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Pyre Moss Station is Now Hiring

By Danath

Characters © Sanmer

(This flash fic was written in one go on a live stream. Story streams are free and open to anyone, but people who support me on Patreon get first chance to snag a story. more info at www.patreon.com/danath.)

* * *

"You're lucky we didn't end up inside a star!" I shouted. My crewmate, Boris, cringed. He knew the dangers of using the FTL drive better than I did, even.

"Okay, I understand," he said. "But we didn't, so let's figure out where we are and how to get back to where we need to be, okay?"

I couldn't argue with that logic, though I was still waiting to hear a proper apology from him. Boris was, like me, an otter, currently employed by Sanmer Interstellar Shipping, carrying various sealed containers from one space port to another. Boring work, but steady pay, with good benefits.

"Could have sworn I double checked those readings," I heard Boris mutter. I decided not to pursue the matter any farther - everyone made mistakes, though it sounded like Boris hadn't skipped any FTL protocols.

"We'll do a diagnostic on the drive after," I said, hoping I sounded as though I'd forgiven him. It wouldn't be good to be cross with him for long. With only two people on board, the days passed slowly enough already. Fighting with another person in close quarters would make the journey unbearable.

We set to work on the computer feeding in coordinates and star charts until we got back a result.

"The Pyre Moss sector?" Boris asked. "That's not far off course at all!"

It wasn't. The Pyre Moss, so named for the unusual nebula nearby, had served for many years as a popular way station along the shipping routes. With the newer FTL drives, calculations were more precise, requiring fewer stops. As such, it had long been abandoned. I rushed to the view screen and pulled the image of the dark station up on screen. There wasn't much to look at, though I did notice a few blinking lights on the station, proving there was at least some residual power left. The station was shaped almost like a top - wide at the top, narrowing at the base, where the gravity generators worked, extending the field in the precise shape of the building. Blocky outcroppings and antennas sprouted from every part of it - anywhere the engineers at the time it was built could get the structural integrity to take on a few more inches of space. Aerodynamics and aesthetics weren't important in space; the station was an homage to functionality.

Boris suddenly shouted at me. "Ricky! The ship's going on autopilot!"

That was my job. I did the maneuvering and non-interstellar piloting. Boris handled the math. I leapt to the controls and tapped commands into the touch screens, pulled on the right levers, but the ship refused to obey. The computer's artificial intelligence spoke.

"Engaging ship with Pyre Moss station," it intoned. "ETA is fifteen minutes."

"You stupid AI," I said, punching more buttons, trying to break the failsafes that had somehow engaged. I muttered a few more choice words, but neither cursing nor typing got me any results. Boris seemed impressed by my vocabulary.

"Should we disable the comp?" Boris asked.

I shook my head. "It'd take the two of us a week to get it back online. We'll just have to dock and then break away after the autopilot finishes." I tugged at the collar of my jumpsuit, feeling suddenly cramped and crowded in the cockpit.

"Well... if you say so," Boris said. "I have a bad feeling about this."

I didn't want to, but I agreed, and shivered as I watched the station approach.

Docking went smoothly. The Pyre Moss station had a large docking bay intended for ships much larger than ours. We settled down on the hard metal floor and waited until the bay doors closed and pressurized. More modern stations used force fields, but the Pyre Moss had been abandoned before the technology was affordable. Once the air outside was built up enough, the computer beeped at us and spoke.

"We have arrived at Pyre Moss station. Please disembark."

"Disembark?" I said. "Frag that, we're leaving."

I input commands into the console, linking up with the station computer, which was still functioning - it had to be, for the ship AI to be able to land accurately on its own. The station refused my commands, while the ship simply repeated the order: "Please disembark." Was it growing impatient? I wondered often whether AIs could feel emotions. Sometimes, in the deep of space, when it was just you and the monitors...

I shook my head. No time for that now. "Engage manual overrides!"

"Unable to comply. Please disembark."

Boris looked around helplessly. I sucked on my front teeth, trying to think.

"We've got two options," I said at last. "Leave the ship, see what's waiting on the station for us, or wait here."

"What if we wait here?" Boris said. "Surely the station will let us depart eventually?"

