FreedomofThree

by Liberty Stafford

“Yes.”

  “Be safe. We’ll beat these Ratt Pirate bastards yet.”

  “Bit by bit,” Brandana agreed. “We will win. This planet will be ours again soon, in rightful hands.”

  The atmosphere changed in the ship as they readied for battle. In the cockpit, Hans lowered his ship down low enough for Brandana to jump out. Her long, white hair was tied back loosely, stray hairs blowing around her face in the downdraught. Under her black cloak, she concealed her deadly passage in an oily black cloth in a rucksack. Moving like a shadow, she stuck close to the stone buildings, a few passersby knocking into her but that was Ratt Pirates and Populus nature.

  Hans had been right. Populus was a mess. She hardly recognised the landscape any longer. All the buildings and landmarks she had once known had been either demolished or peppered with bullets so the whole place looked like the war zone it was. Even so, the large building that the top brass Ratt Pirates were using as their base still stood higher than anything else, shoddy as it was.

  Outside the building, was parked a large carrier and a few pods, presumably to guard the largest carrier. In front of the main entrance, several armed Ratt Pirates patrolled, their pockets filled with ammunition, poison pellets and other weaponry. There was no way she was getting into the building easily.

  Hiding behind the remains of what once was someone’s home, Brandana took a high position, sheltering and watching through the small holes of what used to be a window. She could still see old wallpaper on the walls and fragments of a curtain.

  As she watched the guards, no pattern in their behaviour would allow her an easy entrance. Whoever was inside must be important as they were very well protected.

  She needed another entrance. Brandana looked curiously towards the roof of the building. A memory intruded. Years ago, she had been there before. Not with Hans, with some boy she had dated, someone older, a rebel. She remembered with a small, but serious smile, how he used to drag her around Populus, surveying everything on the pretence of getting her alone. It never got him anywhere and she couldn’t even remember his name now. However, she could remember something much more important.

  A glass dome covered the old library. If it was still there, she could perhaps gain access through it. First, she had to get up there. Luckily, Brandana was quite a climber. One of the tomboy sports her mother had hated her partaking of was rock climbing and abseiling and, in her mission to rid the planet of Ratt Pirates, this skill had come in handy more than once before.

  In the rucksack under her cape, she pulled out a length of rope with a metal grappling claw tied to its end. On her fifth attempt, the grappling hook seemed to snag something secure. Quickly, she hid again. Alerted by the clanking noise, the guards scurried around, asking each other questions but calmed down when all seemed well. Brandana secured the other end of the rope around the dog eared window. Was she high enough to shimmy along without being seen? She was not sure but there was no other way. She had to find out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A Busy Schedule

  Word spread quickly. The cute masseur gave perks. All four of Marlie’s Martian friends had visited him over as many days. He was very much enjoying his new career. He had managed to hide the fact that he was a bipene from these ladies for two good reasons. Firstly, in the back of his mind, he did wonder whether Queen Uno would be looking for him and therefore wanted to keep that part of his identity a secret. Secondly, most importantly, bipenes only ever achieve true happiness, a pure contentment, with two true loves. Then and only then would he use his two penises. Of course, those unlucky enough to be in slavery in the palace, had to use them no matter what, but that was denying their true nature. Devon had thought he had come halfway close to finding that fulfilling relationship up on Hans’ ship but Brandana had left him. Yes, he understood why but no, he was not thrilled about it, and he missed her.

  What his boss would make of his new gigolo status, he was not sure. In fact, Margo did not care a jot so long as she was making money and, with Devon on the crew, the beauty suite was doing a roaring trade.

  Before the Martian’s left for home, Marlie saw fit to write a little note which she slipped into the bedside cabinet for the next occupants to see, urging them to take a session with the masseur named Devon.

  Next into her room was a young hopeful actress who, in truth, would probably never remember more than a page worth of lines, and along for the trip was her sugar daddy, funder of all. Lorne was incredibly rich, an entrepreneur businessman, who had come to Botanica on a fact finding mission for the hotel he planned to open back home on Gargantua where he had become rich mining gold, silver and zinc. Tilly was his actress mistress and this business trip gave him the perfect opportunity for some alone time.

