---Victor’s perspective---

  I softly creep through a dark jungle, dimly lit only by the light of a gas giant represented on the 15m high ceiling and the eerie glow of simulated bioluminescence all around.

  In my arms I heft a large assault rifle that I’m nervously sweeping around the maze of undergrowth.

  I’m dressed in a sleek grey combat uniform and on my face is a clear perspex mask that is feeding me (in reality unnecessary) breathable air to keep me alive in this (in the fantasy) deadly atmosphere.

  The man I’m playing isn’t a war criminal.

  He’s no callous general, he’s no special forces operative.

  I’m a groundpounding nobody, less than a week off the ISV out from a dying Earth.

  I’m certainly a colonialist… but definitely not someone who deserves to have the responsibility for what his people are doing on this planet entirely thrust onto his shoulders the way I’m about to(!)

  I’m just a desperate young man who decided that shipping to a planet more than four lightyears away (a long way without superluminal travel(!)) where the air is poison and the natives are hostile was the least shitty of all the options open to me.

  None of that will matter to the one who’s hunting me though.

  All she’ll see is an invader, a plunderer, a killer of her people.

  All she’ll see is someone who never should’ve come to her world and now needs to be punished for it.

  Where I’m laughably out of my element in this place, she could not be more in hers!

  She can breathe without a mask!

  She can see in the dark!

  She moves through the tangled web of branches above me as easily as I can move on the ground!

  I may be from a higher grav world than her (both in and out of canon) but (just in canon) she’s the best part of a metre taller than me!

  She’s a born and bred hunter and she knows this forest in a way I never will!

  I’m a fish out of water and she’s a shark!… Wait, no… that metaphor doesn’t work, does it?

  How’s a shark meant to hunt a fish that’s out of water?

  I spend a few moments trying to mentally modify the comparison so it makes sense and doesn’t sound awkward… without success.

  I’m whipped back to my present situation by the rustle of the understorey, above and behind me.

  I wheel around and snap my gun up into the trees, making a show of being startled.

  I get the briefest glimpse of a large humanoid silhouette, flitting through the branches overhead, before it darts back into the shadows.

  “He-hello?” I call out through my mask “Is someone there?”

  No answer comes.

  After some moments, I turn back around and go back to navigating this labyrinth of undergrowth.

  Every now and then as I walk, I swear I can almost hear sinister giggles coming from the shadows but never distinct enough that I can’t be certain it’s not just part of the alien jungle background ambience.

  “Who’s there!” I yelp, whipping my gun to a bush on my left that just rustled with the dull thud of something being thrown into it as a distraction.

  I relax my grip on my gun, tightening my arms to make it look like I’m doing the opposite, as I slowly tread towards the distraction.

  “RDA SecOps! Identify yourself!” I announce to the unoccupied bush.

  I’m just about to reach it when something fast moving impacts the side of my gun, knocking it from my hands.

  I look to where my gun and the spear hurled down from the canopy landed for 2 seconds too long before I dart to retrieve my weapon.

  My fingers are within 20cm of the grip when I’m tackled from the side.

  In the precariously unbalanced position my body was in, the impact is enough to knock my centre of mass out from over my base of support and cause me to topple over.

  My attacker lands on top of me.

  I look up and see her face for the first time, lit by the dim environmental glow of bioluminescence.

  She has a broad bridged nose that ends in an almost feline tip.

  Her ears are long but not a shape I’m used to.

  Her furious eyes have almost no sclera in them, the bright yellow irises going almost all the way to the outside edge.

  Her hair is jet black.

  Her blue skin is streaked with lighter stripes and speckled with tiny blue points that glow like stars.

  She opens her mouth to give a hissing, unvocalised, animalistic roar down into my faceplate, so close she fogs it up with her breath.

  She brings the blue bone head of a spear between our faces with her upper left hand.

  I cower and throw up my hands in a defensive posture.

  A few moments pass of her just enjoying my fear.

