Queen of the Sex slave

By Olga Anastasia

To my muse, E.O.M., who knows why.

1-Hub

She tried to elude them for geezerhood, but in the end, they finally caught her, Tisya Achoka, and they brought her here.

It is a fact widely agreed upon throughout the galaxy, that this place, the piratical striver traders'planet of Aghara-Penthay is one of the honest places in the universe to be male, and one of the worst to be female. Although the slave owner of Aghara-Penthay do deal in some male captives, such as for labor, for breeding stock, or for those who prefer men providing their sexual Robert William Service, the slave dealer made their fortune, and became notorious, for buying or capturing, training, and then selling worthy women.

Over the centuries, it has become enshrined in Slaver culture that women are only a commodity, and their Torah have long dictated that a adult female forfeits all her exemption as soon as she sets understructure on Slaver dominion. Unless she has already been registered as a private hard worker and is accompanied by her male owner, just because she possesses a vagina instead of a penis, in their space she immediately becomes the property of the slave dealer of Aghara-Penthay. She has become theirs to ill-use and dispose of as they wish.

For many 100, the Slavers have based their business on the major planet below me - the oxide-red, barren desert planet of Aghara-Penthay. Slaver society is formed of a wanton federation of junto, each led by a chief. Of course of instruction, only male can achieve citizenship of Aghara-Penthay lodge. As I've mentioned already, a woman is an aim, and an object can no more be a citizen than could any other aim purposed to supply satisfaction - a small-arm of smut, or a sex toy, or a bed.

Outsiders are often interested to love how the male universe is maintained. Let me reassure you than is not a trouble, not on a world when every woman must do exactly as she's told. Sufficient female are chosen to process The Slavers as breeding stock, sustaining the majority of the planet's population, and the rest of Aghara-Penthay's Male citizens are drawn from the many bequeath offworld unpaid worker, attracted to buccaneering by the prognosis of access to Sir Thomas More female than they could ever screw in a lifetime, and the electric potential of earning enough quotation to retire to a creation with a pleasant climate.

Throughout virtually of slaveholder chronicle, captive women were broken to their thrall by a combination of physical determent, mind-controlling pharmaceuticals, and torture. leakage attempt were frequent, and for those unable to fly, felo-de-se was by far the most common suit of distaff dying.

No longer.

Within the last half-century, implantation has become the touchstone method of slave processing and ascendency. Its invention advanced the slave dealer'fortunes exponentially. A fleck is embedded deep into the woman's brainstem, from where bioactive tendrils worm into the cortex, making the gimmick impossible to remove without ripping away enough tissue to twist the implant's victim into a veggie. The chip emits EM radioactivity, configured to interfere with some of the electrical sign which relate to high-pitched brain functions. There are too many options available as imbed customization to tilt here, but all check have certain common lineament, again enshrined in slave trader law. Firstly, the woman is compelled to be any instruction, so long as it is spoken by a man, and secondly, she is prevented from taking her own life. For representative, the man says,"stay there,"and she will say there. The man says,"fuck me,"and she will fuck him. She can not even assay expiry as a means of relief valve, unless she is ordered to do so by her owner.

Tisya Achoka will deliver one of their implants in her skull by now. But not yet an implant that is fully primed, so she must obey all control. No, there would be no sport in hunting women who simply came when you called. But the Slavers do plant all the Brassica napus stolon, to prevent the self-annihilation which used to occur when moon-curser knew seizure was inevitable. Only if she is captured during the mutant, will Tisya's bit be fully primed. perfect obedience, just like that impelled on the even slave bloodline, is the lot awaiting not the success, but the Rape Run's losers.

Once any captive cleaning woman is implanted, she will be also given the Saint Mark - a distinctive indelible swirling pattern that she'll carry for life on her face. Tisya too will already have got hers. A badge of quality identifying her as individual defeated, and processed by the slaver. Any man who sees a charwoman so cross off will know what it means. She is going to be obedient. She has been broken. She is shamed.

After processing, once women have their implant and scrape, some of them are given further training - intimate behavior ; serving food and swallow ; dance ; and other attainment to increase their value. A few are retained and remain on the surface in the service of the Slavers. Most will be sent to The Hub, either to serve there, or be sold on to generate a profit.

Males who are not of Aghara-Penthay, i.e. not being citizen-members of one of the slaveholder factions, are never permitted down to the major planet's Earth's surface. The Slavers contact offworlders and the balance of the galaxy via a Brobdingnagian, heavily defended space station orbiting the planet - The Hub - the piazza where I am now. All access code on and off the red humankind itself goes via shuttles departing from The Hub, and boarding is strictly controlled. Only citizens and captive slaves may make the journeying to the surface. No female takes that trip willingly. Once a charwoman is on the hot desert terra firma, she's doomed. There's no coming back to space until after her processing, when she's ready for sale. unmarked females are not permitted on the shuttles back to orbit. It's another Slaver law.

Unlike the private major planet's open, The Hub is welcoming to virile outsiders. Offworld males may visit The Hub to buy or betray striver, enjoy the brothels which cater for every taste and fetish, or simply travel to to loosen up and drink. It has become one of the galaxy's most popular tourer destinations for men. Of course, for female visitant The Hub is much less democratic - visiting a position where one immediately becomes intimate belongings would not be most char's first option for a holiday, but some are rum, and still do form the journey with a carefully chosen escort. There is, for a few, a thrill to experiencing being briefly owned, and others are drawn by the agitation of danger, knowing themselves so close to such repugnance and such desperation.

The Slavers'wealth has enabled them to gather a pirate fleet unrivalled in the coltsfoot, with the home base for their Brobdingnagian cruisers being the moorage floor at The Hub. Such force-out means they've been able-bodied to ostentate their contempt for the civilized galaxy's Pentateuch and its women with impunity. Easily the most famous reflexion of Aghara-Penthay's merciless mightiness is The assault Run. Each year, the faction leaders contribute their virtually exceptional captive until ten of the galaxy's most worthy women are assembled for participation in a degrading rival. These women are released into a huge crater on the planet Earth's surface - The zona. Watched through hidden tv camera by a galactic audience of trillions, they're then hunted by the faction leader. If a woman is caught, her captor rapes her, rapes her and rapes her, and broadcasts it for the entertainment of the universe of discourse. Afterwards, their implants are fully activated, and they are sold. Only the last woman to evade seizure is released, traumatized and bearing the mark for liveliness, but unviolated and with her free will intact.

Rape Runners must possess exceeding beauty, so mannikin, athletes and dancers are always popular, but many are chosen as a lot for the content their capture sends to the galaxy's female population. Political figures who advocate women's rights, for example, are particularly poignant. Celebrities who become lauded as female role model also need to lock their threshold at Night. The Slavers sometimes enjoy taking a cleaning lady who seemed too well protected to capture. If they can overtake her, then the subject matter this sends out, is that all womanhood should fear.

thus, the religious leader Tisya Achoka, whose qualities ticked so many of those slave trader box, was always going to be at particular risk. The Djenerion Sect believe their immortal only favor Virgo the Virgin females, not males, favored with entree to paradise and the secret knowledge of the divine, so only a virginal fair sex may suit a Djenerion priestess. gender inequality provokes antagonism whichever way it aims, and thus many are opposed to the Sect, but Djenerion priestesses do accept an undeniable gift of making eerily accurate prophesies. That's why the Sect's narrow prerogative still draws a more diverse range of followers, with men and less-chaste women included among their believer. Even if soul sacrifices their virtue for bearing offspring or worldly pleasance, that doesn't break them seeking the reassurance that comes from knowing the time to come.