  Lorne had promised Tilly some fun, but failed to leave his business brain behind. Tilly got quickly bored of watching Lorne on his laptop, crunching figures and writing down details, so she booked a massage recommended in the mysterious bedside note.

  Tilly was a pretty girl, nineteen years old, and her ancestors were originally from Sweden many years ago. She was medium in height with astonishingly white blonde hair, worn in ravishing natural waves that lent an extra softness to her already sugarplum demeanour. She had high cheekbones and pouting lips that constantly looked as if she were sucking a peach.

  Whilst Tilly enjoyed her massage, she began to get bored as she often quickly did. She slipped under Devon’s hands and turned onto her back, her breasts wantonly exposed. Tilly was angry at Lorne. He was ignoring her and she was too beautiful to be ignored.

  “I hear your massages are, erm, special,” she enquired in her sweet squeak of a voice.

  “Really?” Devon feigned no knowledge.

  “I’m really bored. So bored!” She petulantly banged her fist on the bed. “Kiss me.”

  Falling into Tilly’s open arms, Devon kissed her plump mouth. Tilly was an incredible kisser and the urgency of her tongue let Devon know that she was not playing around. Her already luminescent, flawless skin glowed with a cool comfort as Devon took off his paper thin sarong, pulled her towel to the ground and straddled her. Tilly absentmindedly toyed with her round breasts with her candy pink fingernails running around her small, circular, strawberry pink nipples.

  From a nearby table, Devon pulled a small bottle of oil. He gently spread Tilly’s pale pink legs and lips apart, revealing the rebellious red insides, and put a tiny spot of oil on his middle finger. Slowly, very deliberately, he found her clitoris and rubbed round and round and round. Devon became extremely hard, hiding his second organ even though it begged for pleasure.

  Devon put the bottle of oil between her legs and squirted it so that spurts of warm oil touched her clitoris or flew onto her belly, running back down her silky thighs and onto the soft, warm towel. Spreading surplus oil onto her hands, Tilly sat up a little and took hold of Devon’s cock, softly and in small jerks, pushing back his foreskin until it slipped deliciously to her rhythm. In the darkened room, they kissed with abandoned passion, growing hornier by the second, knowing their forbidden time would never be repeated.

  With slippery ease, Devon pushed himself into Tilly’s warm welcome. Her long eyelashes fluttered. He placed his hands at the top of her thighs, his thumbs towards her vagina, massaging her lubricated lips against his hardness. Tilly looked like a starlet, so pretty and unassuming, her pouting lips ready now for the lines.

  Changing position, bored again, Tilly turned over and showed Devon the money shot. Her ass was raised prone, revealing her pretty shades of pink. The soft underbelly of the soles of her feet rocked her backwards and forwards. Covered with clear juices, Tilly raised her vagina up and bounced her ass cheeks until they shook like two small mounds of pink blancmange. She turned her head and, with a wild look upon her innocent face, demanded that Devon last as long as he possibly could.

  Although he was enjoying the view, Devon did as instructed and slowly slid his entire length into her, savouring each millimetre of penetr
ation. By now, both were sopping wet and slapped noisily against one another as their passion mounted.

  As she felt the first shaking sensations of orgasm, Tilly fell onto all fours and twitched and arched her back rapidly. Devon waited to feel her clamp on in climax, shivering inside and out, before he clasped his wet, wild penis between her buttocks and showered her with snow white semen.

  Without hardly time to grasp breath, Tilly was bored again, dressed and left. Devon, tired and dried out, hoped that his one o’clock was a good, old fashioned, simple massage.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Second Fiddle

  “Darling!” Uno declared in a voice that would have sounded warm to those who did not know her nature.

  “Mother dear,” Lancar replied, looking like a vision of her mother twenty years ago.

