Harem Assassins : King Sekton's Harem Planet, Book 2: A Space Opera Harem Adventure Baron Sord (good books to read for adults .txt) 📖

posters. They were everywhere and periodically changed their displays. Some “poster” images were animated, others were static. Some were ultra-realistic 3D holograms that jumped out at you. Other 3D holograms had the cartoony sensibility of a Pixar movie. Some looked like Frank Frazetta paintings come to life. Still others were cartoonish 2D imagery that belonged on Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim. Whether 2D or 3D, every image seemingly floated out of their frames. The simpler and more cartoonish 2D images still had basic motion graphics, with various flat artwork layers either sliding, spinning, spiraling, folding, flipping, expanding, contracting, or a combination of everything. In both cases, 2D and 3D, everything was in constant motion to capture maximum attention.

As for content, every “poster” featured either King Sekton, a Zalaxian babe, or both. Their block-letter floating-text slogans loudly proclaimed things like:

DO YOUR DUTY: AVOID MALE SLAVES.

or

NEVER TRUST A MALE SLAVE.

or

THE ONLY GOOD SLAVE IS AN OBEDIENT SLAVE.

The odd thing was, the poster art was fantastic. The animated Frazetta-esque images were sensational. Like living oil paintings, sci-fi and fantasy book covers come to life. But the sentiment of every image was nauseating. Didn’t matter I was the acting king and it served me. Had it not been for me winning the intergalactic lottery — namely, the Bombshells giving me a ring and bringing me here to be king — I’d be just another male slave on Zalaxia. That was the problem.

As much as I wanted to ask some questions about how men were treated around here and why, I had a million other responsibilities to focus on. The health and well-being of the Bombshells being number one. The defense of this outpost from Crewd’s pirates or other marauding space invaders being number two.

That was more than I could process at this point.

As much as it pained me to say it, the plight of the male slaves would have to wait at least another day or two. Imagine if another Titano came stomping into the outpost and crushed everyone under foot — including the male slaves. If that happened, there wouldn’t be anyone alive for me to lift out of oppression, would there? Not with everyone dead and buried under the rubble. And there was no telling what those CyberKnights and their space demon horde might have done to the male slaves if they had won the day yesterday. Turn the slaves into insane space demons? Worse? I had no idea, but it couldn’t be good.

Before I could dwell on that further, my entourage turned a corner into a new corridor and I saw a different set of posters with slogans like:

YOUR BED IS THE KING’S BED.

This poster showed a shirtless King Sekton in bed with the covers up to his waist. In the foreground stood a Zalaxian babe — a “Normal” babe, not a “Monster” babe. She wore a see-through negligee and had a perfect ass. She was winking at the viewer over her shoulder.

or

THE KING IS THE ONLY MAN I NEED.

This poster featured a blushing woman hugging herself in front of a holographic portrait of King Sekton hanging on her bedroom wall. She too wore a transparent negligee, and she too was a “Normal” Zalaxian babe.

or

SAVE YOURSELF FOR THE KING AND HE’LL SAVE YOU.

The last one featured a beautiful, giddily happy Zalaxian babe — yet another “Normal” — being saved by a dashing and muscular King Sekton with his arm around her waist. He wore a white pirate shirt torn open to show his pecs and abs, a leering glimmer in his eye, and shining white teeth. He looked damn proud of himself.

I slowed to a stop to snicker at it.

Great piece of art.

But it was so cheesy, I could barely believe it was real.

Yet there it was.

And it explained what the women in the auditorium had been saying yesterday morning. They had been repeating these slogans verbatim.

I wasn’t necessarily opposed to the sentiment — what straight man would be? — but I couldn’t believe any woman here accepted it at face value. Then again, the evidence presenting itself to my eyes and ears since my arrival reinforced the idea that the women here did accept this shameless propaganda fully and completely.

How was that possible?

My eyes landed on the small print at the bottom of the nearest floating holographic image, the same small print at the bottom of every “poster” I’d seen. It read: This message brought to you by order of the king’s Royal Inspector Patrol.

I didn’t know who or what the Royal Inspector Patrol was, but I was confident I’d find out sooner than I’d like.

And what was up with none of the babes in the “posters” being “Monster” babes?

Why were they all “Normals”?

Captain Theia asked, “Is something troubling you, my king?”

“No, it’s just…” I wasn’t sure I wanted to open up a cultural can of worms by asking. Not in the middle of the corridor, anyway.

A commotion up ahead caught my attention.

There was a 3-way intersection bustling with women coming and going. As always, every woman was eye candy, their bodies begging me for a 3-way, 4-way, 5-way, 6-way, you name it. That was a given when you lived in the land of D-cup Distractions.

Unlike the “posters,” these real babes were a mix of Normals and Monsters.

In fact, my eyes locked on the strangest looking Monster babe I’d seen since my arrival.

Don’t get me wrong.

She was gorgeous like the other Monsters I’d seen. But her skin was fire-engine red, her lips a dark maroon, and her hair and eyebrows were obsidian black. That wasn’t the bizarre part. It was her eyes. Her eye-whites weren’t white. They glowed gold — literally glowed — and her irises were a dark amber. She resembled a classic devil babe, except no horns that I could see, and she was incredibly hot. Burning hot. Pun intended.

However you described her, she was a knockout.

My eyes followed her as she walked somewhat stiffly from one side of the large intersection to the other without noticing me. The