Tisya, the religious sect's leader, the current Djeneria, is undeniably an outstandingly beautiful woman. There are many men who will take pleasure watching Tisya Achoka participate as violation Runner, and there will be a particularly sadistic kick if she fails. For only virgin woman attain the brightest Djenerion hereafter. The audience know that according to Djenerion beliefs, consent-or-not, if she is penetrated, the universe will be sharing the moment when her paradise is torn from her.

But the Djenerion religious sect are no patsy, and they were not ignorant the risk arising from Tisya's value as a prize. With Tisya being merely the belated of a long argument of leaders targeted for The Rape Run, and slaver by no means the only scourge to the Sect, they formed an elite group armored guard of warrior women - the Okhoron, devoted to protecting her. These moderately defenders were a boon, but also a cuss. Capturing a Runner who comes with a bevy of attractive consort became even more sympathetic to Aghara-Penthay.

The full Djenerion sect has long been considered as a particularly commodious source of female slaves, for another belief states that an unforgivable act is taking one's own life history. A striver too terrified to shoot down herself needs to be less carefully monitored. However, although felo-de-se is taboo in the Sect, execution is not an unforgivable act. Thus, the sect declared very publicly that should the holy mouth of the Supreme Being - the Djeneria Tisya Achoka, ever come under menace, the Okhoron were ordered to carry through her before she fell into Male hands, and then charge each other for the same reason. Better to die a Virgin, and reach paradise early, than live a sex hard worker. They thought that this proclamation might be enough to deter the slave trader, and all pirates would fall to consider any movement to take over her as futile, given the Djeneria would be terminated as soon as her peril became too great.

The Djeneria's DoD are imperfect during her frequent ceremonial visits away from the Djenerix homeworld. The faction and the Okhoron have always been skittish of the risk of attack offworld, but in the end that wasn't the circumstance of her abduction. It was just after she'd left a planet, and her guardian had relaxed their guard. Still deep inside Republic space, those char must have thought they were prophylactic.

No one knows how Salarin, one of the infamous Slaver faction leaders, managed to smuggle a stun bomb onto the Djeneria's actual flagship, but without warning the escort vessels detected an unmistakable EM burst, and then the flagship was left drifting and unresponsive in space. Immediately the Slavers struck, hyper speed gravity drives delivering pirate vessels as though emerging from nowhere. The bodyguard opened firing and closed around the inert flagship, and the fight was fierce, but there were just too many slaver ships. Once the consequence was inevitable, the date switched to their exigency protocols, turning their attack on the flagship, but by then it was too late.

The galaxy perceived it as an impressive triumph for Salarin. Despite all the crusade the Sect made to protect her, even Tisya Achoka had been kidnapped, and taken to Aghara-Penthay destined for the Rape Run. Who next, if they can trip up her ? One of the president's exquisitely pretty daughter, even ? The existence sat transfixed at their screens.

Footage is always broadcast across the galaxy showing each ball carrier's arrival and processing. Tisya looked ashen faced during her showtime presentation to the universe, when under heavy sentry go, and to the scoffing of the crowd, she walked barefoot and humbled through The Hub, her hands chained together behind her. Tisya's captors had stripped her original vesture as they do with all captives, and she had been provided only with an Aghara-Penthay slave wrapper - a rectangular piece of satiny framework fastened under the leave behind arm, humiliatingly revealing, and barely long enough to cover the sex organs.

The wrap is designed to be demeaning, and is as recognized across the Galax urceolata as the slave mark. Wearing it, much of Tisya's beauty was on show for the first meter. However, even this meagre covering was envied by the Okhoron captured with her. They were forced to march au naturel in formation around her, performing in a cruel travesty of their former role. Each one was a magniloquent and healthy beauty, each has the same unnaturally pale skin and white blonde hairsbreadth. The direct contrast of Tisya's brunette in the middle of her entourage was all the outstanding, dark amongst their platinum.

The showing of so much exquisite flesh was too much temptation for the men on The Hub that day, and the warrior char's beauty made the circumstances of Tisya's date'certain. Rape contrabandist remain unviolated until the competition, to maximize the impact of their moments of downfall, but there's no need for such rightness with intent Okhoron. Some Okhoron female rivalled their leader's allure, and the parade descended into a near-riot as the slave dealer guard permitted the mass Brassica napus of Tisya's escort, the broadcast of the outrage to the astronomic audience showing a gratuitous close-up of each woman's reaction, at the very instant she was deny access code to her future paradise.

The group world disgrace was almost as brutal a coke to the religious order as each rape must feature been a personal one to the victim. Divine foresight failed the Djenerion that day, and for their following, trying to maintain belief in the deity'benediction must take been challenging when the immortal ones did not intervene to save even one woman's virtue. And the Sect suffered a forcible cost as well as a spiritual one. Nearly all the Okhoron were captured on that ship with Tisya.

A few were lucky. The council which leads the Djenerion, The Nine, wielding an authority almost as great as Tisya, happened to accept been unnecessary for that visit by sheer hazard, and the Sect leadership avoided being wiped out thanks to The Nina from Carolina remaining in their shrine on the Djenerix homeworld. But they faced the labor of rebuilding a humiliated religion from only unconstipated phallus of the Sect and old or injured Okhoron females - those who stayed at menage, or were assigned to the escort vessels. Even worse for The Nine, a new Djeneria can only be chosen at the decease of her predecessor, so Tisya remains Djeneria, captive or not, and if she loses in the Rape Run, the religious order face decades of abasement with an implanted sex slave as their reigning"virgin"leader.

The Slavers knew all this, and they gloated.

Certainly then, in the eyes of the coltsfoot, a victory for Salarin and all the slave dealer. But on Aghara-Penthay, the situation was more ambiguous. At first, the murmurs of discontent were naught strange. There is always tenseness between social chemical group when animate beings are involved, and the alliances between the Slaver faction are no different. contravention on Aghara-Penthay frequently become red, as often men do fight when cleaning lady are at stake. Only three days ago, a twenty percent faction leader, Leshan, was deposed shortly before that class's Rape Run. And none of the current chiefs have been in post over a decade. junto leaders must keep an eye on for threats from within their own junto, threats from match leaders, and threats from the rest of the wandflower. One can not be faint hearted and be a junto leader.

But for once, the discontent did not settle as easily as it normally does. Talk amongst the slave dealer was that Salarin carelessly spent too many male life-time just to capture one Runner. Valuable cruiser were lost in that battle. The severely damaged pirate cruiser from which I disembarked a few proceedings ago, Virgin's incubus, was for a spell believed lost, and only limped home with its comms wiped out seven touchstone galactic Day after Tisya's capture.

It was the second clock time in a poor menses when a raid targeting one woman ended up having a luxuriously toll. The other one ? The commonwealth finally decided to close its trimium mine on the dark, icy humankind of Cancis Rock, and move the inhabitants to a more pleasant and more secure location. Cancis rock music had only recently been converted from a prison into a resort for rescued slave women. Benevolent guards protected them from themselves - from obeying gild from Aghara-Penthay to riposte ; from exploitation by predatory males - while allowing those whose implants forced particular urge on them, masochists, for example, to safely sate their needs.