"I'm not sure, but we won't be able to wait long. We only have supplies for a two-week trip," I said. "If we can't get the overrides in place, we aren't going anywhere. If we get on the station, we may be able to directly interface with the AI and set new commands."

Boris nodded. "Better than being stuck here until we starve, I guess."

With our decision made for us, we decided to take every precaution. The ship was equipped with two laser rifles. The locker could only be opened by both of us going through various identification procedures. As the last laser scanned my eyeball, it popped open. We each took one, got into our suits, and headed for the door. I hated the suits - they didn't have any room for tails. Sure, felines could curl theirs up and even canines could keep them up against their backside, but otters had to stuff them awkwardly down one leg. We both limped to the hatch and I slapped the button on the side.

"Please disembark."

"We're trying, you idiot machine!" I growled.

The hatch slid open. Boris and I held our rifles up, but there was no movement on the long-abandoned station. We stepped cautiously down the ramp which extended to the floor, then across the bay to the far side. The lights in the control room overlooking the bay were lit. The hatch opened for us and we turned to the left, following the painted-on signs on the wall. The bulkheads were large and, though they had a flat floor, curved upwards at the top, which allowed more room for pipes, cables, and control panels inside the walls.

We got to the lift which would carry us to the bay's control room, from where we'd be able to manually disengage the outer doors. The room would depressurize, but we could make it back to the ship in our suits, which came equipped with magnetic boots. Unfortunately, the lift didn't work. The call button was dark and refused to light up no matter how many times I pushed it. The door refused to open as well. I knew we wouldn't be able to access the shaft, but I tried anyways. They were secured against depressurization and hostile boarders.

"Computer!" I called out.

The station's computer took only a moment to respond. There was a series of three small beep, signalling the computer was listening for commands.

"Please call the lift to the control room for bay..." I glanced at the wall. "Bay 5, please."

"Unable to comply. Please report to the main office for processing."

Boris shook his head. His breath fogged up the visor on the helmet momentarily before it was whisked away by the suit's environmental controls.

"Computer, why can't you bring the lift?"

"My orders are classified."

Did it sound a bit... no. AIs couldn't feel smug.

"Fraggin'..." I began, but thought better of it. "Computer, what are your standing orders?"

"My orders are classified."

"Who gave you the orders?"

"That information is classified."

Boris growled and threw up his hands. "Is there anything that isn't classified?" he asked.

"Yes. Please report to the main office for processing."

"We're not scheduled to stop here," I said, trying to reason with the obviously glitched program. "This station is abandoned. There's nobody to process our cargo."

"Incorrect," the computer replied, which for some reason sent a chill down my spine. "Please report to the main office for processing."

"Did you mean the part about us not being scheduled to stop here or the part about the station being abandoned was incorrect?" Boris asked.

"That information is classified."

We stared at each other in silence, neither wanting to say what we were thinking out loud. We both turned to stare down the slightly curved corridor, towards the far end. We trudged down the hallway, past the entrance to the cargo bay. After we passed it, the door slammed shut.

"Hey!" Boris shouted. He ran back to the door awkwardly in the suit, limping along on his right leg where his knee fought for space with his tail. He peered through the porthole and summoned me with his hands. "Ricky! Look!"

I crowded my helmet in next to his. The interior lights of the bay sprang to life. Robots emerged from their holding cells along the sides of the bay, scurrying across the floor to the ship, which dropped its massive back hatch open. Within minutes, robots were pulling crates and containers from the cargo bay; more robots emerged to wheel them off into other parts of the station.

"But... that's not possible!" I said. "The AI can't ignore the shipping manifest."

Boris turned towards me and grabbed my helmet. His face had a panicky look on it, and one I hoped I didn't share. "Don't you get it!" he said. His voice rang in my earpiece. "I didn't frag the calculations! We were sent here!"

"You mean..."

"We've been duped! But why would they not tell us we were delivering to Pyre Moss? I don't understand..."

Boris's voice trailed off and I patted his shoulder as we watched the robots work.

"Let's go to the office. We can send a message from there and hopefully figure this all out. Maybe our shipping orders just got messed up with someone else's."

"Maybe," but Boris sounded doubtful.

