Starship of Lust Ch. 04

"It is not feasible nor humane for the fifteen of us to individually process every interested crewmate. Therefore..." She reached up to place her hand on the pole at her side. "We will provide visual stimulation to all of you at once. Assuming there are no conflicting duties, starting today, crew-wide sexual processing will occur for one hour daily starting at 2000 hours. Any crewmates may come and go freely during this time, and you are extended permission to masturbate either in this mess hall or in your quarters. " She wrapped her leg around the pole in time with the end of her spiel. She made no change to her body language or expression, but the action alone, paired with her attire, was incredibly seductive.

"Are there any questions?"

No one said a word. Many men already had a tent in their pants - myself included.

"Very well." She nodded to a technician near the wall. The lights dimmed and music started to play through the mess hall speakers. Then -

Admiral Locke lifted herself up and began to twirl around the pole. The fourteen other "processors" followed suit: some mimicked the same dance, others flirtatiously ground their hips, still others crouched low to give the surrounding men a view of their ass.

On our first night of "sexual processing", I thought to myself that Locke looked more like a stripper dressed as an admiral than an actual admiral. Seeing her now, literally pole dancing in front of her crew... that felt like a prophecy come true.

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Obviously, it had taken a lot of work and several "updates" to reach this point - but it really wasn't as difficult as you'd expect. Each of these women were already debasing themselves nightly for normal "sexual processing"; mentally, they'd already acclimated to being treated as sex objects. This just took it a step further. While it may seem extreme on the surface, as with prior "updates", the change was rooted in "logic".

For one, as I'd mentioned to Locke when I first raised the idea of "crew-wide sexual processing", there had been a noticeable uptick in engineer performance once "sexual processing" was instituted. This wasn't something I'd manipulated or influenced - it came about organically as a genuine consequence. Apparently, people are more apt to focus on their jobs if they're regularly rewarded with sex.

This development was a pleasant surprise that I utilized to its fullest. Locke was noncommittal when we initially discussed "crew-wide sexual processing". However, over the course of a few days, I used new "updates" to strengthen the belief in her (and the other "processors") that ensuring the efficacy of our crew was more important than one's personal sense of shame. These were already views Locke held to an extent; not only were they the basis for "sexual processing" in general, but she never outright dismissed the idea of "crew-wide sexual processing", even when I first brought it up. It was the quality of a good leader to prioritize her subordinates over herself - and I'd leveraged that noble mindset to convince her that "crew-wide sexual processing" was in fact the best move for the ship as a whole.

Second, due to the prevalence of "semen extraction", the "processors" had come to witness increasingly perverse acts aboard the Athens. Nowadays, if you made any substantial trip from one section of the ship to another, you were practically guaranteed to see a couple (or group) fucking in some room or hallway. While the "processors" still had no compulsion to participate themselves, their subconscious minds were slowly coming to regard sexual activity between crewmates as normal, even desirable.

With all of these contributing factors, it was only a matter of time before Locke authorized "crew-wide sexual processing". I didn't press the issue after planting the idea in her head. It was more effective if she thought she was making the decision of her own accord. Instead, I spent my time refining the "updates", guiding her towards the "optimal" way to "process" a large group of men.

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You could take a video of the mess hall now and anyone in their right mind would assume it was a recording of a strip club (albeit perhaps one with a military theme). The low light and pounding music perfectly emulated the atmosphere while, in all directions, men were crowded around scantily clad women, ogling every part of their bodies. The only notable difference, I suppose, is that a good number of these men were brazenly jacking off, their pants on the floor or thrown aside entirely.

For their part, all the "processors" - Locke included - looked awkward and unsure of themselves. They kept smiles on their faces, prancing around their poles and constantly emphasizing their sex to the audience, but there was none of the grace of an actual stripper.

Personally, this enhanced the experience. It made the show feel genuine, reinforcing that these women were still themselves, not just sex machines inhabiting their bodies. The "updates" had inclined them to research and practice pole dancing beforehand, but that didn't magically turn them into experts. Considering they were officers stationed on the Athens of all ships, they'd almost certainly lived their entire lives in positions of comfort and authority. It would have been inconceivable to even imagine placing themselves in a situation like this - yet here they were now, nothing more than eye candy for the pleasure of countless men.

And the crown jewel, the sexiest woman in the room, was of course none other than Admiral Locke. She circled her pole with surprising spirit. Despite her inexperienced technique, none could say she wasn't giving it her all. Every movement jiggled her tits, her distinguished medals wildly swinging back and forth, occasionally slapping against her bare flesh. She made eyes at the men around her, running her hands up her thigh and lightly gripping her ass.

In part, she was mirroring the strip shows I regularly requested for my own "sexual processing". It would take some time for her to perfect the performance, but I think Locke was slowly coming to realize just how insanely attractive her body actually was. Once she had a proper handle on her own sexuality and the technical skill to match, she could give actual strippers a run for their money.

"O-oh!"

A particularly loud male moan from somewhere to the left caught my attention. Before I could even make out what had happened, I could hazard a guess - it was the first climax of the night.

Focusing my vision, I could dimly see a man squatting at a neighboring table. His hand was still clutching his dick, his cum splattered at the feet of the woman before him. I recognized her as Locke's Hispanic adjutant, wearing a striking red ensemble.

Murmurs started to ripple out from the crowd, but a powerful voice immediately drowned them out. "Do not mind!" It was Locke, addressing her crew, still gyrating against her pole. "As I said, you are free to masturbate, and that includes free to orgasm! You need not worry about cleanup. This is your sexual processing, meant to be a source of comfort above all."

There was no doubt in her mind, no hesitation in her words. She had become one of the ship's strongest advocates for "sexual processing", and that alone carried greater weight amongst the crew than any single "update" of mine could hope to attain.