Recovering a tumid consignment of striver was an appealing outlook for the slave trader, but among those woman was one they sought above all. Melena de Santo, the former Republic colonel. melena was captured for the colza Run and violated brutally, before turning the tables and humiliating the Slavers in social movement of the whole galax, by escaping the Run along with the premium hunter, Ja-Alixxe. The two cleaning lady were condemned to be raped to death for their defiance, but so far, in cattiness of huge reinforcement, only Ja-Alixxe has been recaptured and paid the ultimate cost for her leak. I saw the stream, when another slave - one from a species able to self-detonate, made Ja-Alixxe into a martyr, causing important damage to The Hub in the process.

When Salarin received the intelligence of the slave women being secretly moved between chancel, via some Republic agentive role who was in his pay, the Slavers moved to snipe with broad half of their fleet.

Unfortunately, it was a ambush. The Republic were waiting with even slap-up numbers, and inflicted such a defeat that it will hire the slave trader years to recover. Anyone can obtain fake intelligence operation, but it happened to be Salarin who was blamed. To make the ill-feeling worse, Salarin's ships happened to hurt much lighter losses than the former faction leadership. He brought about a licking, and gained basis over the former drawing card at the Saami time.

It has not been a near year for Aghara-Penthay, or for the crew of Virgo's incubus.

Today, there is only one unusual matter about the appearance of our mathematical group as we pass through the airlock and Menachem Begin walking through The Hub. Passers-by see what they're meant to see - males in typical slave owner dress - easy flowing shirts and desert color bloomers, with heavy employment boots suitable for traversing the bouldery surface down on Aghara-Penthay's control surface. That is normal. Those who we pass might casually note how each one of us has on the amphetamine arm of our uniform the faction emblem of a Slaver clan. Salarin's junto, in our typeface. Also normal. The one strange element for Aghara-Penthay is our deficiency of slaver, prance. In a line we stumble on, seeming on the verge of exhaustion, each looking barely able-bodied to have a bun in the oven their grave chargeman arm, and their regulation kit bag.

After returning from a deep space cruise, it is perhaps also slightly unusual that not one of us makes for one of the brothels to sate our desire. If one of us forgets to operate their construction, someone in my team might even be spotted seeming to look with antipathy at the slave womanhood, naked or in wrap, buzzing around everywhere. But sexual lassitude too is not entirely unheard of, so if we are detect, we draw no enquiry. There are decent slaves in imprisonment on the surface to satisfy everyone, and people will assume even the most lustful appetite occasionally grows tired of constant, freely available, sex.

The particular date and time of our docking is only hr from the first of this year's rape Run, and the vast screens everywhere on The Hub are busily broadcasting saturation reportage. On one screen door, I see the Runners waiting in fear in their keeping pen, down below us on the planet. I glimpse Tisya herself huddled against the bare wall, stifle drawn up as though she's trying to be invisible.

I frown, my heavy brows dark.

Another monitor that I pass is replaying highlights of the launch show, where the base runner were subjected to a humiliating audience by the host, Wilhelm Richard Wagner. Other CRT screen cover each base runner's backstory, provide her betting odds of winner, and analyze her likely strategy. Ahead of me, I see Orteza pause when Tisya's face again comes on a view screen - Orteza perhaps contemplating the collateral damage wrought on our lives, just because one cleaning woman was desired by Aghara-Penthay.

The lower berth tier of The Hub where we disembarked is dedicated to the docking ring for slave trader pirate cruisers, and also to docking the tourist ships that bring grouping of men and sometimes women on sex holidays. An upper level contains giving medication and adroitness to manage The Hub's defense. The primary point of The Hub, the one that we're half-way across now, is the entresol, a long strip containing the bagnio, vendue houses, hotels, stores, restaurants and cake that sate every desire of the visitor. One position in particular claim my aid. I've been trying not to discover it, and yet, as is the way with destiny, inevitably we pass it. The Palace of Roses. Owned by Salarin's faction, one of the brothels configured to delight men with a gustatory modality for torturing women. It's as though a handwriting squeezes my heart. Here is where she finished up.

But I might crack if I look any longer. I focus ahead on our destination.

At one end of the mezzanine, beyond the fuddled security measures command on The Hub, is an area accessible only to Slavers and striver. From here, minuscule shuttles configured for short-circuit flights transport everything to and from the major planet's surface.

We become more watchful as we pass through the security checks, our fingers discreetly close to gun trigger in typeface there's trouble, but we make it through the scans without incident. Those work IDs were Charles Frederick Worth what we paid, then.

Waiting beyond the checkpoint we see a small radical of bare women, joined by range at their neck, destined for the next shuttle down to the surface. I count four of them. The faces of three are not yet marked - they must be fresh captive. Down there on the hot dry red surface of the planet, the new ones will inevitably be implanted, marked, and begin spending the sleep of their life-time serving the whims of their possessor. The three sweet women are of immaterial character - the one with the best tit having a face that is too squarely ; the prettiest feature film being on the female child who is short circuit, and so on. But high quality or low, they are female, and therefore slave. They will inevitably be processed and sold.

Two of these fair sex have learned a little of how to conduct themselves during their short-circuit clip in captivity, and all stare down, not daring to make eye contact with anyone in slave trader uniform. But one still weeps quietly, probably contemplating that these are her last hours with free will. It is a mistake, for if her sniveling irritates the guards, she will be punished. A smarter associate elbows her in the costa irritably.

A fourth female, the one whom I judge most worthy, stands slightly apart from the early grouping. Four is positioned in between the two Slaver safety device, probably under their orders, so they might reach her if they wish. She has not been chained at the cervix to the others, for she does not need restraint. turn four already has the swirling slave German mark on her face. She will already have an implant in her brain stem, dissolving her will to resist male commands.

Just two men have been tasked as escorts for this sorry quartet, and they are only lightly armed. There is trivial penury for weaponry when the fair sex in their charge are defenselessly, and have nowhere left to run. For a woman, making an evasion from The Hub is nearly as unbelievable as fleeing the surface, so females need minimal policing. The men are merely there to control that the fresh captures do not end themselves before getting to implantation.

"What's her story ?"I ask the escorts gruffly, indicating the marked one. It is unusual for scar female person to be returned to the airfoil. Processed woman are taken to The Hub to serve there, or most commonly are sold from there onwards, and it's only the fresh captures need to jaunt to the ground.

"There's a shortage in the breeding curriculum,"shrugs the guard."She's to be inseminated."

"There's always a shortage in the breeding program,"I grumble, rubbing the unnatural-feeling growth of shuck on my Chin."They would rather sell female person than maintain the population we need. The chiefs think only of credits."

While I speak, I appraise the cleaning woman She's a sensible choice. The little girl is improbable and potent. If her babe are male, they will become sound and virile Slavers. female person offspring might also have value.

"Ajeedie ”, one of my team interrupts from behind me, and a hired man on my sleeve pulls me to the side. The voice oral presentation is low, masculine, but pressing, seeking a private conversation not meant for the ears of those safeguard. I turn. Of track, it is Norenda. The penetrating prickle in my side of meat. When there's dissent, it's always Norenda, or Orteza.