We trudged on down the hallway. Hatches opened for us automatically, but only the ones that led to the main office. The rest remained stubbornly closed, with the AI encouraging us to "report for processing" every few minutes.

Boris's labored breathing came through over my earpiece and I slowed.

"Computer, is the air on the station okay to breathe?" I asked.

"Pyre Moss Station uses recycled air approximating the combination of gases necessary for organic life," the station said. "Maintenance cycles resumed three weeks ago."

"So is it safe?"

"Yes." The computer sounded miffed.

"Let's get out of the suits and carry them with us. No sense wasting tank air," I said.

Boris agreed, and we made better progress through the station to the core on the upper level. The lift floated upwards in the antigravity stream generated from below, and we soon stepped onto what would be the main bridge of a ship, but here was simply a control room. It was clean and the lights were on, but there wasn't anyone waiting to greet us.

"Computer?" I asked.

"Thank you for reporting to the main office for processing," the AI said. "Please wait while processing commences."

"It's talking about processing the cargo, right?" Boris asked.

I rushed to a control panel. There were cargo lists and equipment scrolling down one side as the AI logged each crate coming out of the ship in the bay on the other side of the station, but there were also two pictures: one of me, one of Boris, along with our names, biographical details, job titles, and medical histories. It was all standard stuff, except for the job titles section.

"Boris, look at this," I said. "Here it says your job is 'Entertainment.'"

"And you," he said, pointing at my information, "are a 'Manager.'"

"Processing has commenced."

I whirled around at the sound of the AI's voice. The lights in the control room went out. If you've never been on a station or ship when the lights blow, let me tell you: it's dark. Darker than black. Even in space there are stars. In the middle of a giant space station, there's just more darkness.

Boris yelped, but I remembered our suits and reached in to turn the headlamp on. The beam of light swung crazily for a moment until I simply dropped the helmet over my own head, allowing me to control the light more easily. Boris noticed and did the same.

Something metallic grated along the floor from the other side of the room. I turned to find out what it was, but the walkway was empty. There was another skitter from nearby and I whirled again, but missed whatever it was. Boris screamed with fear and I turned to him.

A large metallic robot had clamped around his chest. Spindly metal legs held his torso securely as the oval center pressed to his sternum. Boris's eyes pleaded with me as his fingers tugged at the machine. I moved to help, but stumbled backwards when a second robot flung itself at me from the darkness.

"Boris!" I gasped.

"Phase one commencing."

The machine's spider-like legs dug into my brown pelt, cutting easily through my jumpsuit. The center of the machine was warm against my chest. There was a moment of pain, as what felt like an extraordinarily long hypospray injected me with something. I gasped again and dropped to my knees, desperately tugging at the robot with both paws.

Unfortunately, I couldn't get it loose. I looked up at Boris, but discovered he was laid out on the floor, knocked cold. I cried out as a wave of blackness swept over me as well, and I joined him on the floor.

* * *

I awoke dry-mouthed, but otherwise without pain. The robot clamped to my chest was gone, as were my clothes. I was in some sort of brightly lit room with white walls - probably the infirmary. I was in bed, under a white sheet, and alone in the room, despite the other five beds nearby.

"Com... computer!" I coughed and tried again. "Computer!"

Three beeps.

"What did... you do... to me and Boris?" I asked.

"That information is classified."

I sat up slowly, expecting some achiness, but I felt fine. Better than fine. I felt marvelous. I drew up my legs, intending to toss off the sheet and jump from the bed, but something made me stop. I still pulled back the sheet and gasped.

My body had been altered.

I'd always been slim and wiry, but now... my hips were wide. Voluptuous, even, and my thighs were much thicker. It was them I'd felt as I'd drawn up my legs, but also what I felt pressing against them. I'd never been the biggest guy in the locker room. Average, at best. But now... I licked my lips and stared. This was impossible. My sheath was as big around as my bicep and a good ten inches long. It hung from my lower belly, fat and full, attached by a thin strip of brown-furred skin. The tan sheath itself bulged fairly obscenely, and I could see the pink tip of my cock through the ring at the top. Below, a pair of heavy balls draped over my thighs, each the size of my head, at least.

"Computer!" I gasped. "What... what did you do to me?"

