…but the pleasure dress? Against all our other robustly pragmatic inventions, this is one of the few devices that Aurelians have invented akin to the art and creativity we so appreciate in humankind…
…albeit with a most wicked purpose.
The material a pleasure dress is tailored from is sourced from a planet that was colonized early in the history of our Empire. It’s derived from the cotton sap of a rare tree, which tries to grab at those nearby with an almost sentient intelligence; akin to the Venus Flytraps of human worlds.
However, these trees do not use their sticky blossoms to eat the prey they catch in them, or even to hurt them, but to simply touch them. The tree’s sap-rich, gossamer cotton tufts shift and tingle in contact – a most pleasurable and distracting sensation that animals and humans alike find mysteriously pleasurable – and then drops spores onto the animal’s sticky skin. Their ‘prey’ unharmed, and possibly remembering the encounter fondly, will then carry those spores elsewhere, to spread the genomes of the plant.
It is an ingenious way of procreating – evolution is both bizarre and beautiful – and that natural process has given Aurelians access to a tool they can use for most unnatural purposes; to weave into paper-thin, sheer dresses made from the strands of that same near-sentient cotton blossom.
The dresses themselves look innocent enough – but the sheer, flowing fabric is still permeated with that sap. It can be used to tantalize and tease every inch of any women wearing such a garment, caressing their curves as lightly as the breath of a lover. Our dress-makers – as much engineers as artists - weave microfilaments of Orb-material into the fibers of the pleasure dress fabric. Once activated, that otherworldly energy imbues the silky-soft material with the same eerie sentience that it possessed while still growing from the tree.
As such, it allows us to control the dress, and the teasing impact it has on whichever female is lucky – or unlucky – enough to wear it. The sensations elicited by such a dress – as intimate as those of a lover – can even be controlled in intensity.
It’s a fun, wicked plaything – or a cunning tool. Tonight, I have a feeling the pleasure dress I have had sent up to Mia’s chambers will be both.
It was my devious idea – and, as such, I will be the one who controls the dress tonight...
I will be the one who decides what happens to Mia, and how much she is teased and tormented.
My already-hard cock strains at the wicked possibilities.
Varian stands up slowly, brushing down his pants – which are themselves distended by his hard cock. He tries to be emotional, but there’s a foot-long demonstration that he’s as frustrated and distracted as I am.
"Very well,” he purrs, “but I will be the one to control the dress.”
My eyes narrow. Varian meets my gaze coldly.
“You have no control over your emotions and your desires, Cyrus.”
“Not a chance,” I snort. “It was my idea – so she’s under my control.”
Gallus puts his hands up slowly. “Men – we work together.”
We’re far from our service to the Aurelian Empire – where Gallus led us into battle against the Scorp and other deadly foes. Yet, at moments like this, it’s clear why fate elected him the leader of our triad.
“We’ll all have access to the controls,” he growls, “and we’ll all focus on the deal at hand – not just this new… distraction among us.”
I feel my ardor cool. Through our shared Bond, I sense Varian feeling his frustration subdued too. We’re getting distracted. That little minx is getting beneath our skin. How?
Varian’s eyes narrow. “Where is she now?”
“I told her to polish the cutlery.”
Varian’s eyes widen.
“I’d asked her to polish something else,” my eyes flash, “but if she claims she came here to work, let her work.”
“Then let’s see if she is really is a maid – or just pretending.”
7
Mia
I step out of my bedroom feeling a little foolish.
My room is so far away from the rest of the women in this place – as if the Aurelians are deliberately keeping me separate from the giggling, gossiping girls of their harem.
I don’t know their reason for it. All I know is I’m wearing a maid’s outfit… but one that’s not like the drab, bland maid’s outfits of my past.
This one is designed for the gaze of a hungry Aurelian.
I could have changed back into my standard uniform, but I’m too proud to have turned down Cyrus’s unspoken challenge. It would have been like telling Cyrus and his triad that I couldn’t handle it – that I was the weak, uncertain, cowardly human woman so many of their species view all our kind like.
No, not me. If they want to challenge me, I’ll take them on.
If they want a game of chicken, then we’ll play a game of chicken.
The only problem? Once I overcome my cultural conditioning – the shame and embarrassment of wearing something so sexy and provocative – it actually turns me on to be dressed up like this; to be on display for these sexy, powerful aliens.
I enjoy teasing them. It makes me feel powerful, and devious That sense of power is mitigated only slightly with a twinge of jealously – knowing that when I get those three towering, gorgeous Aurelians riled up – hot, hard and desperate just from looking at me – they can simply go and sate their energy and empty their aching balls into any of the thirty other gorgeous women in their harem.
It makes a bitter splinter dig into my guts. How can they claim to be so enamored with me, if they choose another girl so easily to give them the satisfaction I refuse?
And those poor girls… I’d rather go without than submit to a rough mating by an Aurelian, knowing full well that it’s somebody else