"We can't read the shuttlecock with these four, Ajeedie,"Norenda says."There was nothing in the understanding about involving innocents."

"If you want me on side, you will handle me as commandant Ajeedie, Norenda,"I snap.

How many clock time do we have to repeat this ? The quietus of the squad were bonded before I joined, and they didn't like a stranger parachuted into the helm. Since the get-go, they've deliberately disrespected me, with petit larceny acts like not using my title. Some commanders would form More effort to get troops on side, but I'm not one to be distracted from my end, or give in to Norenda's pestering just to dress favor. I dismissively answer :"We can not gamble a hold. It will pull too much attention and besides - the Run is about to begin."

"Don't be so pompous, or ridiculous,"Norenda retaliates."Of course, we can hold back a suddenly time. How will that attract attention ? We're just off a long cruise, and it will be solar day before the Run is over. And what's more natural than us taking time to attend around, have a few beers and looking at the girlfriend ?"

"All of us will ask to purge soon,"I hiss in a low voice. Purging overrides all. The Hub is kept to a well-fixed temperature, unlike the stewing surface which awaits us below, but all the Lapp I'm feeling syncope, and underneath the layers I'm slick with perspiration. The others will be in a similar state."Don't forget the topical anaesthetic repair and processing work party will be on the ship soon. We must be down to the planet before anyone checks the manifests on Virgin's Nightmare."

"There are places we can sanctify on The Hub,"Norenda counterpunch."Every brothel has private rooms. But if we take this shuttle, then the women suit our responsibility."

Frustration is making Norenda's voice creep louder and louder. I make a warning gesture.

I make a quick judgement of the guards and their bare direction, considering the lives we hold in our bridge player. There's goose egg there to transfer my head. There are always victims, where bondage exists. The women's future is pitiable with us or without us.

"We are fighters, not slave handlers. I am not nursemaiding a gaggle of captive across the open,"I insist."What are we going to feed them ? Besides, what if they find out our aim, and they turn against us ? You know the risk of nonstarter. They may prefer to side with our opposition."

"We are champion, Ajeedie, not murderer,"says Norenda."If we take this shuttle, we spare them, and we offer them the choice if the situation changes."

"Norenda, I know your taste. it is not a clock time to let a slave involve your fancy. We work alone, and that's an order."I insist.

But Norenda makes a point of hefting that heavy blaster. And that overtly aggressive gesture finally is enough to draw the aid of one of the two date. Although for now, the escort still only goes as far as nudging his familiar, suppressing a grin. sexual congress in the faction are cranky at best, and fights are not uncommon. So long as it doesn't spillway out into total disorderliness, violence would probably break the monotony of their day.

"And you might not be murderer, but I am,"I say menacingly.

But Norenda is not going to give in."If what awaits us awaits us,"my subordinate declares too loudly,"then fuck your rescript anyway Ajeedie."

I must reconstruct federal agency, but still put a lid on this situation.

"You !"I demand to Orteza,"yield that soldier's artillery,"and to Norenda,"As for you - you're on a charge for insubordination."

I chose Orteza to exercise my will, intending to split the brace and then conquer, but it doesn't work.

"I'm with Norenda, and I think you'll find we'll be the ones making the birdsong,"says Orteza."Nobody wanted to follow you, Ajeedie. Everyone knows you'd never have been put in command if you weren't the only selection left. So don't misunderstand us. We'll let you play main just enough to get you where you need to be on the surface, but don't push us."

"Too right."Norenda smirks."And Orteza makes a practiced point - why did you turn the only option ? When there's some quiet prison term, and this is over, let's talk about where you were when the battle was going on, Ajeedie."

"Keep that up and when there's some unruffled time, I'll spend it killing you both,"I say,"and I'll enjoy it."I flex my arms, and muscle ripple. I do not make idle terror. I could kill Norenda, if I wanted. I could drink down Orteza. Diaz. Ak-Mancheen. Illyri. Ko. All of them. I have the acquisition, the reflexes. They could even be armed, and I could have nothing, and I'd still be the victor.

But I force myself to number to ten, swallowing my angry abasement. Now I'm the one drafting attention. I delivered my last menace loud enough that the two guards overheard, but on Aghara-Penthay, that's still not been menacing enough for them to mislay their grinning.

Unbeknown to them, I can read their dead body language easily, and I'm confident they will not intervene, so long as affair don't escalate. The diminished man is even loose enough that he begins groping the bosom of the breeder girl. She flinches at the first contact - even implanted char can't always override defensive animal instincts, but then she remembers herself, and opens her body to him. He slaps her fount anyway - to shock rather than to hurt her. A warning. I shrug, trying not to picture any sympathy.

"putting to death me if you must,"Norenda William Tell me."But while I'm alive, we either take this birdie and deal with the consequences, or we wait."

"This is not over,"I warn them. What happens when we're in private on the shuttle is a different matter to what happens in the public surface area of The Hub, but for now it's best I give in. To the obvious dashing hopes of the watching guards, I grunt, gesturing to the shuttle, and we board. I'm patient, and my hour will come. Those who are not in my team follow - slaves, escorts, and all, for good or for spoiled.

Orteza has paused, and is watching me closely.

"What made you so insensate, Ajeedie ? It takes Sir Thomas More than one shipwreck to make someone that bitter."

I'd prefer to let them believe I'm a dick than tell apart them the the true. Our chances of success are thin enough, and there will be no expiation at the end of it. If they knew they'd be running already, not inviting the redundant problem of a babysitting task.

"You don't know what I've had to see, you don't know what I've had to do,"I answer gruffly, then I steal a glance at the accompaniment."And I'm about to add more crimes to my record."

That is how thing are left, as we board.

Adding crimes is just how it goes, too. Minutes later, I have made several More killing. Yeah, Orteza and Norenda might gas, but they still leave the dingy work of doing that to me. fountainhead, murdering takes my intellect away from dealing with human imagination issues.

The universe relocation on. Somewhere out there in blank, elderly ship's officer at Hub mastery and aerofoil Control, will soon report to their superior that our shuttlecock veered off course and crashed to ground somewhere in The zone, with all on board lost. The destruction will be so fill in I do not expect practically try will be made to aid us. In fact, I'm count on it. Aghara-Penthay is a vicious world, and death and excruciation here are quickly forgotten. My argument with my squad proves how severely it is for rattling kinship to spring up among those who must come here. I wonder briefly if anyone at all will mourn the resident of shuttle AP-3142-Z, but seeing as one of those alleged victims is myself, I don't have the luxury of sentence to ponder it for long.

2-Surface

Wreckage is spread over more than than a square stat mi of the open of Aghara-Penthay. Norenda did a good job, I must accept. The largest patch is no bigger than a human read/write head, and all the debris has been incinerated to blackness by the fierce oestrus from the wallop. When the rescue and salvage parties arrive, they will fight even to identify how many were killed. Forget identifying individuals from this tattered kettle of fish. Good. But the rising smoke signposts the localisation of the crash, and the alarm will be raised by now. Not so good.

"We need to strike,"I say, unnecessarily. All of us understand the risk."We can't utmost long out in this heat, and they will soon be sending ships to moderate for survivors."