  Close behind followed Lancart’s husband, Edhal, another bipene with curly blond hair. Edhal bowed graciously to the queen, who managed a small smile towards him before continuing the conversation with her daughter.

  “Come through,” Uno ushered them into the formal parlour, a grand room with a wooden floor barely visible under the black and gold rug patterned with circles.

  “Talia, how are you?” the elder sister asked.

  Talia sat by the large, leaded window in a regal chair looking dreamily at the gardens. “Quite well,” she murmured.

  “I am sorry for what happened with the bipene,” Lancart said, unaware of the deep cut her careless words caused upon her husband’s ears and heart.

  “No matter,” Talia replied, still not making eye contact.

  “Look at her,” Uno shook her head. “That boy was made for her, the ungrateful being. She could have been happy.”

  “Not just that, Mother. He should have fulfilled his life’s destiny.”

  “Exactly, Lancart, you understand. Well, this is a hard time for Talia.”

  “Of course,” Lancart nodded and took a cup of tea from the new maid. “Father mentioned you have begun a search?”

  “Yes,” Uno smiled, very pleased with herself. “I found this place called Star Fighters Mercenaries. For quite a fee, they have agreed to find him and bring him back here.”

  “Whatever will you do with him, Mother dear?” Lancart asked.

  Uno laughed, “Whatever I please, dear. I have not quite decided yet whether he will still make a suitable husband or whether I will punish him with his life.”

  Lancart shook her head, embracing the power her position graced her with. “A terrible situation, surely. At least there have been no whispers in the villages.”

  “Yet. Tongues will surely wag eventually. It’s certainly a shame that gossiping isn’t punishable by death also.”Uno did not joke.

  Without warning, Talia got up from her chair and pushed past them both, gliding away like a ghost. She walked past Edhal as though he were not there, sitting a way off on a small sofa, without tea. Edhal generously pitied Talia. She also had no life. Tradition had a stranglehold on them all, upon all of those who did not fit in with Irellan patterns, upon all of those who had the misfortune to feel.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Explosion

  Although she knew she was there for a rather ugly purpose, Brandana could not help but take a moment to stand and just simply look around. From her vantage position so high on the rooftop, the ragged remains of Populus looked mysteriously beautiful. All the sandy stone colours blended together making the destruction less obvious from so far away. Dusty rays from the early morning sun softened the landscape and caused it to glow with warmth that understated the searing heat that had started to rise. From that height, the groups of people appeared so small that they were harmless, understating the maniacal nature of the majority. No time to rest, Brandana took the bomb from her rucksack and knelt by the brass skeleton of what used to be a beautiful glass dome on top of the Ratt Pirate building.

  Down below, an area had been cleared in what used to be the library, all the books having been burnt years ago. From what she could see, the sturdy bookshelves had been the saving grace of that room and had stopped the roof from caving in completely. Although unsafe, obvious even from that distance, a table had been dusted off and around it sat twelve of the highest ranking Ratt Pirates. Each of them wore the black uniform with skulls made out of jet on the pockets. One had an eye patch. Another had a robotic claw for a hand. Obviously a room filled with battle-worn men.

  A deep wave of hatred, embittered by the years and sad stories of the ravages of war told around rebel campfires, Brandana set the detonator for fifteen seconds. Before she initiated the sequence, she checked her escape route and shook her head. This was probably the stupidest thing she had ever done. She pictured her brother, thankfully safe up in his ship, her mother, and then the image of Devon formed, a mental picture which made her melt inside. When she thought of him, she thought of love and of peace. This was no time for either wonderful emotion.

  Brandana flared her nostrils and cleared her mind. Pushing the button to begin the countdown sequence, she armed the bomb and dropped it onto the table below. As much as she would have liked to revel in the looks of surprise and terror upon the Ratt Pirates’ faces, if she wanted to live, she had to go.

  Using every fibre of muscle in her thighs and shoulders, Brandana sprinted like an Olympic athlete and grabbed the rope which she had untied from the grappling hook. Wrapping it around her wrists and hands as she belted along, Brandana reached the edge of the building and jumped.

