Doggy Style

Doggy Style

Rated MA

Amidst the sinister play of shadow and eerie glow cast by braziers that burned with magical flame, the witch Haggar concentrated on completing her latest spell, a dark red potion that bubbled of its own accord atop her bench. The unpleasant odor reminiscent of lazon powder mixed with smoke and decaying flesh permeated the air, although not to the extent that it was overpowering, only enough to be uninviting. Many had politely, and some bluntly, suggested that she invest in a good air freshener or at least open the windows, but she summarily ignored those critiques of her housekeeping skills or turned the offenders into robeast chow—at least the ones of low enough station that she could get away with it.

A large tome also lay open in front of her on the work bench, although the potion the witch was brewing was an improvisation upon the recipe rather than the actual spell. After all, robeast enhancement was a rather specialized blend of magic and science, and the standard witchcraft spell books just did not cover it. Especially not that one, which if the title was not face down on the bench would have been visible as Sorcery for Dummies.

That was fine, though, since all she really needed was a good basic spell for a physical enhancement potion and she could go from there. Since her last few robeasts had not fared well against Voltron—Zarkon’s exact phrase had been to call them “robotic weenies that couldn’t wipe their own asses if a roll of toilet paper was strapped to their tentacles”—she figured that was probably a hint that she should enhance some of their fierceness, and what better way to bring out the raw and violent energy that made a robeast such a beautiful thing than by pumping up their testosterone levels a bit with a virility charm?

Thus far her potion was brewing well, and she was about two thirds of the way down her list of ingredients. A number of them were mundane, things she had on hand in the laboratory, and others were easily found in the castle. Bone chips from a mercilessly slaughtered victim? Check. Bloody metal from a blade struck through the heart? No problem. Sweat from a creature of incredible strength? Well, it had been unpleasant stealing socks from brute slaves, but all in all that wasn’t too bad with the aid of a clothespin for her nose. Then there were the herbs and oils, easily found in her cabinets, and she was well on her way.

“Let’s see,” she murmured aloud to her cat, who she petted gently as he napped alongside the spell book, “What’s next on the list?” She drew a bony finger down the aged parchment past the checklist icon until she found her place. When she saw what the next ingredient was, she sighed. That one was going to be more annoying to get than the socks. The text read, “The potent seed of a seasoned warrior in substantial quantity.”

“Oh, great,” Haggar grumbled, throwing her arms up in a melodramatic sigh. “Why couldn’t it have been something simple and clean like blood? I can find any number of idiots to stick with a knife.”

Coba looked up at his mistress and gave her a sympathetic, “Meow.”

The old witch took hold of her staff and continued to rant to her familiar and the silent skulls that served as décor for her spell chambers. “Not that getting a Doom soldier to drop his pants is difficult, but if it has to be potent, that means I have to find one that doesn’t waste his time sucking down beers and spending every night in the brothel. And how many non-robotic soldiers around here fit that description?”

Coba’s head quirked to the side and his tail twitched in a manner that said to the witch in kitty language, “Damned if I know.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said in an aggravated tone, and glanced upward at the skies—or at least toward her shadowy cathedral ceiling—in frustration. “Where on Doom am I going to find a soldier of enough skill and experience to qualify as a warrior of worth, that either has no means or inclination for a thriving sex life, and is also too uptight to bother taking matters into his own hands often enough to dilute his potency?”

As fortune would have it, the dark spirits the old witch worshipped heard her plea. A moment later the door to her lab opened without the courtesy of a forewarning knock, and Commander Yurak arrogantly strode in.

As soon as she laid her yellow eyes on the gruff fleet commander, she realized with simultaneous optimism and dismay that he fit the bill perfectly. An accomplished fighter, no life outside of his job to give any indication that he was regularly getting laid, and a personality intense and egotistical enough to guarantee that no one would bother trying too hard. Unfortunately for Haggar, that also meant that she had to interact with him, at least in a clinical manner, in a sexual context and that held as little appeal as having to gather ten thousand more sweaty slave socks. On the upside, it was possible that perhaps an orgasm would lighten Yurak up a little, and since she had to work with him on a regular basis, that would be a nice bonus… but she still shot a disgruntled glance over at the idols of her chosen deities sitting upon an altar across the room anyway. “I am not amused.”

Completely clueless as to what the witch was talking to her sculptures about, Yurak frowned at her impatiently. “What are you babbling about, old witch?”

Turning around in his direction, Haggar narrowed her eyes at Yurak. “Rude individuals that barge into my lab without knocking when I’m busy,” she shot back irritably.

If he was affected by her snippy greeting, he did not acknowledge it and instead only informed her gruffly, “I need something from you.”

She paused on her way back over to the lab bench. “Oh? Let me mark this day that you need my ‘worthless magic’ down on my calendar.” The sarcasm oozed from her high-pitched voice.

That time the commander’s natural eye narrowed at her remark, but he let it pass without retort and joined her at the side of her lab bench instead. “It wasn’t my idea. It was at Zarkon’s request.” He tossed a paper onto her bench, and a quick glance showed it to be a standard fleet requisition form for a magical armor matrix she had been experimenting with.

“I’ll get to it when I have time,” she said upon seeing that the “urgent” box wasn’t checked. Normally she would have worked on something for Zarkon promptly, but given that the requisition was filed in Yurak’s name since he had been the lucky one the paperwork was delegated to, she would shelve it for at least two days just because Yurak was such a condescending ass ninety-nine percent of the time. That time, however, she was willing to overlook her principle since she regrettably needed something from him as well. She glanced up at him with a sly smile. “Of course, I could work on it much sooner if I had your cooperation in allowing me to complete a more current project.”

Yurak was immediately suspicious of the witch’s friendly tone, and he eyed her dubiously. “My cooperation?”

The hooded figure nodded. “You have something I need.”

“And what is that?” his deep voice demanded, a critical stare fixed upon her.

Taking two strides forward until she stood right in front of him, Haggar lifted her staff and tapped at the center of the commander’s armored chestplate. “Nothing that will take too long. Just drop your pants.”

Upon hearing that, the commander’s natural eye went wide in complete and utter shock and had its cybernetic partner had the ability to do the same it surely would have. “What?” he choked out, positive that he could not have possibly heard the old witch correctly.

Haggar sighed. Yurak was going to be difficult. Not that she really expected anything different, but she had hoped that the dark spirits would show her a little mercy in answering her prayer. She had sacrificed a nice set of offerings to them earlier in the week, after all. “I’m sure it sank in through those big ears of yours the first time, Yurak,” she replied in a no-nonsense tone. “Now drop your pants. This will be done with much faster if you cooperate with me.”

He visibly blanched when he realized he had heard her correctly, and he backed away slowly from the witch. “Don’t tell me King Zarkon had you take over the fleet physicals for medical? If so, I’ll spare you the trouble and let you know now that I’m not due for at least another standard year.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! This has nothing to do with medical paperwork,” Haggar said irritably. “Just do what I say and we can both get on with it and get it over with. It’s not like I’m going to enjoy it for crying out loud!” She nudged at his belt with the staff. “All I’m asking for is professional courtesy—you need a requisition filled, and I have my own needs. So strip.”

“I’m not stripping for you!” the flustered Yurak protested, and shuffled back a few more steps. “If you still have those sorts of needs, surely you can conjure something to satisfy them and leave me out of it!”

