Peaches stood in front of the assembled officers and Ministers, naked except for her neat cuffs and the hobble chain that connected her high heels together, forcing her to take tiny, careful steps. Her ball gag rested on her drool-covered breasts.

‘World 794 was examined by the original Franklin team during the early days of their project and they marked it down as a possible destination for examination. When the team arrived they took these pictures’ – Peaches tensed her pussy muscles, and the slideshow behind her skipped on one image, to sow a photo of an uninterrupted stretch of green forest leading away into the distance. She squeezed two more times and two more, almost indistinguishable pictures skipped by.
‘Can we see those again please?

Peaches sighed inside and did as she was ordered. The control to move back through the slides she’d prepared was in her asshole and she knew the man who’d asked to see them just wanted to humiliate her. She didn’t dispute his right to do it – she was a sex slave, it was what she was for – but she was tired and having trouble getting through the presentation. Why couldn’t they do the spook’s job properly, she wondered? They all treated it like a game, and wandered away from it at the slightest distraction. And there was always a naked, bound, helpless and willing slave-girl in the room, so distraction was easy to come by!

Peaches skipped back two pictures and showed the forest scenes again, this time more slowly, and then moved on to the later Franklin images.
‘What’s that?’ Asked Colonel Ewing, in his calm, professional voice.
‘That’s one of their launching towers, Master.’ Peaches responded to her owner and then to the rest of the room, ‘The culture on this planet seem to have perfected interplanetary travel. We don’t know for sure, because the original Franklin expedition was underfunded and hasty and their researches were only preliminary, but the hopes we have are that we could either use their technology here or piggyback on their expeditions, depending on what their culture is like.’

As she spoke, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous, wood-lined room, Peaches listened to her own unfamiliar voice. She had barely spoken at all since coming to this new world of hers, so her own voice was a little strange to her and of course, it had changed since her old life. Now her voice was high and husky, the way the Prince – her first owner – had liked it. Colonel Ewing hadn’t changed it, a simple matter on Slaveworld, so she still sounded the way His Highness had chosen for her. Peaches felt herself becoming very aware of the strangeness of her situation, naked and helplessly bound in front of a room full of much older strangers, every single one of whom had used her for sex. She squeezed the dildo strapped inside her that made the images skip forward, feeling the familiar lust and excitement calm her mind as she spoke on.

‘The Franklin team made contact, went through, came back and that was that-‘ Peaches paused to squeeze the ‘forward’ button one more time , ending the presentation on the image that showed a launch, most of the view obscured by white glare but a vessel of some kind clearly visible – ‘so we know as much as they did, now.’

‘Good slut,’ Colonel Ewing told her casually. Peaches couldn’t help herself; she glowed with pride!

Colonel Ewing clicked his fingers and she rushed over to kneel at his feet, gazing up at his craggy face with a mixture of lust and adoration. Of course, Peaches would have done anything she was ordered to anyway: she had been trained by the best, after all. But she would have done anything to please Colonel Ewing, just to please him. And she knew he knew it, and that he just accepted it as a sign of a well-trained slave. Peaches was amazed at the strength of her feelings for this crusty old man – Colonel Ewing was twice her ‘old’ age, and three times her ‘new’ age, since her new body was only 18 – and would be for a long time, she guessed, with the Slaveworld’s longevity treatments. Colonel Ewing looked sixty and was more likely to be over a hundred. Peaches didn’t know: he hadn’t told her, and she wasn’t often in a position to ask, she reflected as her owner’s fingers buckled her ball-gag back into place.

In the meeting that followed, Peaches played a part – she was allowed to help the serving slaves hand out coffees and pastries, and endured their hatefilled stares with equinamity. They hated her because she had higher status than they did, belonging to an individual rather than just being part of the general pool of slaves. Most of them didn’t even have names! But Peaches didn’t care, She was thinking about what part, if any, she was to play in the xxxx mission and, of course, trying to make her every movement, sound and action so fuckable that Colonel would decide to use her!

Peaches had to wait several days – unbearably long, in her opinion – to find out either thing. Colonel Ewing had her transferred to the mission HQ’s slaveblock, where she began courses of exercise and injections – no-one explained anything to her, of course, they just tied her to machines or injected her – and after a couple of days, a foreign language course for a few hours a day.

After four weeks of learning the unpronounceable speech up to six hours a day, Peaches was finally given a real understanding of what the mission was to be.