  Even in mid-air, her legs were still running. Tighter and tighter she wrapped the rope around her wrist as she felt the nauseating dropping sensation in her stomach. With a twang, the rope tightened. Brandana cried out as her wrist snapped in the gnarly clutch of the rope. As she yelled, the sound of her voice was drowned by the almighty explosion of the Ratt Pirate building which crumbled in a cloud of thick, acrid, grey smoke.

  Her body slammed against the rough stone exterior of the derelict home where she had hidden earlier. As her feet slid against the walls, she began to climb, detritus from the exploded Ratt Pirate building hitting her like bee stings all over her body and head.

  At last, Brandana was back by the small window from where she had spied to begin her mission. Something in her mind made her look back and smile. Frantic Ratt Pirates ran everywhere. She was too high up and too quick for them. She also had a loyal ally. A rope dropped down. Hans’ ship was hovering above. Another rope was all Brandana needed. Her right wrist ached incredibly and there was no way it had the strength to support her weight again. She latched on with her left hand, not her strongest, but it was her last hope.

  Hans was in the doorway, hauling at the rope, aware that she was hurt, his shoulder muscles burning with lactic acid but yet he would not stop. Not until she was safely at his feet, dragged inside, and he could whisk them away before other ships were sent to destroy them.

  He hauled his sister into the craft and ran to the cockpit. Throwing himself urgently into the pilot’s seat, Hans rocketed out of Populus’s orbit before any Ratt Pirate ship had a chance to lock onto their whereabouts. As he soared away at warp speed, Brandana sat on the floor by the closed hatch, nursing her aching wrist.

  Chapter Nineteen

  History Repeats Itself

  Another day, another dollar for Devon, whose reputation as a most excellent masseur was spreading like wildfire throughout the hotel and onto other planets where satisfied holidaymakers had returned. But something had changed. Devon was unhappy. Yes, it had been fun at first, feeling worthwhile, sexy, in demand, but Devon slowly began to realise that he had fallen into the exact same trap. He had become nothing but a doll; a plaything for the rich and horny. He might have been in demand, but it was only for his sexual services. Not one of his clients wanted to talk to him about life, the state of the universe or anything spiritual. All they wanted were his hands, his tongue, his professional cock and his hot oil. Nothing more.

  Late that morning, Devon escorted his first clien
t into his area, offering her some space to undress. Pippa was fairly tall with short, fluffy white hair and carried a small dog, which looked exactly like her, under her bony arm. It yipped at Devon and snarled whenever he came close. Pippa oozed cash. Everything about her spoke volumes about her expensive education, lazy days and indulgent lifestyle; her well formed vowels, the immaculately manicured nails and succulent skin. Another bored rich woman with too much time to decide that her life was boring.

  As she undressed, Devon prepared the bed with fresh towels and spritzed the air with oxygen. From the dressing area, she began to voice her demands.

  “I want the special massage,” Pippa began with wonderful elocution. “You know, I heard from my friend that you give something extra to certain clientele.”

  Gritting his teeth, Devon decided enough was enough. There would be no more special massages. They were special enough as they stood. He had been trained for years and could make a woman melt just by the application of soft pressure in certain, secret places. Pippa might not get what she wanted but Devon was sure she would go away satisfied.

  He began by softly kneading her back, using the special pressure at the base of her back, on the tiny spots known only to a few and he felt her begin to liquefy under his touch. She murmured happily as he worked delicately across her ribs. However, as Devon slid his fingers underneath her sides, Pippa lifted her body so that he was touching the doughy flesh of her breasts and every so often, catching the stub of her nipples.

  Devon bridled. He did not want this anymore. He knew he had created a rod for his own back, so tried to be patient. He pulled his hands away and continued working higher up her back in a safe area.

  Pippa turned over, all aglow, looking like a pretty sprite in the soft lighting and with the relaxing woodland music which played unobtrusively in the background, but he did not put his hands upon her nor kiss the soft, magenta pink lips which pouted provocatively at him.