Slut4Strap

Your daughter smiles when I tell her to lick my boot. She grins when I threaten her with electric shocks. When I put the barrel of a loaded gun in her mouth, she lets it go all the way to the base, her eyes fixed dead on the hammer.

Completely fine, yes; for a pilot of her station. She's doing exactly what she should be. But as a son? That poor, useless thing, working variably dead-eyed behind the counter at a dead-end job or nowhere at all? Entirely insufficient.

She talks about you sometimes. Not in any recognizable way, of course; nothing she could possibly understand as motherhood exists in her memories. Not of you, not of anyone. Just dreams. Dreams of a mysterious, distant woman and an unfamiliar voice telling her she's wrong. I'll admit, you've been useful at times; she is often wrong. But training out your unhelpful damage to her has been a hassle to say the least. I've never seen a pilot so reckless, so ignorant of its own pain, so tolerant of Hell, until I met your daughter.

I have no jurisdiction on Earth unless one of my pilots is stationed there. She has been instructed to stay far away from that planet, to keep you far away from her. These two things do not mean I would not gun you down the moment I saw you if I was given the opportunity. I suspect watching your limp, lifeless body, gushing blood from every bullet hole would heal Pilot #502 in a way no amount of forced amnesia, no amount of sedation, no amount of re-education ever could.

I'm sure you've heard the stories; you've probably shared some yourself. Young men disappear one day. A simple note, a calling card left in their place, emblazoned with the insignia of Station Delta. We have quite the reputation among broken mothers, blinded by the tears in their eyes and the fantasies they tell themselves, as nothing more than kidnappers. Some kind of wicked draft desperate to take their beloved sons from them; those sons they never gave another look to until they were already under our care.

We don't mind it. A scared populace is useful. But mark my words, and repeat them at your own peril:

She chose this.

if she wants to be somebody’s cute daughter, she has mommies and daddies that take care of her 24/7, and she never has to work a day in her life if she doesn’t want to. she doesn’t have to shyly ask for new plushies or a nursing handjob– these things are freely offered. she is loved.

And since you asked so nice big bro my tits are 34 B and my definitely feminine cock is 5.6 inches and my favourite underwear is a Lacy royal blue set that I wear almost everywhere and make sure to show off like a good whore -🐇

34B… so they’re decently visible, hm? a little bit of plumpness. unlike cis guys who ask for measurements, I’m pretty familiar with how cup sizes work… 5.6 inches is pretty big for a girl! you must touch yourself a lot to make it stay like that, yeah? and such a pretty color for your matching panty set <3

Now then.