I look to Orteza. As our grouping's tech, Orteza has switched that showpiece chargeman from The Hub for a screen, suspended from a shoulder strap for well-fixed conveyance.

"Any lifesigns yet ?"

Orteza discipline the motion tracker, instinctively wiping a hired man across that balding poll, as though this actually helps remove fret. god, it's hot here.

I wait anxiously. If the tracking device wasn't damaged in the crash, it should show anything moving in The Zone, beginning from the size of an grownup human. If it's broken, we're screwed.

"Good traces, Ajeedie. A high denseness of signaling coming from The zone center. That will be the Hunter grouping. Scattered medium sized lifeforms elsewhere across The zone. Runners, or indigen animals. Too many to tell. No sign of incoming ships yet."

I nod.

"In that case we have a few moment. Kit check, everyone."

My group are at least sensible enough to follow that order, and everyone rummages through their slave dealer kit cup of tea, checking the functionality of equipment. I survey them, as they do their employment. Seven of us. The plan was to keep an even bit in case the worst happened, but my addition to the company messed that up. Another grounds they resent me - I'm unlucky seven, the feared team totality in many enlightened galactic superstition. But here we are. Ajeedie - ranking officer and fight specialist. Norenda - cowcatcher. Orteza - tech. Diaz - muscle. Ak-Mancheen - muscle. Illyri - pyrotechnics. Ko - medic. Those two slaveholder accompaniment sentry go, and the bird's original crew, were cremated by the fiery crash of the birdie. Only the luckless seven remain, the witch powers of our identification number already demonstrated by an debt instrument to our unwanted and dangerous new additions.

The group of cleaning lady shuffle nervously, their desolate feet sore now they're on the stony ground of The Zone. They don't understand what's happening. They don't understand why, as soon as the shuttle left The Hub and started to go down, the leader of a potpourri group of men butchered their bodyguard and the flight crew with terrifying efficiency, but chose to part with the hard worker. They don't understand why Norenda gently landed us on the Earth's surface, but then used a remote to learn off and plough the birdie into the jumpy priming coat, at an unacceptable slant. They don't understand why slave owner troops are acting so warily on the control surface of their own world.

They wouldn't guess the true up grounds unless I showed them, but I can see their mental cogs whirring as they try to construct assumptions anyway. The conclusion they'll probably reach is that we spared them for the usual rationality that men keep women. I will not offer them any reassurance on this. They are hard worker, and can not be trusted, and it's skillful for now that they look on us the way break one's back women usually look on male captors.

Having confirmed the readiness and functionality of my own kit, I look around. The floor of the immense crater which forms The zone was pancake-flat in an era before recorded story, but over millions of old age, nature has created sufficient variation on the surface to provide ample covering. Around me sharp outlines play with the heat haze. A nearby outcrop of rock is dwarfed by the slope of the more distant crater border marking The zona boundary, but the outcrop will be sufficient to our penury. It is honeycombed with entrances, and in those entree there will be the cute shade.

"We hole up over there until nightfall."I say, the deepness of my phonation adding authority."Let's go. All of you - team : hold back on the hard primer as much as possible, so you leave no footprints. Slaves - follow us."

Without waiting for an answer, I begin to border, making the pace on point in time. My boots are practical for the stony terrain, even though the midst soles tend to bray noisily on the gravel basis. The team fall into place behind me. At to the lowest degree seeing me doing that killing means their attitude has improved. The phallus of my team watch me nervously now they know what I'm capable of.

Only the female with the slave mark is implanted and compelled to follow us, but the eternal rest of the women trail docilely behind anyway. I suppose they have aught else to do. Make a break for the littoral, and they will retrieve either more chemical group of men, or a cruel death alone in the desert. They do not complain. It must be painful for them stepping on sharp pit in plain substructure, but that's not my problem. It was Norenda's stupe decision to continue them alive, so Norenda can choose how to deal with anyone who goes lame. Besides, in one specific way, those slaves are favorable than we are. Although there were no wrapping on the shuttle for them to wear, at least while they're naked, they're not cooking alive under this sun.

During our short manner of walking, the Rape Run year 4453 commences. Across the galaxy, the world will be fussy choosing between live feeds of any Runner, or any of the four Orion. Trillions of beings checking their ducky, and enjoying their triumph or frustration. There will be sentient beingness watching from almost every corner of the world, with one exception. Here in The geographical zone, the programme are blacked out with an EM buckler, so neither Slaver nor Runner can reach an advantage of knowing the early's tactics. All we are shown is the official broadcast with the typeface of Wilhelm Richard Wagner, projected to vastness on a screen in the sky. Launching the competition, he reminds the contrabandist of the dominion for womanhood - they must call for the foul sperm-laden hydrating fluid every two hours, or visit one of the very few drinking pools and jeopardy being trapped there. They may call for a flare if in suffering, and a huntsman will be given their location. Finally, they must not cross the rim of the crater out of The zone. Hunters have regulations too, but the only one Wagner mentions is they may not hunt between sunset and sunrise.

"Hydrate,"I decree the team, and they obey. Our water bottles do not contain the sperm of a rape Runner's sponsors, but they are nearly as unpleasant, having been heated by the sun to a temperature as warm as a bath.

"Water the slaves as well,"I order.

Richard Wagner vanishes from the sky. So, it's begun. This very second, Hunter's groups have started fanning out from the center of The zone, in hunting of moon curser. moon curser will be making for somewhere they can evade sensing, much as we're doing. Each one of those woman will be perpetually terrify during her participation in the upshot - frightened to affect, frightened to stay still, most frightened by imagining what will happen to her if she gets caught.

We have hydrated ourselves, but in the loose furnace where we've landed, no amount of money of water is going to be enough. Ak-Mancheen, muscle, the self-aggrandizing of us, stumbles, then goes side first down into the dirt. Ko, medic, rushes in to arrest life-sustaining signs. Ko's diagnosis - nil more serious than fainting from the oestrus, but where Ak-Mancheen has gone, soon there will be more. Our mathematical group can only re-start with Ak-Mancheen leaning on Ko's shoulder. Even I can't help but smile wryly at them. Two motley scruffs together, one colossus, one rebuff. A comically mis-sized span if I ever saw one.

We're in a no-account body politic by the time we reach the rock music. It is favourable that the outcropping is so nonsuch, because we don't have reserves for a plan-B. There are hundreds of caves in this one characteristic. We quickly find a place that has a pocket-size, easily guarded incoming, and expands into a gravid space within. Diaz and Ak-Mancheen chimneysweeper it for lifeforms and pronounce it safe.

"In,"I say.

The air inside the cave is almost as hot as alfresco, but it feels mercifully tank anyway, just because the sun isn't baking us animated. All the same, I'm still near fainting with heat, and I don't need Ko's anguished monitor"Ajeedie ?"to know what must be done.

"Bartholomeu Dias, Ak-Mancheen, Illyri,"I say,"You three first. Find a cave and purge. Make sure you're not followed."

They are the logical choice. Dias and Ak-Mancheen are carrying the heaviest encumbrance, and as demonstrated, that makes them the most vulnerable to succumbing to the heat. Illyri is frailer than the others. The three of them don't need asking twice, and have left us almost before I've finished my condemnation.