The old witch tapped her foot impatiently. It figured that the one time she had a use for him, he was going to be stubborn about it. “Trust me, this is business and not pleasure and as much as I hate to say it, you’re the best man for the job. Now lay down like a good doggie and give me what I need, and I’ll give you what you need. Otherwise you can wait a week for your requisition.” She did not understand why he had to be so obstinate. All she wanted was a simple spell component, and for the love of the Ancient Ones, she had not demanded that he sever body parts or the like!

“You’re extorting sexual favors from me?” he huffed in incredulous indignation. The look on his face was somewhere between abject horror and utter disgust.

Haggar narrowed her eyes his reaction. Did that arrogant blowhard actually think she was desperate enough to blackmail him for sex? How utterly revolting… but sadly typical, she supposed. “Don’t worry, Yurak, I’m not interested in a relationship—I know better than to even expect meaningful conversation from you,” she snapped sarcastically. “Fortunately what I need doesn’t require you to do to any talking at all.” She tapped his belt again. “Just drop ‘em, let me work my magic, and we can both be satisfied and go our separate ways.” She began to consider asking her dark masters for a do-over and a different prospect for her component. Surely somewhere on Doom there had to be another uptight soldier badly in need of a lay…

Swatting her staff away from his belt with his gauntleted arm, Yurak scowled back at her. “I’d sooner bed a four-tentacled robeast.”

That insult was too much for the witch to let go, and immediately she dismissed the notion of seeking someone else for her magical requirements. If Yurak thought he could barge into her quarters and be so blatantly disrespectful to her when asked for a simple favor after demanding one of his own from her, he had another thing coming—and by the grace of her dark masters, he would indeed, she would see to it. Now it was personal. A vindictive look flashed through Haggar’s yellow eyes and calmly she walked back over to her bench. “We’ll see about that,” she said, smirking slightly beneath her hood.

The commander straightened to a staunch pose, thoroughly disgusted. “Not in this lifetime, old witch. The day I so much as take off my boots for your pleasure, much less anything else, is the day I’ll bend over and kiss your wrinkled, warty ass. Fill my requisition when you get around to it.” With that he turned on his heels and strode swiftly out of the chamber.

Her calm gaze followed his retreating form with a contemptuous sneer. “Oh no, my overconfident little egomaniac, you won’t get off that easily.” Her lips twisted into enough of a conspiring smile to show her fangs. “Or maybe you will.”

* * *

Over the course of the rest of the day Yurak tried vainly to get the horrible thought that Haggar desired sexual gratification from him out of his mind, and when a quick and dirty mission to Arus had him returning to Doom cursing Voltron and the existence of the blazing sword it was still a welcome distraction from something far worse. All in all his day had been rather craptastic, and he was glad to see it end. A hot shower and a change from his uniform into a pair of cozy cotton fleet issue boxer shorts—in red, of course—and he was ready for a night of pleasant dreams to erase the unpleasant events of the day.

And he had sweet dreams indeed! It was not long after he drifted off into slumber that he felt the sensation of a pair of gentle hands caressing him, nimble fingers stroking his fur-covered skin in all the right places while soft lips teased his face and neck with light kisses. A satisfied smile tugged at his sleeping features as the dream intensified, crossing the line from pleasant to erotic, and his body subtly shifted in the bed in response to the imagined touch.

In the realm of his dream, however, his physical response was far less subtle and he writhed in pleasant surrender to the caress of the lover, obscured in shadow around him. Back arched, he let out a gruff growl as the hands traced a southern route, teasing him with a slow and indirect route of curves and twirls over his belly and thighs until finally reaching his manhood. In both the dreaming and living realm his left hand clutched at the sheets, but in the dream it was with enough force to literally tear them with unspent desire as the fingertips of the one who seduced him curled about his male pride and began to stroke him.

The physical response to the touch was immediate. Hot impassioned blood surged through his veins and swelled the member in the lover’s toying hand to its full aroused state while his living body sought to share in the pleasure by mimicking its dream counterpart with almost equal fervor. The phantom kisses descended upon him then with more frequency and urgency, willing him to surrender to his lust, and surrendering to it he was with each passing moment. His breath grew ragged and his heart pounded faster, while in both the dream and reality his hips bucked beneath the expert ministrations of the lover in the shadows.

The one in his dreams who touched him so sweetly performed the task too well, however, and soon the demands of his awakened libido awakened him from the dream with a start. Still trembling from the intensity of his naughty dream, Yurak rolled over in his sheets, instantly aware of two things. One, that he was horny as a rhinoceros robeast and harder than magically reinforced steel armor, and two, that even though he was awake he could still feel the hands of his lover pleasuring him.

What a dream, he thought sleepily, fingers flexing against his hip anxiously as he sought to cling to the fading fantasy.

Only the sensation of the stroking did not fade with it, and his body did not argue with the notion as even still his hips subtly rocked in response to the touch.

What the…?

His natural eye opened while his cybernetic one switched on, curiosity now roused along with his libido. Instinctively he reached down to affirm that his imagination was running away with him and that of course no one was in his private quarters in bed with him, but instead of feeling his shorts, he felt a frail and bony wrist attached to a scaly-textured hand that had yanked them down a short while ago.

Grabbing the hand in a vise-like grip, he craned his neck upward and scanned the darkness with his cybernetic eye for the identity of his companion. Two yellow eyes stared back at him.

“Go back to sleep. It’s just a dream,” Haggar’s all-too-familiar voice squealed at him in its distinct pitch.

Immediately any remaining hint of eroticism from his dream was squashed like Voltron’s foot upon an advancing robot ground squadron, and his erection shriveled to its un-aroused state in her hands. “This isn’t a dream. This is a nightmare!” the horrified commander growled, sliding away instinctively into an upright position against his headboard.

With a sigh the old witch released the commander’s anatomy, useless to her at present, and withdrew into the shadows muttering irritably. She had been so close to getting her spell component! “It figures you would be a light sleeper,” he heard her grumble as she disappeared from the bed entirely and discreetly slipped out of his bedroom as quietly as she had made her way in.

The distressed Yurak scanned his bedroom with the cybernetic eye on its most sensitive setting for several moments after Haggar disappeared until it was obvious that he was completely alone once again. Grimacing slightly he pulled up his shorts and then pulled the covers tightly around his body, right up to his neck. “Yes,” he told himself after mentally sorting through what he had just experienced, “It was just a nightmare. Nothing more.”

Still clutching the sheets against his chest, he closed his living eye and quickly willed himself back into the numb and welcome escape of sleep.

* * *

Although her first attempt to secure the needed sample of the uncooperative fleet leader’s squadron of little swimmers had been thwarted, Haggar was by no means ready to give up. There was more than one way to skin a cat, as the cliché went, and in Yurak’s case, certainly more than one way to get that stubborn dog of a commander to give her his bone.

By the following day she already had a plan in mind. “So the direct approach won’t work with him,” she said to Coba, who listened dutifully whilst cleaning himself with his paws. “When dealing with a hardheaded idiot like Yurak, subtlety and subterfuge are key. When one tactic fails, try another.”