  Finally, speaking in an accent that sounds like her native language is made of every single nonEuropean one mixed together in random proportions and thrown into a blender, she growls “I see you, Tawtute!”

  ---Tuun’s perspective---

  “L-listen, lady…” stammers the Human soldier I’ve caught myself and am currently ‘pinning’, using the Stateser dialect marker of addressing me as ‘lady’ despite still speaking in his native accent “…there’s a m-misunderstandin’ here! The RDA ain’t currently-”

  “I not care what say your Ardiy?, Tawtute!” I snarl, contemptuously, down into the clear polymer of his breathing mask, swishing my tufted, nervejacked tail behind me “Sawtute words not carry for the People!”

  “Listen… err…?”

  “Tsios?mo te Ewiayli Txei’ite!” I introduce myself.

  There’s a pause.

  “I ain’t gonna remember that even if I could pronounce it… Can I call you Tsio?”

  “No! Is wrong!” I spit “If Tawtute skxawng is too stupid for all name then ‘Ts?mo’!”

  “Got it… Ts?mo? I’m Private First Class Virgil Cook. It’s nice to meet you?”

  I give an angry flash of my eyes instead of answering.

  “OK… Listen, Ts?mo… I don’t have to tell anyone about this, alright? You let me up and let me go, we can pretend this never happened!… If you kill me, the RDA isn’t going to take it lying down!… A lot of your people will die!… Neither of us want that, right?”

  I give a humourless grunt and answer “Always killing Sawtute, Wirtsìl Kukx!” rendering my pronunciation of his last name with an ejective ‘kx’ at the end “Since came you from the sky, always death, death, death and DEATH for the People… Not kill you? Let you go?… Maybe say you nothing… but killing comes back soon still!… Kill you and maybe Ardiy? think it palulukan! No killing People now and one less Tawtute on Eywa’eveng!”

  I reach for the bottom of his mask and make as if to pull it off.

  “Waaaaaaaaait!!!” he screams, clasping my hands with just a little more strength than I think he meant to to stop me.

  I cock an eyebrow down into his mask as if to say ‘Go on then… make your case(!)’ while ignoring the slight pain in my upper fingers from the brief moment they were crushed in his palms.

  “I… *huh*… I can’t die, Miss Ts?mo!…*huh*… Please!…*huh*… I’ll do anything!…*huh*… Anything you want!!!” he pants, clearly already partway sunk into subspace … the same way I’m struggling to break the surface into Dommespace right now.

  It’s definitely not easy, reversing your sexual mentality to swap roles like this.

  We tried me Domming him for the first time nearly a year and a half ago and this marks only the fifth time we’ve done it since then!

  The novelty is a little scary… but more thrilling for it!

  It sort of sends me back to the transgressive feeling angst that I had, being newly sexually awakened and thinking that being aroused by the idea of being tied up and dominated was wrong or freaky somehow!

  I turn my attention away from my rumination on our barely awoken switchdom to the man playing a boy playing a soldier on the ground beneath me.

  “Sraaaaaaan…” I consider, bringing my hands down to his chest.

  I unpop the snapfasteners on his bodyarmour before unzipping it down the sides.

  Pulling off the front plate to reveal his muscular chest, protected only by a thin layer of skintight, grey utility fabric, I allow myself the smallest of satisfied gasps.

  Without allowing enough room for him to stand up, I rise into a squat over him and imperiously order “Roll, Wirtsìl Kukx… Put hands behind.”

  He obeys, rolling onto his front and placing his wrists at his coccyx.

  As much as I’d like to be able to roll him over myself and simply wrestle his hands where I want them (the way he’d have), the need for him to cooperate with me to make that possible would just have been too much of an immersion break.

  Easier to maintain the illusion by having me give orders and him pretend to be too scared of being killed to disobey them!

  I bend back down, pulling a length of cord from my belt and lashing his wrists together.

