Christmas with the Starship Rimshot Girls
[https://jeremiah-moze.vids.io/videos/119dd7bb181ee5cd98/4-24-christmas-with-the-starship-rimshot-girls-mp4](https://jeremiah-moze.vids.io/videos/119dd7bb181ee5cd98/4-24-christmas-with-the-starship-rimshot-girls-mp4)
Lt. Alastair McGonogal had the unpleasant duty of delivering casks of valuable Rigilian whiskey to a planet of assholes and slaves. The assholes in charge decided to control their population by fear and intimidation. They told all citizens to wear masks and carry official documents. Without masks and official documents, citizens were not allowed to buy groceries, nor be hired for any job.
Alastair had seen this behavior before, and it disgusted him. On the planet surface, in two major cities, Alastair wore government-approved masks and carried exquisitely forged vaccination and government documents. As such, he went about his business, delivered thousands of casks of whiskey and collected two billion dollars (our equivalent to the galactic currency.) As he was preparing to leave, he thought more about the well-proportion girls he had seen, how they pulled off their masks to smile at him. He talked with a few and knew for certain, not one of them enjoyed being a slave. And, the whole, planet-wide propaganda of invisible, air-born killer germs was complete nonsense bullshit, serving only one purpose: To increase the servitude, and increase the economic poverty of hundreds of millions of people. And turn a handful of people in to billionaires overnight.
Alastair found a private club, only two blocks from the most expensive hotel in town. In this exclusive club, affordable only to the elites, no one wore masks. In fact, no one wore any clothes at all. Beautiful nude women lounged in Turkish baths, or stretched-out languorously near the baths, surrounded by large potted plants, thick carpets and many hookah pipes. Their tan bodies in delicious contrast to the blue and white tiles of the room, and the ornate carvings in wood and stone.
The air was pleasantly cool, perfumed with cannabis, hookah tobacco and exotic spices. The slave-girls were easy to recognize by their red leather collars. Some carried red leather riding crops, which they handed to patrons, bending over, allowing themselves to be spanked. Red blotches appeared on their tight, perfect fannies, as they moaned. Their moans and the distinct slaps of the whip echoed among the marble columns and tiled walls. None of the club patrons wore red collars. And they needed no whips, as the slaves provided whips and everything-else the patrons desired.
In the large central bath, Alastair counted eight attractive female patrons, and twelve slightly younger slave-girls. In a large alcove off the central bath, three loud, fat politicians were entertained by eight slave-girls. These girls were noticeably younger the other slaves, barely into their teens. The teen-girls were sucking the old men’s cocks, and one was bouncing up and down on the stubby, thick little erection of a Senator.
The alcove to the left of the politicians held a groups of corporate CEOs. Two women in their fifties, and three men in their sixties. These elite people were nearly as fat as the politicians, but clearly the women had personal-trainers.Both females had some muscle-tone under their corpulence. They might even be considered attractive, viewed in low-lighting after drinking a bottle of Rigilian whiskey. This group was also served by slaves. One woman was being tossed into the air by three muscular young men. After which, the slaves impaled her, simultaneously, in the mouth, vagina and anus, with their ready, impressively large erections. The three men of the group had two slave-girls each, laid out on the large granite table before them. The men exerted much sweat and effort, getting their little cocks inside this and that orifice, and the girls did their best not to laugh out loud at the ridiculous scene.
Clearly, all this was considered normal among the elites of this planet. Alastair turned his attention back to the elite women in the central pool. Two elite men had joined them, younger men than the politicians or CEOS. They looked very much like well-scrubbed, intelligent sycophants, probably invited along by their bosses in the alcoves. From time to time a boss beckoned a flunky over for some purpose. Mostly, the sycophants chatted-up the women, killing time, and got beat-off by pretty slave-girls. Neither of the young men had enough clout, nor enough cash to have any further sexual contact with the slave-girls. This was clear, as several girls simply said, “No. I am only allowed to do that with important patrons and their important guests.” Every slave-girl knows instinctively, which guests are important, and which are flunkies.
Alastair found the entire scene irritating and a bit depressing. The vast distance between the masters and the slaves was obvious. The slaves only put up with the asshole masters because they had no reasonable alternative. In this civilization, there was no free enterprise. The flow of cash was tightly controlled by the elite, their banks and their corporations.
The slave-girls looked well-fed and well taken-care-of, and that is exactly why they give up 98% of the freedom, freedom of choice and free will. To be here, hanging-out, bored to tears in the Turkish baths, fucking their masters.
47 Roscoe Forthright videos.
[https://www.amberriverwood.com/_files/ugd/5515f9_84026f4c087948ed9cbd4ff9d53b0667.pdf](https://www.amberriverwood.com/_files/ugd/5515f9_84026f4c087948ed9cbd4ff9d53b0667.pdf)
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/rln63h/a_planet_of_assholes_and_slaves