Smiling confidently at her familiar, she held up her staff and chanted out a spell. A blinding flash of azure light surrounded the witch for a brief moment, transforming her old and frail form to that of a young and nubile Doomite seductress. Aged blue skin lightened and smoothed to a supple azure of youthful beauty while her bony frame filled out with perfect posture and grace. Her waist thinned slightly as her hips and buttocks took on appealing curves while her bosom swelled with generous bounty. The worn brown robe that was the centerpiece of the witch’s wardrobe disappeared in favor of a sleek and skimpy two-piece outfit. The top consisted of little more than a decorative bra a cup size too small so that she spilled enticingly out of it, and the bottom was a knee-length translucent skirt that easily showed the racy black panties, just covering enough to still be decent, beneath it. Long tresses of silken gold hair framed her now lovely features, spilling over her shoulders as wisps of it curled enticingly over her ample cleavage.

Admiring her reflection in the slightly mirrored surface of the bio chamber’s glass, Haggar smirked deviously. “Let’s see him resist this.”

Coba hopped off of the bench and rubbed at her feet. “Mrow!” he squeaked, voicing his feline voice of approval.

“Indeed,” the disguised witch giggled, and with a parting pat to her favored feline, headed out of her lab to find Yurak.

* * *

It was a slow day in Castle Doom in that there were no planned invasions imminent, and that meant only one thing for the commander—desk duty. Yurak loathed desk duty. Although he could process it efficiently enough, desk duty meant paperwork. Requisitions from subordinates that required his approving signature, reports from the admirals that served under him that needed review, and worst of all, the expense sheets from accounting. He hated the idiots in accounting even more than he hated Voltron. They were cheap with munitions and questioned every last robot battery as if it was coming out of their own salary—and most of them were slaves to begin with, so it was hardly like they were getting paid. Furthermore, the robeast of a woman in charge of accounting was a mousy little wench on a power trip, and he would have just as soon skewered her on his light sword after he heard the sixth message “reminding” him to prioritize his submissions, but instead he simply summarily deleted them as soon as he received them. He had no patience for any non-fleet personnel that tried to tell him how to do his job.

Yurak was reading through a particularly dull report about the recently finished mission on an acquired planet in the delta quadrant when he heard a knock at his door. “Enter,” he barked out, not bothering to look up from his paperwork.

“Commander Yurak,” a sultry feminine voice greeted him.

Barely lifting his eyes from the report in his eyes, he vaguely noticed some scantily-clad blond standing on the opposite end of his desk, smiling flirtatiously at him and leaning in an extremely provocative manner over the edge in his direction. Irritated to be disturbed from his work by such trivial nonsense, the commander casually raised a hand and gestured toward the hallway. “I believe you’ve made a mistake. You’re probably looking for Prince Lotor’s harem. Take the elevator at the end of the hall two floors up, turn right, and head through gold-framed door at the end of that corridor.”

The disguised Haggar blinked, and shifted so that her cleavage was even more evident. “But—”

Yurak glanced up for the briefest moment and gave her a polite and humoring smile. “Think nothing of it. Happens all the time.”

She stood there for another moment, and then when the smile relaxed into a neutral, if not mildly impatient expression, she sighed inwardly and turned toward the door. As she strode through she heard him mutter, “The prince obviously doesn’t pick them for their brains.”

Once she left Yurak’s office, the witch’s pretty false features wrinkled with renewed aggravation. “All right, so this isn’t his type. I just need to find something that is—”

Her mutterings to herself were cut off by the sound of a lewd wolf-whistle some distance down the corridor. Outraged, the witch spun on her heels and saw a long-haired soldier wearing a force captain’s uniform accented with a flamboyant cape and a tri-horned fleet helmet standing there. As soon as she made eye contact with him, he shamelessly ogled her disguised form’s feminine wiles, much to her furthered annoyance. With little more than a hiss of disgust, the witch flung a blast of magic in his direction. It struck him squarely in the ass since he turned around rather quickly when she let loose with her powers. Haggar heard him yelp and scurry off, and that gave her a small measure of satisfaction that boosted her mood slightly as she made her way somewhere quiet to think of a viable Plan B.

It came to her just a few minutes later when one of the nerdy accounting slaves hustled by with a stack of papers in one hand and a handful of media disks in the other. “Yes, that’s just it,” Haggar declared. “Someone like Yurak probably goes for the meek and brainy type… the kind of girl that would not only be easily dominated, but unlikely to catch the attention of anyone more interesting than he is.”

In a flash Haggar ducked around the corner and changed her appearance according to her new plan. Gone were the silken locks of blond hair, replaced with soft auburn tresses tied up neatly in a bun. The knockout figure shifted only slightly in proportion, but the outfit covering it changed to a long and practical skirt and boots paired with a tunic that hinted at her feminine assets but did not announce their presence to all of planet Doom at a glance. A belt made of plain golden links encircled her waist, and her facial features shifted subtly enough to still be attractive, but in a more subdued sort of traditional prettiness rather than eye-catching gorgeous. To finish the look she conjured a false stack of expense reports and tucked them under her arm before heading to his office.

Rapping lightly on his closed door, she heard him call out permission to enter and stepped inside.

Less than ten minutes after being disturbed the first time, Yurak was not pleased to be bothered again, and the expression on his face darkened when he saw it was one of the fools from accounting—and a Doomite at that rather than a slave, which meant the woman held some sort of supervisory position or other office of relative importance and thusly had to be there to nag him. “You’ll get my expense sheets when I get to them,” he snapped at her coldly before she could get a word out. “I’m busy and I have things to do that rank far above you.”

Haggar frowned. Someone has a little hostility for the bean-counters, she mused, already surmising that her current disguise might also be a bust, especially if she could not get him over his foul mood long enough to look at hers. “Commander Yurak sir,” she said demurely, “I just need a few moments of your time.” She approached his desk and set her paperwork down. “One signature, that’s all. You know how it is with paperwork.”

“It’s never just one with you people, and I’ll be damned if I sign anything you bring up here without reading it,” he retorted with a gruff snarl in his tone. “The last time one of you fools tried that, you wanted me to sign an agreement to a six percent reduction in military overhead costs and a scaling down of my robot units by a fifth.”

Haggar forced a smile and batted her eyelashes with nauseating sweetness. “Oh, it’s nothing like that, sir, I promise. Just standard budgetary workup forms to ensure your requisitions are credited properly,” the disguised witch fudged, pulling accounting terms out of the air as she leaned subtly closer to him. “May I borrow your pen?” Without waiting for an answer she bent over overtly in front of him, affording him a fine view of her derriere as she reached for a titanium-plated pen off the opposite end of his desk.

Unaffected by the pretty Doomite’s fine behind and more annoyed that some presumptuous little toady from accounting was helping herself to his hard-earned and difficult-to-approve-through-those-idiots office supplies, he slammed his hand down on the pen with brute force and glowered dangerously at her. “No you may not,” his deep voice growled. “What you may do is get the hell out of my office and leave me alone. I have a strategy meeting for an Arusian strike operation to attend in two hours which means I do not have time for accounting nonsense.”

Bristling at his rude tone, the disguised Haggar put her hands on her hips prissily and faced Yurak, wondering if a defiant nerd would work him up where a compliant one was failing. “Commander Yurak sir,” she huffed in a whiny tone, “I have to answer to my supervisor and she will not be pleased if you don’t sign this for me.” She leaned over and got in his face, allowing him the chance to leer down her low cut dress. “It’s important.”

“As I imagine your continued ability to walk out of this office on your own two feet is to you, which you will soon lose when I throw you out forcibly should you not choose to exit on your own within the next ten seconds,” the commander snarled back in dangerous warning.