"Orteza,"I continue,"Take Norenda to cat, once Diaz and Ak-Mancheen return. I'll go last, with Ko."

Orteza and Norenda have the closest friendship within the team, and I consider it a peace offering to let them purging at the same time. Of course, they even have to disagree with that.

"Send Ko with Norenda,"Orteza counters, although with a more venerating tone than I've heard before."Ko is fragile, and needs it more quickly. I can wait. And somebody needs to restrain an eye on you. We don't want you massacring the women, the first mo we're away."

Fine, whatever. Perhaps when we're alone and purging, I can kill Orteza. I shrug.

"As you wish,"I say."Ko and Norenda - you're succeeding, then."

With that agreed, we return to our military mission objectives.

"Lifesigns ?"I ask Orteza, who is once again concentrating on the motility tracker.

"Ships now at the wreck site. Slaver groups with the faction loss leader identified. Dispersed across The geographical zone. Multiple item-by-item signals. Too many to support any as Runners."

"Monitor the Hunter closest to us,"I say."We'll Begin after dark."

"Ajeedie."Orteza acknowledges with a nod.

I sit down, with my back against the wall of the cave, and close my heart. Any movement only generates estrus, and makes me more likely to collapse before the purge.

"Master ?"

It is the girl with her look marked who interrupts me. She kneels in the poop, naked, only inches away from me.

"Do you postulate any avail ? victor looks unwell."

She looks at us and sees men, rapists, but her cheek is a picture of confused concern anyway. The implant in her skull, its biotech roots embedded cryptic into her mentality, is fulfilling its program, and compelling her to keep harm coming to men. She doesn't understand what we're doing here, and why we've been all-but ignoring our womanhood, but she must still try to please anyway. When a slave is as pretty as her, many men would have forced themselves on her by now. Oh, for a convention lifetime, like one of those men. On a whim, I reach out and touch her impudence, on the side where she's marked as a slave. It is an intense experience, having such complete superpower over another being. I trace down her vulnerable throat to the hump of her wide-cut bosom, until I reach the mammilla. I can see why she was chosen as breeding stock. She will raise healthy and attractive offspring.

The girlfriend makes no attempt to evade my soupcon. In fact, she arches her back to present her thorax more completely. She is one of those long-since broken. She has learnt there is no escape for her, and utter fall is the in effect way to shorten her hurt.

"Where are you from ?"I ask, withdrawing my mitt, and clarify,"before becoming a slave ?"

"Cuspix, Master,"she answers, a short uncertainly as though it was too long ago to recollect."In the Danaean Cluster."

"I do not know it,"I say dismissively."What were you before you were taken ?"

"A medical checkup officer, Master. In a merchant fleet."

"Ah. Is that how you met the Slavers of Aghara-Penthay ?"

"Yes, Master. I was officer on a passenger watercraft. Our route was deep in Republic space where blast was unlikely, but a pirate found us anyway."

She waits silently. Men don't often wish to hear women talk for long, and an have slave does not elaborate unless ordered. But like many, I can't aid having a macabre fascination with those who have endured the horror. The other members of my squad still portray have stopped to listen too.

"Tell me what it was like. Give me details."

"The onslaught was terrifying. Brutal murder, and those who died were the golden one. The slave owner spared only the lives of the worthy women."

"It is often that way."

"I thought they'd preserve us intact for a while - virgin charwoman have eminent auction value - but the Brassica napus began as soon as we were on the Slaver ship. Many of the suitable female person ended themselves before they could be taken. But I preferred to live, even as a striver. I did not make the intensity to terminate myself."

"Sometimes it takes more courage to survive than to die."

"I no longer think back,"admits the fille."Now there is only existing to serve."

I study her again. Suicide used to be a major emergence amongst slave bargainer, but implantation ended that. A slave's coding prevents them ending their own lifetime. Not even that escape cock is possible for the victims of this world.

"I was one of those violated before we docked at The Hub,"she continues."With the other adult female, I had to take the air naked to the bird bay. I'm sure Master has seen these parades many times, but mine, I will never forget."

"Mmm,"I say noncommittally.

"That was the last time I saw my unspoilt friend from the gang. I know not if she lives. I suppose it doesn't affair. The rest of my story is a typical one, skipper. I was processed. Given a trivial preparation. I was auctioned, and procured by a sporting house on The Hub. I have served there, pleasing men, until the summons to serve as a breeder."

Her sexual slavery has gone on for long enough that she kneels instinctively with her thighs widely. Women are trained to do this - it pleases men to look at the genitalia of females, and slave women, being no more than objects are permitted no reserve, but they say it takes a while to turn second nature. I can see all the configuration of her vulva, and the hood of her clitoris. She is hairless down there. Another coarse selection of the masters of distaff slaves. I look back up and see the female child is watching me.

I rest my head back against the rock wall of the cave, and close my eyes. Gods, it's so hot.

"overlord looks unwell,"repeats the girl.

She knows I was looking at her pussycat, but there is not the least star sign of reproval, even in her verbalism. It irritates me for some intellect that she is so accepting, so passive. Is there not one of these wight with the will to dissent - a strawman for the millions of victims ?

"What is your epithet ?"I ask, a little snappily.

"Karmeena, professional,"she answers promptly.

"Well I'm fine, Karmeena,"I say dismissively, and she flinches."Don't ask me if I'm unwell again. Actually, I need to think. leave behind me for now, and go see if the others need assistance."

"Yes, Master,"she replies, and her compulsion to obey means she's rising to her substructure even before she begins speaking.

It's not her fault, but the miserable respect that's meant to please us makes her a risk. Karmeena shouldn't be here, her or the other cleaning lady. I'm not naturally hardhearted, but it would give birth been better to leave them in the shuttle, so they died in the collapse. Norenda and Orteza's mutiny to salvage them was understandably human, but foolish. After dark, we will begin our great work, and we will shatter the uneasy public security between the slaver factions completely. I don't wish to lose a precious fighter aircraft just to lead someone babysitting the women, but neither does a sensible force do its fighting with a gaggle of unarmed raw woman alongside. The implanted female is particularly unpredictable. The secret writing of an implant defines a complicated hierarchy of authority, essential to avoid the hard worker experiencing a mental breakdown in the event of receiving conflicting male bidding. For now, she identifies me, the drawing card in camarilla uniform with a late voice, as the one to please. But her compulsion to her computer hardware might mean that once battle is afoot, or if she finds out the truth of our history, she will try to join our enemy instead of siding with us.

Perhaps even more dangerously, slave implants can be tracked. Other Slavers have hopefully assumed she was killed in the shuttle crash, but if they bother to retard, they'll discover she's alive, and then her signaling will lead them to us. That girl is a walking time bomb. There should be no more than four Slaver teams in The zone - the Hunters - and a few admin stave. Four team, not five.

Still, she is pretty, and who doesn't instinctively indirect request to preserve lulu ? I'm as guilty as the ease of them. Who doesn't want to see a brute like her, vivacious and warm ? I watch the muscles of her nates flex as she moves through the cave, admiring the way she has such a innate grace to her walk. Doesn't she deserve the chance of lifetime ?