That first orgasm was all it took to open the floodgates. One after another, men blew their loads - across the tables, the floors, and even the women themselves. The "processors" paid no mind, continuing to dance, dripping with sweat and semen.

Three men exploded almost simultaneously around Locke. Two of them only managed to coat her legs, but the third got some impressive distance, with the majority of his jizz landing square in her chest. She smiled back at them, wiping just enough off her body to not impair her dancing.

She did a great job of hiding it, but I detected the barest hint of disgust in Locke's eyes. She may have been fully convinced that "sexual processing" was an important duty, but not one of my "updates" had forced her to like it. Her deep professionalism and work ethic was her prison, compelling her to fulfill that duty to the best of her ability.

More semen rained down, upon her and every other "processor" in the mess hall. Most of the men were touching themselves by now, but a small handful held back. I was among them, merely learning back in my chair and enjoying the sights. Don't misunderstand - I was extremely aroused. I could probably cum at any moment if I wanted to. But, more important than that, I wanted to savor the night ahead.

For a time, I'd struggled with paradoxical dreams. I wanted to humiliate Locke, which required a certain degree of publicity, but at the same time I didn't want her having sex with anyone but me. Looking at her now, as another man came across her torso, I was proud of myself for reaching this point. It was everything I had envisioned, a nice compromise between my two desires. To the rest of the men, she was the equivalent of a model or porn star. They could lust after her and jack off to her, but they would never have her. That privilege was reserved for me alone.

Still, a small rational part of me admitted that things were close to getting out of hand. My "updates" had turned the Athens into something completely irreconcilable with normal society. I'd have to be careful. I'd have to start thinking about how the crew was going to one day reintegrate with the rest of the world.

Fortunately, it would be another several months before the Athens docked at a friendly port to shuffle personnel. I had time, but even so... I should start looking towards the future. It wouldn't do to come all this way only to be arrested in a year's time. I wanted to live a life where I could enjoy Admiral Locke's body for decades.

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"I can't believe you actually held out for this..." Locke muttered, barely audible.

We stood face to face in my quarters. She was dressed the same: heels, stockings, thong and nipple "tassels". We'd come directly here after "crew-wide sexual processing", and there was no reason nor opportunity to change.

Why were we here? That should be obvious. Despite the establishment of "crew-wide sexual processing", Locke herself had announced that "individual processing will not cease for our engineering cohort".

She still had an obligation to make me cum once a day - and the fact of the matter is that I had yet to cum at all. I didn't even try. Why would I? If I did, she'd have had the excuse to retire to her room for the night.

"Don't get me wrong, Catherine, you looked wonderful up there! But it just felt like such a waste to give up our personal one-on-one time. I really look forward to it."

She grit her teeth. She knew that I'd intentionally restrained myself. Every other engineer came during "crew-wide processing", some multiple times. I was the only one to hold out for individual treatment.

Still - she had no retort, no verbal response at all. There was a fury in her eyes, but also... the tiniest traces of plain exhaustion.

The Admiral was hardly frail, but she was not and had never been a frontline combatant. Her strengths were intellectual in nature. That hour of pole dancing had taken it out of her, not only physically but also mentally. She'd suppressed her emotions and her very mind, diligently playing out the role of a "sexual processor" from start to finish.

It's not as if she was on the edge of a breakdown. This was Catherine Locke we're talking about. If duty called, she'd go right back out there in an instant.

Nonetheless, there were subtle signs that she needed rest. Her usually perfect posture slacked a little. Her typically tight facial features were looser than normal. Her gaze behind those glasses lacked that razor sharp edge.

Eventually, Locke broke the silence. Ignoring my previous statement, she got straight to business. "How would you like to be processed tonight, Anthony?" Her voice was terse, but resigned.

At my insistence, we had come to use each other's first names during "sexual processing". She no longer kept up any pretense of being in control. She always asked bluntly what I wanted and did as I asked - within reason.

On that point, Locke had proven more resilient than anticipated. Her aversion to me ran deep. Even with my "updates" impressing upon her the importance of obeying my requests, we'd been stuck in a rut. The same old handjobs and tittyfucks and strip shows night after night; my dick had never been near her mouth, let alone her pussy.

Tonight presented the golden opportunity I'd been waiting for. She was depleted on multiple levels, her willpower at an all-time low. It was time to strike.

Still standing before her, I lowered my pants, revealing my fully erect cock. Then, looking the Admiral square in the eye, I spoke.

"Suck my cock, Catherine."

My wording and tone left no room for disagreement. The implication was clear. This was not a question or request; it was an order.

It was a gamble, but I always knew breaking this woman would be a give and take. There was a time for subtlety, for gradually and carefully warping her mind, but also a time for the reverse. A direct challenge to her authority, forcing her to submit to me, would deal a heavy blow to her subconscious resistance - if she capitulated.

At my words, her eyes widened and mouth hung open, silently. This was the first time I had ever seen Locke look surprised - the first genuine crack I had produced in that mask she called a face. It lasted for only a split second, but in that moment, I saw a swirl of thoughts and emotions battling within her.

Her pride as leader of the Athens.

Her fatigue from weeks of "sexual processing".

Her hatred of me.

Her love for her husband.

The relentless, insidious whisper of my "updates", urging her to just obey.

I held my breath. This truly was a gamble. If she declined, it might set me back to square one.

After what could have been a second or an hour...

She crouched down. The medals hanging from her nipples faintly jingled. A lifetime of heroism, the symbols of all that she was, about to bear witness to what she will become.

She didn't say a word. She didn't look up at me. She kept her face blank, betraying no emotion. Only she knew what thoughts were racing through her head at this moment.

But ultimately, it didn't matter. Her head leaned forward.

At long last, Admiral Locke's - Catherine's - lips touched the tip of my cock.