All right, it was official—nerds only roused his anger, not his libido. Strike disguise number two, the witch concluded with an inward sigh. “Very well,” she muttered, and shuffled out of his office defeated yet again.

The game continued over the course of the day and the frustrated witch tried several more illusions in vain attempts at appealing to Yurak’s elusive sexual tastes. Shortly after her accountant persona had left his office, the commander decided to take an early lunch, and Haggar used that opportunity to trail him to a dining establishment near Castle Doom that he frequented and approach him as a sexy waitress that was all too eager to “serve” him. He had been reasonably personable, for him, and things had begun to look up when she “accidentally” dropped a roll in his lap that she picked up with deliberate finger-teasing and an oh-so-demure apology, but all that had resulted in was a fat tip rather than a tenting of the napkin in his lap and the subsequent quickie that would have given her the manly essence she sought for her spell.

After that maneuver failed, she wondered if Yurak might be the type to go for innocent virgins. Those were a rarity on Doom as neither innocence nor virginity were long-lived among their youth, but she reasoned that might explain why he got laid so rarely and by the spirits, anything was worth a try at that point. The witch cast another illusion about her body, giving her the appearance of an attractive, bright eyed, ponytail-wearing, sheltered Doomite nobility girl of just barely legal age and conveniently positioned herself in the hallway by his office where he would be sure to pass her on the way inside.

When Yurak came by, she practically pounced on him, squealing out his name in crush-like adoration. “Oh wow! Commander Yurak, is that really you?” the disguised Haggar had gushed like some overwhelmed fangirl, figuring that approach would surely stroke his ego in the right way. “You’re even more handsome in person!” she had then added, batting her eyelashes at him shamelessly and forcing herself not to wince as she spat out the lie, as attractive was not a word she usually used when she thought him. Most of those had only four letters.

Haggar was pleased, however, when he seemed to take the bait. With a pleasant smile he humored her teenage persona’s babbling and flirtatious enthusiasm, lapping up her admiring complements the way Coba did saucers of cream. Even better, he made no move to brush away her arm when she slyly linked it through his, nor when she pressed her nubile young body against his in an “innocently” suggestive manner. She was almost ready to make a bolder move when Yurak then glanced at a timepiece and mentioned that although he had enjoyed meeting such a fine young lady like her, he really had to get back to work, and would she like to borrow his comm unit to call her parents so they wouldn’t worry about her?

Once she mumbled that it would not be necessary, he gave her a cordial parting greeting and left her alone in the hall once again.

“This is ridiculous!” the ponytail-wearing teenage Haggar seethed furiously once his office door clicked shut behind him. “I had these perky breasts pressed up against him and everything!” She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes as she tried to think of another disguise. Bombshell didn’t work, dork didn’t do it, flirt was futile, and innocent was inadequate! What kind of woman was it going to take?

She pondered for another moment, and then thunked her head back against the stone wall behind her. Of course! She had heard the rumors about him, and the tight pants he wore certainly made one wonder at times, but in general she paid little attention to Castle Doom’s grapevine as its information was at best dubious in its validity. “Not a woman at all,” the old witch mused aloud, and murmured a chant that would change her appearance one more time.

There was another flash of light, and where the blue-cheeked schoolgirl stood a moment before now stood a fine and strapping Doomish man in his youthful prime wearing a well-fitted fighter’s uniform. “This ought to do the trick,” the suddenly masculine voice said with deep confidence, and pausing only a moment to smooth his vanilla colored hair into place, he strode toward Yurak’s office.

* * *

Half an hour later Haggar paced the floor of her laboratory once more, fuming and rubbing her sore jaw. “I swear to the Ancient Ones themselves that the man doesn’t have a pulse,” the witch declared to her familiar, curled up comfortably on the open pages of Sorcery for Dummies. “He has a mean right hook, but he doesn’t have a pulse!”

“Meow?” was Coba’s sympathetic reply.

“I’m out of ideas. I just have no idea what else to try to rouse him. He’s the only man I’ve ever seen so completely hard to read!”

The cat rolled over lazily, stretching his paws to the edge of the leather bound text.

“There must be something that excites him. He can’t be totally disinterested in sex; otherwise I wouldn’t have had such success arousing him last night. There has to be something that catches his eye.”

She glanced over at her crystal. “Perhaps if I watched him when he was alone I could get some insight.”

Coba let out another quiet mew, indicating to her that he agreed it was worth a try, and the old witch made her way over to her scrying orb. Looking deeply into the smooth crystal, she conjured the divinatory magic that would allow her to locate him with a whisper of his name and a twitch of her spidery fingers. When the vision took form, she saw Yurak emerging from a briefing room in one of the high-clearance level military area of Castle Doom. She watched somewhat impatiently as he strode down the hallway studying a printout of a topographical map, presumably of planet Arus, with strategy notes scrawled in red ink on it.

He seemed rather intent on it, until a pair of soldiers passed by him in the corridor heading in the opposite direction. When they saluted him properly as he passed, he not only looked up to nod in approving acknowledgment of their gesture of respect, but he paused to watch them—or at least one of them—depart. She was a tall and strongly built Doomite woman, with a solid frame and square shoulders that conveyed an air of arrogance in her very walk. Her ice-blue hair was neatly cropped to just below the ears and impeccably combed, and her fleet uniform clung to both her well-defined athletic body and her womanly curves in what Yurak obviously found a pleasing manner.

To the old witch’s shock, the commander’s silent gaze traced her every step in admiring detail until she rounded the corner with her companion and ducked out of sight. When he turned around to resume his walk back to his office, he retained the hint of an appreciative smile on his features for several moments afterward.

“So that’s his type,” Haggar said with a satisfactory glance over at Coba. “A tank of a woman he can spar with in the arena as well as the bedroom.” She shrugged. “She looks to me like the type to chase women herself, but I suppose that would explain why he never gets any. But regardless, now I know his preference.”

The old witch lifted a hand and cast one more illusion. Instantly she was transformed from Haggar the Old Witch to Haggar the Butch Blond Royal Fleet Cadet, private’s uniform and all. Patting the weapons belt secured to her curvaceous and muscularly graceful hip in her new image, she tucked a lock of short-styled golden hair behind a pointy blue ear and smiled victoriously, a satisfied look sparkling in her yellow Doomite eyes.

“And as the saying goes, knowing is half the battle!”

With a cackle the witch left in pursuit of Commander Yurak.

* * *

Yurak returned to his office to finish off a few things, only to find three more nagging messages from accounting waiting for him. With a snarl and the closed fist of his metallic gauntlet he hit the delete button with enough force to get it to stick. Of course that happened at least once a week, so he did not concern himself with it. The robot on duty to tidy his office at night would come by and fix it later.

He had just sat down in his chair when the door to his office swung open and someone strode purposefully in. The commander looked up sharply, ready to rebuke whoever it was that had the gall to barge into his office, but he bit back the nearly automatically barked reply that formed in his throat when he got a good look at his visitor. Standing at the opposite end of his desk giving him a firm and respectful Doomite salute was the finest female fleet private he had ever laid either his natural or cybernetic eye on.