  “Stand, Wirtsìl Kukx.” I command, reaching all four hands to his shoulders and leveraging my entire weight backwards to help him to his feet without his hands.

  Once he’s standing, I turn him around and pull his faceplate to squash into my unarmoured breast.

  My lower left hand reaches to my hip.

  ---Victor’s perspective---

  One of my captor’s manica covered arms comes up with a brutal looking, blue bone knife that (out of character) I know is blunt on the outside curve but razor sharp on the inside one before passing it up to her other armoured one.

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  “Woah! Hey! I thought you weren’t gonna kill me!? Why bother tying my hands?!” I say, playing up Virgil’s ignorance of what’s about to happen to him as I pretend to be struggling to pull my face away from the unspauldered boob that’s currently flattened against my mask.

  “Not struggle, Wirtsìl Kukx!” she chastises into the top of my head “No kill! Just take clothes!”

  “Why do you need to take my clothes?!” I ask, incredulous.

  “You say ‘anything’!” she reminds me “‘Anything I want’!… I want take clothes!” pulling my top out at the hem and sliding her knife beneath it.

  The backblade glides effortlessly up through the fabric, opening it up at the front.

  That done, I’m repositioned to allow her to get a better angle on my right arm, then again for my left, the blunt side of the knife needing to contact my skin the entire way down to my cuffs.

  Standing topless and wristbound, I watch as the scantily clad alien woman with the body of glowing starlight takes my hips in her hands and drops down, first pulling off my boots, then slicing through the stretchy fabric of my trousers on the outside of both my hips and down to the ankles, her blade passing under the wings of my pants to take them as well.

  She stands back up and unpicks my underwear from my trousers, both of which she keeps in her lower left hand, before grasping my shoulder with her lower right, the back of my head with her upper and reaching for the bottom of my mask with her upper left, digging her claws lightly into my shoulder and the back of my head.

  “Breathe big, Wirtsìl Kukx…” she instructs, ignoring my panicked protests as she begins to pull it off.

  At the last moment I take a deep breath and hold it in, as well as clenching my jaw, tensing my nose and closing my eyes (as if that would help).

  “Mouth open.” she instructs, lazily.

  I waggle my head in a ‘no’ against her boob.

  “Mouth open or no put on mask.” she threatens, her voice suggesting it doesn’t make much difference to her which option I choose.

  I hold on ten more seconds before my mouth flies open and a wad of tightly rolled fabric is stuffed into it.

  My breathing mask becomes a gag as it is brought back down over my face and reseated, pressing the stuffing into my mouth in a way that means I can’t just push it out with my tongue.

  I wait for the hiss of positive pressure venting all the outside air from over my face before I open my eyes, finally sucking in a stifled gasp through my nose and around my pantygag (Pantgag? Doesn’t sound as good but calling it a ‘pantygag’ does definitely imply that I consider the underwear I had on to be panties instead of pants(!))

  My left ear pressed against her boobwrap, I watch as she transfers the knife back into her dominant hand, pointing it between my eyes and calmly warning “My eyes walk to you, Wirtsìl Kukx… Make trouble, I make hole in mask and leave you die… Understand you?” in a way I can feel pleasantly reverberating into the side of my head

  I nod and stifle an “Mmm-hmmm!” through my gag.

  “Good!” she snarls before pushing me off her in the same direction I was walking before she captured me, along the single winding path she plotted for us through this jungle.

  Looking back, I see her sheathing her knife and retrieving my gun and her spear.

  She shoulders the assault rifle and cradles it in her upper arms, levelling it at me with her spear in her lower left hand.

  “Walk!” she barks.

  ---Tuun’s perspective---

  The narrow path opens out to reveal a clearing with a giant floating rock ‘suspended’ 12m above it, a well lit, open walled wood plank house that reaches the ceiling of the chamber at the roof protruding from it’s side.