"That information is classified."

I poked my finger at my crotch, hardly believing what I saw. My claws were trimmed while I was sleeping, I noticed, and painted white. I reached up to feel my face and found more jewelry: several ear piercings and a ring in my nose. My nipples, too, were pierced, with thick platinum hoops about an inch in diameter. My belly was tight and smooth, my chest slightly puffy, my nipples enlarged a bit, and my rump... well, my rump was big, now, like two oversized hams. I must look incredibly girly, I thought, despite the... size... of my sheath.

I swung my legs over, gasping as my sheath jiggled and my balls dragged along behind. Carefully I took to my feet, grunting as my sheath hung low. It was a constant, meaty weight, but one I don't think I'd have altogether minded in less unusual circumstances.

"Phase one complete. Commencing phase two."

I stopped ogling my new figure and dashed for the door, holding my package with both paws to stop it from bouncing around too much. Even the lightest pressure of my paws sinking into the firm, yet yielding, sheath made me gasp with pleasure. The door, of course, refused to open.

A sudden electric shock climbed up my spine. I straightened and reached back, discovering several small electrodes embedded into my skin. There was one on the back of my neck and, as my fingers brushed over it, the contraption sunk into my skin. I felt no pain, and within a minute could not even feel the outline of the device under my fur. The electric buzz faded. That wasn't so bad, but what were they for? I lifted my head, about to ask the computer, but-

"Commencing personality adjustment."

My arms went to my sides. My legs went rigid. I couldn't see and, for the briefest of moments, I panicked as I felt myself falling backwards. I landed on the bed, somehow, and felt it tip back up level as I lay rigid on top of the sheets. I wasn't sure how long it lasted, but I couldn't move or make a noise. I was barely breathing.

"Adjustment complete. Welcome aboard, sir."

I growled and swung my legs over the side of the bed and held out a paw. "Uniform!" I snapped.

A small hatch built into the wall opened. A robotic arm extended, holding my uniform in its metallic grip. I grabbed it and pulled it on. The uniform was snug, of course, and fit round me perfectly. The leather caressed my pelt as I zipped up the front. It clung to my legs, showing off my calves, ending just above my ankles. The shoes, I knew, were optional, and I preferred the bare floor under my feet. I ran the station and I liked to feel the generators hum for me. A narrow pocket on the right side of my leg held a riding crop, which I teased with my fingers.

A pouch in the front held my package securely, though a zipper at the top of the sheath allowed me to whip my junk out at a moment's notice should the need arise. The torso of the leather jumpsuit clung to my soft belly and chest, while the backside did an admirable job of showing off my oversized rear end. The high collar hid most of my slender neck from view. The patch over the left bicep had the Sanmer Interstellar Shipping company logo on it, with the words "Pyre Moss Station" below.

Some station. It wasn't hardly up to speed yet. There was no way we'd be able to handle even a moderately busy crowd yet. I strolled to the door of the medical room, tail swinging behind me through a hole in the suit. It opened automatically.

"Computer, systems report, level 3," I said. No reason for a level 1 report yet. I already knew most of the details.

I listened with half an ear as I stalked down the corridor, examining the bulkheads as I went. There - a spot. I pointed it out to the computer for later, then told it to carry on. The control room was empty, of course. The rest of the staff wouldn't be arriving until tomorrow. In the meantime...

"Computer!"

Three beeps.

"What is the status of Entertainment Specialist Boris?"

"Entertainment Specialist Boris is recovering in Medical Ward 8."

"Have him sent here as soon as he's walking."

I busied myself with a few mundane details as I waited: where to house the staff, setting up crew rotations, and the like. I re-read the orders from Sanmer IS, though I hardly needed to, since I knew them by heart. I smiled to myself as my sheath throbbed. Some of the orders I like more than others.

"Entertainment Specialist Boris," I heard a voice say.

I turned around and smiled. Yes, he was definitely entertainment.

Boris wore a leather jumpsuit similar to mine, though his lacked much of the material. The otter's belly and upper chest were exposed, though his nipples were covered by a strip of black leather. There were more cutouts down his sides and arms. The legs didn't reach past his upper thighs and, like mine, the oversized pouch in front held an oversized set of testicles and a mighty sheath. His rump was what I was most interested in, however, and as he followed my gaze, he nodded and turned around, showing off his bubble butt to me. The backside of his suit had a zipper going from just under his tail to the seat of the pants.