Yurak’s discerning gaze took in every detail of her appearance, from the sleek lines of her well-formed arm and thigh muscles against the slightly clinging fabric of her fleet uniform to the ample swell of her breasts in front. The stiff pose at which she stood at attention made her slightly off-center weapons belt contrast that much more with the strong curve of her hips, no doubt toned to such perfection by countless squats in a weight room full of what he considered very lucky fleet men, especially her spotters. Her expression respectfully impassive as she awaited his response, staring straight ahead in his direction as was expected of a junior officer of the royal fleet in the presence of a superior.

“At ease, private,” Yurak stated firmly, and regarded the bold private that had so assuredly come into the high fleet commander’s office without previous invitation or even a knock with a measure of curiosity. “What is it?”

The female soldier relaxed slightly and took another step forward. “I wanted to see you, Commander Yurak sir.” Her voice was strong and confident, but distinctly feminine with a husky undertone.

“Oh?” One of his large ears twitched slightly. “In regards to what?”

“Actually sir,” she lowered her voice a notch, eyes intent upon him with a subtly seductive look that flashed through her stern façade, “If I can be completely honest, I wanted to speak to you if you had the time. Off the record,” she added with a more direct look. “In regards a personal matter.”

Her ambiguous words were certainly enough to get Yurak’s attention although she already had that simply by virtue of the fact that she was standing right by his chair. “A personal matter?” he inquired, now quite curious. Her request was surprising to him, since to the best of his knowledge he had never even met that particular officer before, and he was quite sure he would have remembered her if he had. For the fine image to Zarkon’s royal fleet that she presented, naturally—a purely professional standpoint. “Very well,” he said after a moment. “I assume that if you came all the way here, your reasons must be important ones.”

“Yes indeed, sir, you are the only one qualified.” She smiled at him, a hint of flirtation sparkling in her eyes that teased through her otherwise serious demeanor, and shifted her stance slightly, drawing more visual attention to her feminine assets. “I admire you greatly, Commander,” the disguised Haggar lied like a rug, eliciting a hint of a smile from the stern and unwitting object of her pursuit. “And I aspire one day to earn the sort of glory that you have for his highness King Zarkon. I figure there would be no one better to learn from, so I wish to serve under you,” she said, and leaned closer with a definite hint in her voice, “personally.”

At that the eyebrow above his natural eye rose, although his pleasant expression did not fade. Rather than foolish, he viewed her request as a naively amusing inquiry from a new recruit. Of course, the fact that he found her hotter than the combustion chamber of a lazon unit did not hurt. “Admirals and high admirals report to me directly, private. Regulations are rather well-established about the chain of command. Now if you’re having difficulty with a superior...”

“No sir,” Haggar shook her illusory blond head assuredly and boldly took a step closer, until she stood right by the left side of his chair. As he looked over to follow her movements, she met his eyes intently. “It’s just that I could never respect him like I could you, and he could never possibly teach me the sorts of things someone like you could.” Her hand touched upon the arm of his chair. “But if you give me a chance, I’m very eager to learn, and willing to work quite hard to gain your satisfaction.”

Yurak’s ears twitched involuntarily once more both from the suggestive undertone to her words and the way her fingertips advanced along the edge of his chair, brushing against his arm. “Hard work and ambition are admirable,” he replied, trying vainly to keep his gaze neutral. That was difficult, considering he had subconsciously begun zeroing in on some of the strategic points on her figure with the targeting capabilities of his cybernetic eye.

His quiet distraction did not go unnoticed by Haggar, who knew him—and from his previous reactions to her other guises—well enough to tell that she had his attention right where she wanted it. Keeping her smug feeling hidden, she instead made the forward move of placing the hand that was already comfortably on his chair right on his shoulder. “I would go above and beyond the call of duty to please you, Commander. It would be an honor to serve the great Yurak.” She nearly choked getting that last bit out, but she managed to pull it off with a straight and quite seductive face.

When Yurak made no aggressive move to put her in her place even after touching him without permission, Haggar began to inwardly gloat about her impending victory while the commander surveyed her disguised form with heavy interest. “And how would someone like you serve me, private?” he asked, his rough voice containing a note of challenge.

“Any way you see fit, sir,” she replied, and squeezed his shoulder in overt flirtation. Before he could reply, Haggar distracted him further by reaching over with her free hand to touch the side of his face, keeping his gaze firmly fixed upon her and the breasts she leaned that much closer to it. “I follow orders to the letter without question, only,” she inched her fingers back along his jaw line toward the base of his ear and whispered, “full compliance.”

If she had Yurak’s full attention prior to then, at that point she had it one hundred and ten percent. His ears twitched ever-so-slightly at her suggestive words, and her insistent body language made it clear enough to rule out any innocent misunderstanding. Looking back at her intensely, he reached up and took hold of her forearm in a firm grip. “I never expect less,” he informed her with an unyielding gaze. “And I do not take well to being disappointed.”

With a charming attitude like that I can see why his social calendar is so full, Haggar thought sarcastically as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Outwardly, however, she met the commander’s look with a self-assured one of her own and moved in for the kill, ready to get what she needed from him once and for all. In one fluid move she straddled him as she sat in the chair, pressing the curves of her disguised body against him shamelessly. “I’ll see to it that you’re not, sir. It will be my personal mission to please you.” Her words were breathless and sultry as she positioned her lips mere inches from his in invitation.

Yurak knew full well that he was being used, at least in that a low ranking officer was brazenly offering sexual favors to him in exchange for preferential treatment, although he had no idea as to what extent he was truly being played. He had no objection to the concept on any moral grounds; rather the issue that gave him pause was the notion of it being thought that he could be bribed so easily and with something as trivial as sexual pleasure. On the other hand, the cadet was hot. Damned hot—and she was in his lap to boot.

His gauntleted hand casually resting upon the back side of her hip—taking note that yes, those glutes were indeed as firm as they looked—he stared into her golden eyes firmly. “You are aware that what you’re suggesting violates every fleet regulation on the books about officer fraternization, and that my policy is to take adherence to regulation very seriously.”

“I’m also aware that you’re the fleet commander, sir, and that you have the authority to revise or command exemptions to regulation as you see fit,” she murmured seductively, and brushed her lips against his. She drew her fingers along the edge of his large blue ear, stroking it softly. “And that your pants must be excruciatingly tight right about now,” she finished, and wriggled in his lap again, that time against an obvious bulge.

“Discretion is another thing I take seriously,” Yurak murmured to the pretty Doomite private on his lap, his hands already beginning to explore the contours of her body with interest.

“Discretion is my middle name,” the disguised Haggar replied coyly, and rubbed the soft spot where his ear connected to his head.

A shiver ran through Yurak’s body, and his foot twitched at what to him was both a pleasant and erotic touch. He exhaled contentedly for a moment and then looked up at her curiously. “What is your nam—?”

His question was succinctly cut off by a lusty kiss. Although Haggar found the idea of being so close to a canine-faced jerk like Yurak revolting on a number of levels, a witch had to do what a witch had to do, and surprisingly he was not a bad kisser. Had she not reminded herself of who he was after a moment, she might have even said later that she enjoyed it.

Yurak, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware that he was sucking face with Haggar, and with such enthusiasm at that. His thoughts were consumed with lust, ignited by the sexy and ambitious golden-haired private on his lap. He was mildly ashamed of himself for surrendering so easily to her wiles, but he supposed that he could find a way to justify a position for someone of her level to file his paperwork easily enough. Maybe she could run interference with accounting for him. That was certainly a true test of one’s mettle in a hostile situation, he thought idly as her tongue tangled with his.

