."

"I'm Kalin," I say. "But you won't have to remember that." I dig my cardholder out of a pocket, removing a card from it. "Here." The card is pulled out of my hand by invisible force as it slides itself into a leather pocket.

"A calling card?" She asks.

"Teleontonic," I say. "There's an activator on the flipside."

"I've been grossly misinformed about human males, Kalin. You're rather charming."

"Don't let me be the high standard," I joke. "Get a pleasure-boy from your boss and you'll see I'm not so special."

"I don't care for slaves, Kalin," She replies. "Unity is my candy," She continues, "Domination is fun, but unity—that's magic." She hovers into the air again. "See you again sometime." Doppler effect on the last word as she shoots away from the platform and back to the palace.

A sentry.

Hmph. I've never really heard a Vestian talk like that, proving wrong the assumption that these oversexed magic clothes are all the same. My suit walks me in toward the gate, and in the customs hall, I see three women naked and bent over a long table, being examined by latex gloves darting and bobbing around their bodies.

Newcomer tourists? Who knows. I flip on my Intecast, and it reveals that they're human women.

"Leaving so soon?" The latex catsuit asks me. She's inspecting the exam as I approach.

"Duty calls," I respond, getting a good look at the asses of the three as I walk by. One squeaks as a latex glove slides a finger into her.

The catsuit walks over to me. "Apologies. Customs duty. Let me skip you out really quick," She says, walking over to a table. "Give him his belongings back and submit yourself for reassignment," the catsuit says.

When my escort suit unzips, I understand who she's talking to. My belongings hover out of the null-space pockets and onto the same table the women are on. I see one of the prone women rubberneck her head toward me. I flash a smile to her, but when I do, I hear footsteps down the hall.

Hard-sole shoes. As my suit begins pulling off of my arms and torso, I see my suit turn the corner into the customs hall.

" shit." My suit shrugs at me. "If you're coming with me, do me a favor and put all my things back in the pockets." Ownership is a sensitive thing now that I've been to places where things that would be otherwise considered 'objects' have a say. I make sure to say 'if you're coming with me', as in, 'if you choose to do it'. That same attitude is probably why my suit's back at the gate.

The catsuit looks on as I step out of my escort suit. My three-piece is now taking my things and putting them in the pockets. Once it's done, it walks solemnly over to me.

"Listen, if you wanna stay, stay. No worries." It puts its sleeves up and shakes them, and it occurs to me that in all my visits, my own clothes have NEVER said a word to me. I turn to the catsuit.

"I've always wondered, but--any reason they have for not talking?" I ask, stepping out of the legs of my escort-suit and allowing it to reform without me.

"It's a special courtesy, Kalin," I hear a voice say from my three-piece. It's male, I think. I can't actually tell—maybe it's my expectation assessing it that way. I mean, it makes sense it would be, right? The suit continues— "Not many outsider humans want to hear their own clothes, especially if they plan on taking them back. It can be unsettling."

"For me, or for you?" I ask.

"For most humans," It replies, "particularly men. Not that many men come here by their own will." The blazer unbuttons, and the shirt is following close behind. I watch as my boxers hover out of my pants and float toward me.

"I've been replaced," the boxers say in a flat tone. Different voice, similarly androgynous.

"Got them from a friend," I reply casually. "If you don't want to be stuffed in a pocket, you can always hang out here."

"And it's that easy," they reply derisively. "You wouldn't miss me?" Are my boxers getting cheeky? Time to get this situation under control and go. I have to stop at home base before taking off into The Syntyche.

"Listen," I say. "Wanna stay? Stay. Wanna go with me? Then let's go. Make a decision." To my surprise, the boxers coil up and stuff themselves in the blazer pocket. Looks like the whole suit's coming back with me. It's never really happened before. I've skipped out of this path naked well over a hundred times before, with nothing more than my port and cardholder.

"Destination?" The catsuit asks, standing behind the ResGate's cast table.

"Ischarisla. Temponis, superior level." Home base. It's where the Candymaker is from, where I've spent most of my isolation time. Sanctuary. Ischarisla cracked the dimensional barrier when we were building Athens. They were one of the pioneering paths that helped set up the IDOX (InterDimensional Organization of Xenoskippers) and charted thousands of safe points, brokering diplomatic interdimensional ties and encouraging larger and more elaborate ResGate networks everywhere they had influence.

The launch table lights up, and the gate glows blue-green.

"Receiving gate open and waiting," The catsuit says. My shirt and blazer are already on me, and I lift each leg to let my pants slide on. once they do, I step into my shoes, which tie themselves.

"Let me do the walking, okay?" I say to the collective outfit. "You can all hold your charge if you can behave until we're safely in the lab. Deal?

"Deal," It replies. I trust them, but in the worst care scenario, the InteCast can fry them into shape or rob them of their charge should I need to take extreme measures.

"So long, Licorice," I say to the catsuit, smiling.

"Later, man-meat. Come back soon." I laugh a little as I wave, stepping through the gate.

After a quick stop at home for a recharge, it's off to The Syntyche to make my delivery...