My sheath throbbed, filling what little space remained in my jumpsuit.

"Well, Boris," I said, approaching him. "Any ideas on how you'll be entertaining our future guests?"

The slutty otter shook his head and wiggled his hips. "A few, sir!" he said, his voice a squeak.

I grinned and stepped up behind him. I let my sheath nestle against his rump through the material of our jumpsuits and grasped his hips with my paws, squeezing the fleshy, pert butt roughly. I couldn't wait long, though - my jumpsuit was tight enough already, and my growing arousal only made it more so.

It was extremely simple to get my cock out: pull down the zipper, pull the growing shaft through, and take balls out to taste. Getting access to Boris's plush rump was also easy, by design. As the station's commander, I had full rights to each and every one of my employee's asses whenever and wherever I wanted. Right now, with my balls gurgling their need, was a good time, I decided.

I took a grip on my cock, enjoying how my paw couldn't reach all the way around. It throbbed against my palm as I stroked a few times, getting it nice and hard before sawing it through ES Boris's rump cheeks. He moaned and wiggled, gasping as I gave his rump a few good smacks.

"Moan louder, slut!" I commanded. "You think our paying guests are going to want some limp fish underneath them?"

"Y-yes, sir!"

Boris cried out louder when I slipped my tip inside him. Well, "slipped." I was producing enough pre-cum to get the femboy otter's hole damp before grinding in roughly, filling his insides with my all-too-large arousal. I knew he loved it, though. Boris's file specifically stated he enjoyed getting pounded just so. Customers were going to enjoy it, I thought, as I pumped in deeper, balls churning. His tight ass squeezed around my cock as I dug my paws into his rump, groaning with undisguised pleasure.

"Oh, yes! Oh, please, sir, harder! Yes! Oh, fuck me... fuck me!" Boris moaned. The slutty little toy was so easy! I imagined the line of customers waiting for a chance at him. Fortunately, we wouldn't be open for business for several days yet, giving the robots time to unpack the upgrades for the station, giving Boris time to arrange how he'd manage the harems, and giving me time to pound his rump for as long as I wanted. Station maintenance would require my attention at some point, of course, and there were the new arrivals to process, but... I moaned as Boris clenched around me, pushing back, taking my oversized cock to the hilt. Ah, Boris... I was going to have a soft spot for this eager slut.

Commanders weren't supposed to play favorites, though, so I reached down and pulled my riding crop from the small pocket built into my jumpsuit. I teased it down the back of his neck and between his shoulders, eliciting a quavering, pitiful moan.

"Oh, you're going to get fucked, Boris," I said, my voice nearly a purr. "I'll see to it... personally..."

"Commander, there is a call for you."

"On-screen," I snapped, annoyed at being interrupted. I thrust forward heavily. Boris's stomach bulged and he wailed, though his rump kept squeezing just as hard.

One of the monitors flicked to show a video of a short white fox in a white lab coat. His hair was long and braided down the backside. He smiled at me, eyes flickering to Boris for a moment as I thrust in again and growled.

"Silence, slut!" I looked back to the screen. "Apologies, sir."

The fox waved a paw. "No need, no need. Tell me, are things going according to plan?"

I grinned. "Yes, sir, we'll be open within a few weeks."

The fox's fingers steepled under his chin as a smile glimmered across his lips. "Excellent... I may have to visit you on opening day..."

Boris let out a throat gasp and came, causing quite a mess inside of his jumpsuit. He couldn't even get fully hard in the leather, but began to leak quite a lot of fluid.

"In fact," the fox continued, "I'm going to make a point of it. Book me the Presidential Suite, if you please, Commander."

He cut the connection, and I poked the otter underneath me with the riding crop.

"Cumming without permission?" I demanded. Boris moaned softly. I humped him hard, driving my cock inside him, making sure he felt all twenty-three-point-six inches of it. "That's against the regulations!"

And enforcing regulations is one of my favorite parts of the job...

The end...