Those thoughts ended abruptly, however, when one of her hands dropped from his shoulder to his lap and began stroking him through his pants. Roughly he ended the kiss and threw his head back, panting noticeably, as she headed for his belt. He tightened his grasp on her hip with his right hand while his left clamped down on the one seeking to disrobe him with the other with what he considered an admirable amount of self-control. “Not here,” he growled forcefully, and cast a cautious look at the door to make sure that no one was spying in.

Irritated to be thwarted after making such progress, the disguised Haggar eyed him with a measure of annoyance she did not bother to hide. Yurak however took her expression to mean that she was disappointed because she desired him so strongly, and that swelled the head on his shoulders as surely as her presence in his lap swelled the other. He smiled at her with just a trace of smugness and flexed his fingers against the small of her back. “A key aspect of discretion is carrying out covert operations in places where secrecy is assured.”

Yurak’s sudden development of a modesty streak annoyed Haggar, for she did not want to prolong the unfortunate situation any longer than necessary, and he seemed bound and determined to inconvenience her in any way he could. But she refrained from putting a curse on him for being such a pain in the ass, tempting as it was, and instead enticed him to hurry up and suggest they go somewhere they could get on with things. Nuzzling against his neck, she said, “And where do you recommend we relocate to further my training, Commander?”

“My quarters,” Yurak barked gruffly, and smoothed his hand along her well-defined derriere. “My private quarters.”

The disguised witch disentangled herself from him immediately and got to her feet. “By your lead, sir.”

Yurak rose to a standing position, cleared his throat, and tried to adjust his pants to a more comfortable, or at least less visually obvious as to what was on his mind, position. It did not work all that well, and after an unsuccessful twist of his weapons belt to better camouflage things, he faced her sternly. “I presume you know where my quarters are?”

Cadet Haggar nodded an assured affirmative.

“Good,” Yurak said with authority. “Meet me there in ten minutes, and take an indirect route through the castle corridors. Make sure you aren’t followed.” He strode toward his door and paused, glancing back over his shoulder at her with a sly look. “Stealth impresses me,” he finished before exiting, leaving her alone to carry out his orders.

As soon as he was gone, Haggar rolled her eyes in his general direction. “Sure thing, Commander Romantic,” she muttered sarcastically. “Zarkon owes me big for this robeast,” she grumbled further, and closed the office door behind her.

* * *

Exactly ten minutes later, the disguised Haggar knocked on the door to the spacious suite in Castle Doom that was Commander Yurak’s private quarters. Promptly the heavy metal door opened, and Yurak greeted her. He did not say a word, only met her gaze briefly, before he looked right past her and scanned the hallway with his cybernetic eye to ensure that they were alone. Once that was confirmed, his stoic features relaxed slightly to an approving look, and he beckoned for her to join him inside.

The door closed behind her, and it was then that Haggar noticed that Yurak was still dressed in his usual attire rather than the typical something “more comfortable” a man expecting sex should have slipped into. A bathrobe or a pair of shorts would have certainly made her job easier, and with how things had gone so far she was fed up enough that she did not want any more delays. She wanted the deed done as soon as possible, but it seemed that fate chose not to give her that break so she made the best of it. Wasting no more time, she approached him and drew her body close to his. “I love how a high-ranking man looks in uniform,” she lied seductively.

The complement caused the pleased look on the commander’s face to melt into a full-blown smug grin, and he let out a deep chuckle as he circled his arms around the lovely cadet cozying up to him. “Yours has its,” he leered at her ample chest, “visual attributes as well.”

“I’ve been told that my attributes are even more impressive out of it, sir.” She dropped one hand to the top button of her uniform and popped it open to afford him a better view.

The commander’s natural eye widened with interest at that bold move, and at the enticing sight of her newly exposed cleavage. “Then remove it and show me.”

“As you command,” she replied with a naughty giggle that was more borne in the knowledge that she was about to make Yurak eat his rude words to her from the day before than the actual flirtation it suggested. Immediately she began to shuck the military uniform under his watching gaze, and when he enlisted his strong hands in assisting her efforts she mirrored it with a coy smirk of her own.

Once the uniform was discarded, the Yurak inspected his ambitious private’s naked form in an appreciative evaluation. “Very nice form,” he informed her, smoothing both hands over her soft azure skin in a wanton caress. With a murmur of pleasure she flexed her fingers against his chest armor in an impatient wordless hint, and once again his pants felt entirely too tight. He decided it was time to do something about that, and he brought his metallic hand to a rest right on one of her smooth blue buns, gave it a squeeze, and took hold of her wrist with his other hand. “Follow me.”

“Yes sir,” Haggar had her pretty cadet guise reply obediently. When Yurak turned to head to his bedroom she paused only long enough to covertly reclaim a small vial stashed in the pocket of her jacket before allowing him to lead her off.

A few moments later they were in the privacy of his bed chamber, and whatever he had held back in his office and even in his own living room he certainly did not bother with in there. He pulled her into an aggressive and dominating kiss, and then sought to dispense of his own clothing as fervently as if it was an obstacle keeping him from conquering a planet. The disguised Haggar was only too happy to help him in his mission, not out of any burning desire to see him naked, but rather to finally get what she needed from him.

As soon as the last garment hit the floor, Yurak drew her into another lusty embrace and took her with him onto his bed. Upon hitting the sheets the duo tangled in a writhing heap of shameless desire—him in unfettered lust and her in impatient eagerness to get that which she had come for. Their hands freely explored and roamed one another’s bodies, his savoring her gently muscled curves and hers stroking him in ways meant to elicit the most response.

She found that in an odd combination of teasing his command center deftly with one hand and rubbing the base of his neck with the other, while her lips nibbled on the tip one large blue ear. “Oh yes,” the excited Yurak murmured, his breath hot against her bare skin, “You are adept at pleasing a commanding officer.”

“Let me show you my skill with a weapon,” she giggled in her disguised voice as she felt his fingers slide along the inner edge of her thigh, venturing north. Hmph, you’d ‘sooner bed a four-tentacled robeast,’ my staff!

“Deploy and move out,” Yurak replied, and sealed his orders with a hungry kiss.

To her surprise Haggar found herself lingering in the pleasantness of his kiss and touch, but thankfully she snapped out of the distraction after a moment and reminded herself what she was there for and, more importantly, whom it was she was with. That was enough to squelch the stirrings of desire for the time being, and allowed her the clarity to debate the best way to go about collecting what she needed from him. She settled on a direct method that would not only ensure that she got it, but that would also distract him enough so that he would not notice the little vial which she had temporarily stashed in the folds of the blankets. Her strategy involved an act she found rather revolting on a personal level given how she felt about Yurak—although in her opinion she had sunk to a painful low already in what she had done so far—but no one ever said practicing black magic was a glamorous job.

She placed one parting kiss upon on his lips, and then more on her way down along his jaw and over his neck. “Ah, I like a soldier that takes initiative,” he murmured approvingly, encouraging her along in her efforts with a gentle nudge. Haggar followed the subtle command given by his movements, and gave Yurak the thrill of having his lovely blond fleet initiate trace a line of sensual smooches and rubs all the way down his chest and belly until she reached ground zero. As soon as her lips made contact with his saluting soldier, his fingers tangled messily in her silken blond hair and he groaned aloud with pleasure. “Gods, you must blow all your competition off the field in weapons training,” he gasped.