  The naked Human has stopped to look up at it in wonder but, since I’m currently in Domme mode, I just jab him in the back with the muzzle of his gun the moment I catch up to him, letting him know not to dawdle!

  We walk across the open space which, along with the structure above it, was definitely the hardest part of the scenario to get right!

  It was a nightmare trying to make the clearing large enough not to seem cramped without making the labyrinth I was hunting him in too short.

  Trying to get the ‘floating’ rock and house built into it so that they had a canopy view but not let anywhere on the jungle floor have line of sight on them (which would have ruined the surprise) was similarly time consuming and tedious(!)

  It was worth it though… to get this one right.

  We’ve never done a Pandora based fantasy before.

  I think it was simply that, as hot as it undeniably would have been, some subconscious part of me just rebelled at the idea of seeing the evil Humans victorious and Eywa’s children enslaved to them!

  It just would’ve felt wrong!

  It was only recently that I got the idea to do it as a Femdom scenario!

  I march my naked, gagged and masked captive onto a little wooden basket beneath the floating dwelling.

  Keeping his gun trained on him, I take my spear in my lower right hand, use my newly freed lower left to draw my knife, reach out of the basket and sever a rope under tension.

  The basket rockets up with exhilarating acceleration (in a way that Jennie ‘Mouse’ MacLeod might be able to figure out how to get working in the real world with only ropes and pulleys (and without killing you at the end) but I’m sure would be beyond the engineering ability of Tuun ‘Elf’ Taylor(!))

  I push down the (slightly inappropriately subby for the current scene) elation I momentarily feel at remembering I have this man’s last name now.

  We jolt to a stop, slightly immersionbreakingly close to the dark ceiling playing a Pandoran night sky (I could almost reach up and touch it!), and I twitch the gun into the plank house.

  With apprehension that I don’t think is faked about the possibility of dropping, the pale skinned Human invader steps into my lair.

  The (slightly noncanon) private dwelling is openplan and decorated with many movie prop reproductions, including a scaled down toruk skull mounted onto the back wall.

  Light is provided by large, brightly glowing, bioluminescent flowers acting as lanterns.

  A rope hangs from an overhead beam, two constricting knots at its end. I pitched it as a single knot but, same as the snaretrap, he vetoed that, explaining he’d definitely get injured enough to need to call things off from his anklebones being crushed into eachother from his weight.

  My captured prisoner walks to the railing and looks out over the dimly glowing canopy of this fantasy forest.

  I place down my spear and his gun by the basket entrance and stand with him, admiring the view I (with some help from a centuries dead eccentric film director and his crew) created as a backdrop.

  I give us a few moments more before I reach to his shoulder and turn him around.

  He looks up into my eyes as I point to the ground by the rope and say “I want you lie down there…”

  ---Victor’s perspective---

  Giving my alien abductor exactly what I promised her in exchange for my life, I do what she says and walk to the place she pointed, first kneeling then lying down on my side (it’s hard to lie on your back with your arms tied behind you!)

  She follows me over with a selfpossessed strut.

  She picks up the rope and slips the knots over my feet, cinching them at the ankles.

  This was her compromise after I said ‘no snaretraps’… but she clearly didn’t fully grasp the difficulty I’d face having my entire weight hung from my ankles, both being crushed together in the same constricting knot!

  I’m glad I caught that in the planning stage, it’d be a shame to need to use my safeword here!

  She goes to another rope (not connected to the one my feet are attached to, as far as I know) and begins heaving down on it.

  Signalled to do so, the room begins slowly hoisting me upward by my ankles.

  I have a slightly painful moment where the side of my head skids along the floor as the rest of my body leaves the ground.

  Once my entire naked and bound body is at the desired height, she stops pulling and I stop being hoisted.

  The woman who has me dangling from the ceiling in this 12m high floating dwelling swaggers over to me, smirking as she extends the eight claws of her left hands and brings their tips to my chest, dragging them lightly over my skin as she makes a full anticlockwise revolution around me.