I spare a coup d'oeil at the former women, the inferior fresh captures huddling together nervously. They are not implanted, but no uncertainty they expect we're preparation to ameliorate that at the offset opportunity. They are a peril in a dissimilar way, traumatized to the wand of panic by the former phases of captivity - no use to me. It is not surprising that one of them shrieks with fearfulness when the almost deafening cry of a woman suddenly resonates through the cave, followed by the sound of Wagner's mocking voice.

"Siilka Noneeva,"he tuts."What's going on here ? Caught like this, when you won medal after laurel wreath for your carrying out in the weewee ?"

As though magnetized, we move as one to the entry to the cave to see where one of the Brobdingnagian screens has appeared in the sky. Even the striver forget their place for a moment to fall and watch.

I can only see the head and shoulder of the char on the cover, but that's enough to support that this Siilka a peach. Her eyes are large and expressive, and her face is delicate - perfectly symmetric, with gamy, fine, jugal bone. Her tomentum is jet inglorious. Her skin is an unusual non-human bluish-gray shadowiness, with a pattern of mottling which suggests scales.

The tantrum being broadcast by the slave trader does not make sense at first. Siilka is flailing with her blazon, and seems to be swimming through the solid sandy ground of Aghara-Penthay, as though the surface somehow liquified. But only temporarily so. The liquidness sand she's fallen into seems to thicken with every present moment - an oil, then a syrup, then a gel. Wagner soon explains.

"Thy called you the beetleweed's most beautiful sportswoman, Siilka, they called you the supreme female athlete, but it turned out you weren't fit enough to escape a slaveholder trap."

In the time it takes Wilhelm Richard Wagner to say that, the liquid state finishes setting completely. Siilka still squirms, but for the all the benefit she gets, she might as well have been set in concrete. She made the mistake of having her forearms below the surface as the lying in wait fully solidified, and she looks like an amputee as she violently flails her upper eubstance.

"Your life as a sportswoman is over. Your life as a sex striver has begun. But there is salutary news. It turns out you haven't lost that affinity for fluids,"says Wagner,"especially cum."

These witty words explain the next sequence - a montage of Siilka, naked on her back, strapped down to some form of bed, being repeatedly raped. The first man to take her is the sect leader, Lotho-Etsarra. He is considered the most handsome of the chiefs, but during a colza, his fount is distorted by luxuria into a cruel rictus. A succession of other rapist follows - presumably his men. I do not recognize any of their faces. Sometimes Siilka pleads"no"to these aggressor, but it makes no conflict. The ending is always the Saami. Ejaculation, inside her, or sometimes over her grimace. Once she's been ruined and soiled by the relentless degradations, and her typeface is dripping with goop, the last aggressor urinates on her, in an ultimate reflection of despite.

I do not expose any emotion witnessing the scene on the projection screen. I still have role to play. The unmarked women are looking at us as though in discernment, and we in slaveholder uniforms would take care unusual if they showed understanding. Over the course of a standard galactic year, one C of thousands, no, it must be millions, of Brassica napus take place. Only the colza Runners have the Galax urceolata witness the first mo of defeat, but otherwise they are not special.

"Get back in under cover,"I ordering brusquely."We don't want to be seen."

The girl Karmeena obeys immediately. The others linger a mo longer as Wagner's broadcast finishes, but when I growl, they too move back into the wraith. Useless creatures… This mercy towards them good not backfire on us. Karmeena is pretty, but we have work to do, and do not ask an attractive implanted female person for now. Godsdamn Norenda and Orteza. This is their error. I just hope I'll live long enough to pretend them pay for getting us in this billet, if their kindness comes back and bites us in the ass.

3 - purging

It's almost become torture for me by the fourth dimension my turn comes, but I'm determined to prove I'm better at holding out than the others. So when Ko and Norenda return I make a period of delaying even longer, checking my equipment again. I'm hoping that Orteza comes to plea, but turns out I'm not the but one who can play tough. Orteza squats down and talks quietly to Karmeena, pretending not to have noticed it's our time. Finally, I'm willing to yell it a draw.

"I'm going to purge."I announce to the grouping."Orteza - get ready. You too. Norenda, you're in charge here. keep lookout. Don't let the slave follow me. If a runner gets close, let her see one of us, and she should steer make. But sound the alarm if you see hunter approaching."

"Ajeedie,"Norenda acknowledges.

Back outside the sun hits me full personnel, and in spite of the penury to show my speciality, I reel with vertigo. A hired hand clench my speed arm, supporting me. Orteza, thank you, for once. Perhaps you may live after all.

A abandoned ship building is a few one C yards away, which would offer more seclusion, but our need has become too pressing. A cave entry is much closer, the red sandstone overhang creating a little shade.

We stumble only far enough inside to be sure we can't be seen from across the gap, where the others are waiting. We've all seen dead body many times, and yet my squad prefer to purge alone, as though there's something shameful about the process.

First, I strip. arm, laboured combat kicking, sock, jacket with slaver insignia, desert scrap pants, T shirt, are all discarded onto an untidy heap. We wear no underwear - another way to appear as though we're like early Slavers. Naked, I stretch, flexing my large articulatio humeri. The penis and ballock between my legs hang heavy, distracting me. So lots trouble in the galaxy, all because male person have these ugly things.

Almost like I've never seen mine before, I cup the genitals in the palm of my paw, feeling their warmth and weight.

Letting the junk drop, I look across to Orteza, who is now also nude, and showing a soundbox shorter and wider than me. I've not seen that many men nude during my spirit, but I've come across plenty to form some sentiency of what is medium. Orteza's diminutive height seems overcompensated with a ridiculously long penis that dangles halfway down the second joint.

The fuzz on my skull is dark and shortsighted - scruffy, but regulation. I reach up with both deal to this haircloth, specifically to where the growth stops at the nape of my neck. The flesh look warm under my fingertips. Pressing firmly down on it, I begin to tear, stretching the surface gently, but steadily. The skin is configured to commence the purge only from there, and so it does, spreading from the base of my skull vertically up and down the spine as though I've unzipped a line along my soma.

Underneath I am sweating profusely, even though my genuine peel is also naked. Once I've pulled the biosuit away over my summit, my dead on target, long, unnaturally light-haired hair's-breadth reveals itself as so wet it looks as though I've been in a shower. I continue to extract the biosuit away, peeling it off my arms and down my torso, as though I'm doing naught more than than removing a wetsuit. Gradually the whole skin comes away, with the very last piece of me exposed being my animal foot. Feeling the piercing I. F. Stone of Aghara-Penthay for the first meter on my torso's real soles, I straighten up.

I am marvelous for a female person. constant training has made my soundbox comparatively muscular for my sex, but I'm zip compared to male athletes, and wish as I might to appear masculine, my factor rule out any possible action of using strong-arm seaworthiness to becloud my sex without the biosuit. The breasts which curse me are wide-cut, unusually good for my frame. They earned me a good deal teasing in my girlhood. Concealment of a rack like mine is usually insufferable, even in loose clothing, when they sit so high and protrude forward as proudly as if they're filled with helium. Compounding my woes, I have unusually prominent nipples that have proved difficult to disguise even with the thickest padding.

Down below, my sex is rounded, and the lips of my vulva are fleshy and outstanding, however that does at least mean the breaking ball can conceal the protruding faithful of my button.