Haggar had to struggle not to chortle out loud at his unintentional pun and at the knowledge that Yurak was into his rank enough to use military terms in the bedroom, and remain focused on the task at hand. Things were finally going according to the crafty witch’s plan, and given the way that the commander moved and panted in response to her ministrations, she knew she did not have much longer to wait. He was as restless as a robeast and about as restrained in his lust at that point.

Her assumption was correct. The combined erotic visual of a gorgeous fleet cadet giving him head in the full detail afforded by both his natural and enhanced cybernetic vision combined with the incredible sensations from the act itself soon proved too much for Yurak, and he soon surrendered to his lust. Gathering a thick lock of her hair up roughly in his fingers, he tightened his grasp and bucked his hips with increasing urgency against her mouth as the welcome release of sinful pleasure consumed his senses.

Once it was clear that the moment had come in more ways than one, Haggar wrested her head to the side so that he slipped out of her mouth as orgasm overtook him, slyly positioning her head so that it blocked his view of what exactly was happening. She then carefully extricated the hidden vial from the sheets and collected the ill-gotten seed of the commander as if it were liquid gold itself, and to distract him from the sensation of the cool glass against his pulsing skin she traced her tongue along the side of his discharging weapon until they were both finished.

Just as the old witch had hoped, Yurak was none the wiser to her activities. The satisfied commander lay back against his pillows, his hand still entangled in her mussed locks of hair, stroking her with a touch that could best be described as affectionately approving. “Impressive performance,” he stated breathlessly, glancing down at her with a contented smile upon his harsh features.

Once she finished discreetly capping the vial and concealed it in her hand, she propped herself up and smirked at Yurak, pondering the best way to break the wicked truth to him of how thoroughly he had been had, and by whom.

That time it was Haggar’s turn to be surprised, however, for when she sat up to make her parting shot, Yurak’s arm reached out and closed around her wrist in a flash. “And where do you think you’re going so soon, Private?” His tone was playful but with definite authority to it, made clear by the way he pulled her back onto the sheets with him. As she tumbled onto the mattress beside him, he slid a blue-furred arm around her and pulled her close against him. “I haven’t dismissed you yet.”

Caught completely off guard by the fact that someone as self-absorbed as Yurak did not simply roll over and go to sleep after getting his satisfaction, Haggar’s mind raced for a response to the unexpected complication that he might want a thorough romp in the sheets with her. She opened her mouth to voice her snarky remark, but before she could speak she was silenced with another kiss, one that she found difficult to not yield to especially once coupled with a sensual caress to her back. This is not according to plan.

If Yurak noticed her hesitation at all, however, it did not show, and in a way that made her fortunate for it also meant that he never noticed the vial still in her hand. Instead, as soon as the kiss ended, he rolled over and pinned her beneath him, descending upon her with renewed lust—much to her increasing frustration. She wriggled underneath him, but he only found that arousing, and responded by covering her soft blue neck in desiring kisses.

She had to say something, Haggar realized with alarm, otherwise she might… “Augh,” she groaned out loud, although in her alter ego’s voice it sounded more like frustration borne in excitement than irritation—and it was, damn it! “Commander,” she protested, far more lamely than it should have come out for someone who objected as strenuously as she did to her situation now that she had what she needed, “But you—”

“Private,” Yurak cut her off, holding her firmly in place beneath him, “While you did a fine job in securing the front lines, the battle is far from over,” he said with an amused chuckle. “No conquest is complete without a full invasion of the territory, and a thorough job is imperative. Besides, a good leader always sees to it that his troops are properly taken care of.” He smirked at her. “A little time to regroup is all I require, and with such,” he smoothed a hand over her breast, taking a moment to rub the cadet illusion’s pert azure nipple, “fine assistance from a second in command like you, I don’t anticipate much delay.”

At that point Haggar still fully intended to speak up, but the words died in her throat when Yurak bent over and took over with his mouth for his fingers, inspiring pleasure in her disguised body that the old witch had not experienced in some time. He would have to find one more way to thwart me, she groused inwardly, although it was more rationalization that kept her from protesting his intentions than it was actual objection any longer.

Still debating the pros and cons of her situation, she absently placed a hand on the back of his head and ran her fingers through his fur-like azure hair. On one hand, it would be satisfying to see his reaction to being informed that he was doing the very thing he swore vehemently to her just yesterday that he would never do, but on the other hand… it had been a long time since she had been laid, and with all the nonsense she had to put up with to get that spell component from him, why should he be the only one get off, so to speak, with the satisfaction of an orgasm?

While she considered her position, her fingertips found his left ear and began to rub it, eliciting a little growl of arousal from him. “Keep doing that, and I’ll invade you until you cry surrender,” he whispered roughly as he moved from one breast to the other.

All right, I’ll drop the disguise and tell him after I get the satisfaction of my own pleasure, the disguised witch decided after hearing that, and with a resigned surrender of a different kind she slipped the vial inconspicuously under a pillow and favored her unlikely partner with the same rub on his other ear. And then I can pretend that none of this ever happened.

Blissfully unaware of his part in the witch’s scheme or even that his eager young partner was said witch, Yurak simply tingled all over at the touch to his sensitive lobes and sought to sate the lust that his cute cadet inspired in him. He inched his way southward, first tracing his fingertips over the contours of her exposed sex and taking personal satisfaction from the warm and moist evidence of her arousal, before exploring her more intimately.

To that foreplay Haggar writhed in unspeakable—mostly because she did not want to even think of, much less speak of, who was responsible for it—delight as his fingers penetrated and rubbed against her nubile disguised form’s willing body, enjoying sensations the likes of which she had not felt in decades. As she writhed in response to his touch, she heard Yurak’s arrogant self-satisfied chuckle once again and she cursed herself for giving him enough satisfaction to swell his ego, which most certainly did not need encouragement.

Yet despite that she found herself closing her eyes in breathless anticipation as she felt his lips make contact with the smooth skin of her belly in a sensual kiss. Aware only on a vague level that she was deliberately encouraging Yurak to continue doing such things to her, Haggar subtly increased the intensity of the ear massage she gave him and, as he had to her a short while ago, nudged his head a little harder in the opposite direction. He needed little encouragement, however. At the first insistent push, he chuckled again, that time even more smugly, and withdrew his fingers in favor of allowing his mouth to take over.

My, Haggar thought with a sudden start as shivers of pleasure ran up her spine. Who knew that there was a use for that mouth other than empty bragging?

But then as suddenly as he had moved in, Yurak abruptly pulled back and sat up, leaving her hands empty and her face flushed with a shamefully desiring expression upon its disguised features. He clearly enjoyed her agitation, and crawled forward until he was positioned over her once more and grinned down at her. “Now I believe I’m ready for a full-scale invasion.”

A quick glance downward confirmed to the witch that Yurak was not merely ready, but fully armed and all systems go. I don’t believe I’m going to have sex with that dog-eared jackass! Haggar fumed, almost as angry at herself as she was at him for putting her in that predicament. This has to be the lowest thing I’ve sunk to since that time I had to get a robeast stool sample for a warding talisman. But for all her mental protestations, she did not voice any objection, and even drew him willingly into her arms as he aligned himself with her hips and entered her.

“Oh, you’ve penetrated my defenses, Commander,” Haggar gasped out, unable to resist throwing one of his horrible military puns back at him.