  She turns to face me where I hang upside down, looking much closer to her canon stature from my low vantage point.

  She reaches to her chest and unfastens the strap holding her spaulder onto her left shoulder.

  She straightens her left arms to let the manicas and spaulder drop to the floor with a heavy *clunk*.

  I frown up at her, looking confused.

  “Sawtute kill many People, Wirtsìl Kukx…” she says, beginning the process of unwinding her chest wrap “…So many threads cut, so many bloods spilled… The balance is sick with it!… You will mend what your people destroy… You will heal this hurt… Where you taken life before, I take it back now!” revealing the single most gorgeous pair of breasts in the galaxy as the cloth she had wrapped around them is dropped to the floor.

  In spite of my natural inclination being to Domhood and not subhood, sadism and not masochism… certain physiological things begin to inevitably happen(!)

  Her eyes twitch upward to the part of me that’s in the process of enlarging.

  She grins “Like this, Wirtsìl Kukx?” then swoops down to grasp the back of my head, bringing her teeth to just the other side of the perspex from my eyes “Good! Because you not have choice! Your blood will feed blood of the People for long, long time! You will repay us what you take! You will not shrink from this!”

  Yep!

  Definitely no part of me is shrinking right now(!)

  ---Tuun’s perspective---

  I pull away from the beautiful masked face and stand up.

  My eyelevel comes to the very start of his legs, just below (above in his current orientation) his hips…

  What’s at my eyelevel, however, is not as interesting as what’s at my mouthlevel!

  I flex my jaw and slide my upper right hand up from beneath, catching the crook between his partially erect cock and washboard stomach in the crook between my thumb and forefinger and aligning it to the gap between my fangs.

  I know my character wants him to give her a baby (not really caring whether she’s at a point in the timeline where that’s established as something possible or not) but I want his cock in my mouth… and being a Domme is (at least ostensibly) all about me getting what I want(!)

  I lean forward to slide my mouth onto this man’s colossal manhood.

  I moan in a way slightly unbecoming of my current position of power as I feel his glans slide past the back of my throat.

  Something I rarely get to experience when subbing is the feeling of him getting larger inside me!

  When he’s Domming, he’s usually fairly ready to go by the time any penetration occurs… only his comparative unsurety with the role reversal makes the sensation I’m currently experiencing (a cock getting harder, longer, thicker as I work it in and out of my throat) possible!

  Taking to his role as a male concubine with amusing gusto, I feel his faceplate push between my legs to apply pressure to my crotch… as if the only thing stopping him from returning the favour I’m giving him are the few millimetres of perspex keeping him in breathable air and his cute little panties that I’ve stuffed in his mouth.

  I grip his buttocks with my uppers, digging my claws into his flesh hard enough to cause him pain but not draw blood, all the while enjoying the nuzzling of polymer against my sex which is as effectively as he can reciprocate while I work his shaft in and out of my throat.

  I bring him all the way to the edge and then, without warning, pull away.

  As sexy as I find taking his load in my mouth, it’s not what my character wants…

  I stride back to the rope I used to haul him up and unhitch it.

  I lower him slowly back to the floor.

  I wait until his mask contacts the ground before letting go… a little immersionbroken by the way the microbot matrix visibly softens to break his fall as he lands on his stomach.

  I stamp back to him, yank the knots between his ankles loose and haul him to his feet.

  Pushing him ahead of me, I march us both to the large, soft (definitely not lore accurate) bed this lookout contains.

  I throw him down onto it and enjoy the way his erection stands at attention as he rolls onto his back, crushing his bound arms into the soft folds of the bed.

  With all the confidence I never have in real life and rarely get to express as a sub, I mount it and stride over him, straddling his hips.

  I crouch, bringing my wet pussy down on his wet cock, aligning them and engulfing him inside me.

  My lower hands come to his shoulders, my upper right to the back of his head and my upper left to massage my own bare breasts as I ride this man like the breeding stock my character has just made him.