It had the effect of turning him on, and he thrust hard into her. “Your shields were weak in the southern quadrant,” he countered. “My probes were given ample opportunity to send back signals.”

She circled her arms around his back and brought her legs up against his torso to encourage him in deeper, and then threw her false blond head back against the pillow in genuine excitement. “I suppose I’ve no choice but to surrender…”

His infuriating chuckle was heard once more. “And submit,” he added, and to drive the point home, he leaned in and consumed her mouth in yet another hungry kiss. Haggar had no answer to that but to close her eyes and do as Yurak ordered, and her compliance fueled his passion to new highs. The two thrashed upon the covers of his bed with lustful abandon, him unaware of the true identity of his partner and her deliberately not thinking about hers. The commander took her forcefully, driving himself into her in the dominant position, while she bucked beneath him, clawing at his back and clenching at him in ways that enhanced her own pleasure.

Eventually that sought-after sensation began to stir within the disguised witch’s body, and she moved with that much more urgency in pursuit of it. It pleased Yurak to see how she could take, and craved, all that he had to give and more, and he was only too happy to do so. “Do you surrender?” he taunted in a deep, amused tone accented with even more intense thrusts.

“Oh yes,” Haggar groaned, and while it was in pleasure as finally the mercy of orgasmic bliss flooded her senses, it was not without a trace of shame. “I surrender!”

Her admission inspired not only a chuckle that time, but a full laugh of victorious delight from her partner. He slowed long enough to enjoy the twinges of her climax, and then resumed his thrusts intent on achieving his own goal. It did not take him particularly long, for he was considerably wound up as it was and the ego-swelling way she had responded to his lovemaking had done plenty to excite him along with the lustiness of their act. Soon his body tensed in anticipation of the reward for his efforts, followed by the heady rush of the peak itself as it came over him.

“Now that’s what I call a mission,” Yurak said breathlessly, still inside her and his body atop hers. He lowered his forehead against hers and smiled at her contentedly for a moment before over onto the bed beside her, still somewhat short of breath from his efforts.

Then it was Haggar’s turn to smile. The witch leaned over the prone commander and touched her pretty cadet disguise’s lips to Yurak’s in an appreciative kiss. “Indeed, Commander,” she said with a slight giggle to her voice, one of pure malicious anticipation. The moment had finally come to have her revenge for all that he had put her through to complete a simple spell. “And you were quite magnificent in action.” The only drawback to that bit of ego fluff she spouted to inflate his ego before shattering it was that it was not exactly a lie—but he did not have to know that.

Slipping an arm around her, Yurak favored her pretty azure face with an appreciative smile and kissed her inviting lips one more time. “You were impressive yourself, Private…” he trailed off, and then frowned quizzically at her as he realized she had still not told him exactly who she was. “I never did get your name.”

Haggar’s giggle intensified, and then erupted into a full and hearty laugh that was no longer in her alter ego’s voice but her own. She saw the look of curiosity on Yurak’s features give way to wide-eyed shock, and then horror as the façade of her cute cadet faded as swiftly as her voice, leaving her true identity in its full glory in its ugly truth staring back at Yurak right in the face. “Kiss me, dog-face,” the old witch cackled in victory as she fished her vial out of the pillowcase in which she had stashed it, and tapped her backside in a cruel taunt. “And while you’re at it, kiss this too, just like you said you would yesterday!”

The tormented scream that came from Commander Yurak a moment later was heard throughout every chamber, office, corridor, and dungeon in all of Castle Doom.

* * *

Two days later in the grand throne room of King Zarkon, Haggar and the high king of Doom himself sat in awkward silence as the video feed from the battle on Arus streamed in on the viewscreen, transmitted back live from the battleship under orders from Commander Yurak.

The mighty robeast, a promising creation of the witch’s created painstakingly in her lab and anointed with her specially brewed virility talisman, had been deployed on schedule to take on Voltron and ideally whoop his robotic ass. When it arose from the blood red bone-covered space coffin, it stood at an impressive height that gave its enemy pause, roaring like a ferocious beast from the pits of Hell itself. Given four arms, two legs, and two tentacles, the unholy creation was covered with armored scales and patches of needle-like, electrically charged spike-fur. A set of twisted horns that tapered to deadly points adorned its head above its pointy ears—shaped to be vaguely canine as a subtly snide dig at Yurak by the old witch that had created the monstrosity—while razor-sharp claws tipped each of its fingers and toes.

With a bellow of bloodlust that temporarily drowned out the noise of battle on the Arusian landscape, the robeast caught the enemy robot in its sights and charged toward it with a ferocity that had not been seen by one of Haggar’s creations in some time. Howling demonically it lunged at Voltron, seemingly immune to the barrage of laser fire unleashed on it, and it swatted away the projectile blades and other assorted attacks hurled at it with ease. The pilots inside the mighty Defender of the Universe grew anxious, and braced themselves to grapple with the horrific creature hand-to-hand.

The tide of battle seemed to be fully in Doom’s favor as one of the robeast’s claws caught in Voltron’s torso, and then another on the inside edge of the limb formed by the blue lion. The two tentacles wrapped around the ensnared appendage with lightning speed, followed by the remainder of the claws and feet, until the monster was attached to Voltron’s leg in a deathlike grip.

And then, right in the heat of battle, it began to hump it.

“What the fuck is going on out there?” the stunned Zarkon and speechless Haggar heard the gruff voice of Yurak demand furiously of his robotic minions in the battleship with him.

“It appears to be doing so with Voltron’s leg, sir,” a robot quipped in response.

Turning slowly toward the witch who had designed the errant robeast, King Zarkon silently eyed the hooded figure beside him with a baffled look that expected an explanation. Haggar sighed wearily as she stroked the soft fur of her feline familiar’s back and felt Zarkon’s eyes upon her, and she turned to meet his intense gaze as snippets of the battle continued to play in front of them.

“Ahhhh!” Princess Allura screamed from the inside of the blue lion, broadcasted in aural range of the robeast’s transmitter. “Get it off!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” Pidge’s voice whined back on another channel, as both the red and green lions comprising Voltron’s hands swatted and grabbed fruitlessly at the ruthless violation.

“Oh my god!” the princess shrieked again, that time in utter disgust mixed with fear.

“Shit!” Hunk’s voice broke in, “There’s another tentacle—”

“Breach confirmed,” Keith snapped in an urgent tone. “Get it off right now!”

There was the sound of additional laser fire, static, and extremely girly screams rising in agitation.

“I said get it off!”

“I think that’s the problem, Keith,” Lance’s voice said suddenly.

Allura’s squeal reached an earsplitting high. “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”

“It already did.”

Back on Doom, bearing witness to the embarrassing exchange inspired by their deadly and ferocious robeast, Zarkon only continued to stare at its creator. When no words were forthcoming from her, he quirked his head to the side and tapped his scepter against the palm of his other hand impatiently. “Haggar,” he said quietly, “Just what the hell did you do to that robeast?”

“I prepped it with a talisman,” she croaked weakly.

“And what in the name of the gods was in that?” the high king of Doom snapped.

Haggar winced, wondering how her magic could have gone so wrong, so horribly wrong, after all she had been through! “You—you don’t want to know, sire,” she said after a long moment of silence, and hung her hooded head in shame. “And if it’s all the same, I’d rather not talk about it.”

The End

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