  With how ready I got him with my mouth, I achieve the rare and satisfying result of getting him to be the first one to cum, ejecting a hot, viscous release of his precious Human seed into my womb.

  A few more bounces on his yet to contract penis brings me to where I want to be too.

  I throw my face to the ceiling, my eyes rolling back into my head as waves of pleasure crash into me.

  I look down, through the man’s breathing mask and smirk “That…*huh*… was good, Tawtute…*huh*… I want more!”

  ---Victor’s perspective---

  I lie on the bed, cuddling my wife and planting a light rain of kisses over her glittering face and chest now that I’m in aftercare and finally allowed not to be wearing the mask with my pants stuffed in my mouth underneath.

  I squeeze her close to me and ask “Everythin’ you wanted it to be, baby?”

  “It was.” she answers, contented “I’m glad the People got their own back on you mean and nasty Humans(!)”

  “Oh, yeah… we’re definitely mean and nasty… and I’m probably one of the meanest and nastiest(!) You sure showed me though(!) I think that’s payback well taken(!)” I grin into her chest.

  “You liked it too?” she asks, lightly dragging her claws across the skin of my back.

  “Definitely!” I say, emphatically.

  “You didn’t mind subbing?” she asks, uncertainly.

  “You ask this every time, Tuun… If I ever stop wanting to role reverse, I’ll talk to you about it!… We’re married now! You gotta trust me on this stuff(!)” I smile, reassuringly, looking up into her gorgeous (though still built up with rubber cement) face.

  “Alright, Victor.” she smiles back.

  “Hmph!” I grunt in appreciation.

  There’s a few moments of contented silence before either of us speak again.

  I compliment her “Really like the body art, Tuun!” raising her right arm sparkling with starlight and painted with stripes “Where’d you get it from?”

  “The bioluminescence file I copied to the styliser from a fansite.” she explains.

  “Oh, yeah?… And the stripes?” I probe.

  “Those are my natural ones… I just had it paint over them in colours…*aaaaahn*… you could see.” she yawns.

  The sentence causes me to stop dead in my tracks.

  I frown up into her face “Sorry… your natural ones?”

  “Yeah, my natural stripes.” she says, nonchalantly.

  Dumbfounded, it takes me a moment to string together the question “You have stripes!?” incredulous.

  She looks back at me, all sleepiness gone as a grin slowly spreads over her lips.

  “You… didn’t know Don have stripes…?” she giggles gleefully.

  “I don’t remember you ever mentionin’ havin’ invisible stripes, Tuun!” I laugh back, still not fully sure this isn’t just a put on.

  “You married a woman you didn’t know had stripes… and you gave me shit for not having known that nuns were real(!?)” she laughs.

  I give an exasperated sigh and ask “How was I supposed to know if you didn’t tell me, Tuun?”

  “By doing any research on the species you were marrying into(?)” she suggests, mischievously.

  “I did! Don’t remember stripes bein’ mentioned! Saw some pictures of Don with stripes! Saw a few in real life when we went to your brother’s enclave… just assumed that was like red hair for Humans!” holding up some of my own red hair “Rare, not unheard of!”

  “Well… now you know… you’re married to a stripy woman… Hope that’s not a dealbreaker(?)” she quips.

  “They’re beautiful!” I enthuse, immediately and emphatically, bringing a finger up to trace one of the lines on her face “Just wish I’d known sooner!”

  She smiles back warmly and answers “I’m glad you think so, Victor(!) I’d hate to have got to this stage only to need to end things over stripes(!)”

  “No danger of that!” I say, trying not to take the joke personally.

  There’s another lull in the conversation and I roll onto my back.

  “Victor…?” she finally says.

  Seeing where she’s going, I answer “Yes, lets get some pancakes… Let’s just rest a bit longer first though, hey?… Before I have to walk through a jungle maze entirely naked because you cut my clothes off me(?)”

  RDA | | | |