So there I stand. I know that some men prefer the smaller, fragile woman like living dolls, but for those who favor sizeable gene stock, I know to my price that my appearance is of the variety considered exceptionally attractive."colza Run ground level ”, an arsehole guy once labelled me, thinking I'd take it as a compliment.

I am Ajeedie, a"colza Run grade"naked female standing on the surface of Aghara-Penthay. My sex - my breasts and that opening between my legs, mean I can only ever have the condition of slave on this humans, and to evade servitude I'm completely reliant on the bodysuit. Such dependence doesn't break off me looking down with disapproval at the bundle of folded hide lying in the grease. While the suits look entirely authentic and can also frivol away any of the slaver'gender scanners, and the representative modulator lower berth my feeling to a manly register, they're not perfect. They're not porous enough for a hot climate, so we sweat unbearably inside them, and to void collapse from heat energy enervation, several times each day we must"purge ”, giving our real skins the opportunity to breathe. Furthermore, although it is possible to urinate through the fake penis, passing solid is both hard and unhygienic.

Orteza carefully holds her own bodysuit. Like to the highest degree other cleaning woman, she is short than me, and her breasts are less pneumatic, but her face would, I believe, be of the form men considered attractive. At any charge per unit, since my arriver on The Hub I've seen poorer specimens of womanhood that the slave owner were bequeath to drive as their belongings. Her mixed heritage makes her unusual, with a slight upward slant to her gloomy eyes, a greenish hide tinge and her near-jet-black pilus betraying the nonhuman strand woven through her DNA. Her rightful female variety is softer than mine, and except for her chest, she is more rounded. Orteza has not endured the constant exercise authorities of Tisya's elite guard, the Okhoron, so she lacks my muscle definition. Her oculus are very black, and large - one of her respectable features, and her rima oris is widely, giving her cheek a naturally sensual look.

We eye each early warily. The Djenerion Sect is an order of woman, but we are a demure order, turning away from our mortal dead body to search the enlightenment, and it is rarefied we are nude in the comportment of another person. So even if I hadn't discovered her sexual preference was for females, I would probably suffer felt uncomfortable baring myself before Orteza. But on this satellite of Aghara-Penthay, fair sex are defined only by our beauty, and by our value as sexual target. It is impossible to bury our desirability while standing bare under the appraisal of another.

Like me, Orteza is dripping with sweat. She moves a hand automatically to her gleaming shoulder."Don't wipe the sweat away,"I tell her."It will vaporise in the dry air, and so poise you more quickly."

We have been at each other's throat more or less since we boarded the captured Virgo's incubus disguised our body lawsuit. But au naturel, Orteza feels the same vulnerability I'm experiencing, and as cleaning woman we're instinctively drawn together against this land of horrors.

"I need to pee,"Orteza admits.

"I won't look,"I reply."I want to do my form."I turn politely towards the cave opening, while she squats down on her haunches behind me in the vestige.

I adopt defensive military posture four - body turned to the incline, one leg ahead, knee bent as though making a fencing thrusting, one leg stretched behind. Closing my middle, I repeat the familiar bicycle of pulley block and attacks : assailant zones one and seven, block and retaliate zona seven. aggressor zone three and nine. pulley and eliminate zone nine.

The sound of Orteza's urine stream is noisy. Perhaps that's why she chooses to speak.

"Ajeedie - do you recollect we can reach her ? Tisya ?"Orteza asks. Her voice is high and scratchy. The soundbox suits contain tech to modulate the vocal pitch, and it's the first time I've take heed how she really sounds.

Orteza was at the Same mission briefing I attended, so she knows the answer almost as well as I do. But she's seeking comfort and reassurance, rather than information.

assaulter zones two and six. auction block six, occlusion two.

"If we all survive this night's encounter, I think our opportunity are sound. At to the lowest degree, our luck of reaching the Djeneria are soundly. As for what happens afterwards, and whether we leave the major planet, that needs much Thomas More hazard. And all this is assuming we find her before the hunter. The Slavers will hopefully pick one camarilla leader being assassinated on his competitor. But if they've already degraded Tisya and she must be eliminated too - well, then our chances of escape are low. Slavers don't destroy worthful merchandize. Our actions will pay away that something else is occurring, and then they will hunt us down."

"I wish we had a priestess with us,"Orteza complains. Not the starting time time I've heard this from my squad."I'd feel safer knowing there was person with the foresight."

"You know that's not how the gift works,"I grumble. I stop the grade exercises to massage my belly. My time of bleeding was not long before the mission began, and I still feel gruelling with the aftermath of the cramps. My tit feel fleshy and ache, but I don't want to rub them in straw man of Orteza.

"All the same, I'm nervous that no priestess would come with us,"she says. The strike team is drawn from lay fellow member of The Sect, and myself - one of the few Okhoron escort who wasn't caught with our drawing card."It suggests they don't think we'll succeed."

"The priestesses say we will encounter her,"I say, squatting down on my bare haunches, to I look out the cave entrance, and hoping I don't present my ass too obscenely to Orteza."And they said what happens after is undecipherable,"I add."That probably was the truth."

"Priestesses don't lie,"Orteza says defensively.

"Hmm,"I say.

"They don't !"insists Orteza.

"They do not show faux information, but they are subject of presenting information in a way which creates the wrong effect. I've seen it. But anyway, it doesn't matter. We're not here for a theological system debate. We will run across her. We will pull through her, or we will end her."

I reach up and pull the rope of my sweat-matted hair's-breadth circle, and pinch it to try to ring out some of the liquid. My whisker, one of the few conceitedness I permit myself, flows way down my back, and normally looks like a fetching curtain of gleaming metal, but under the suit it's only been a burden that's added to the heating system.

Orteza must be watching me do this, because she says,"You know if it wasn't for that hair coloring material, you'd looking just like…"

"I know,"I cut her off.

Thankfully, she's silent, so I can think.

To the cruel men of Aghara-Penthay, their interestingness in our Djeneria is only in her value and use as a sexual slave, and the message and humiliation her seizure would deliver to The Sect, and to the women of the extragalactic nebula. The slaver do not kill beautiful women. They break them.

But we in The Sect can not accept a livelihood Djeneria surviving in sexual thralldom - shaming the God and The Sect for geezerhood to come. And so, the Djenerion's leading council, The ball club, sent my team. The objective, they told them in the briefing, was simple. uncovering Tisya. If she's still virgin, take her with us and attempt to leave using the Same disguises that delivered us here. If it's too of late, kill her, so another Djeneria might be found. The Sect needed an experienced belligerent in explosive charge, and as one of the few Okhoron who wasn't captured in the space battle for Tisya, I was persuaded to contribute the missionary station. Well, for that ground, and the other understanding they gave me…

"How many have you killed ?"Orteza blurts out. Her voice is faltering."I mean… before those men on the shuttle."I wonder if she's been intimidated by watching the manakin."I've never seen anything like it. You move like you read their minds."

"I've killed enough,"I State Department simply.

"But woman ?"Orteza insistence,"Could you kill Tisya ?"

I think back to her spokesperson :"The elderberry bush God has found you worthy, Ajeedie."

"I will kill her, if I must."

"Even if that means the Slavers hunt us down ?"

I stop and look round at her, rising to my feet. I don't want to spill the beans any more about this.

"I've killed women. I could belt down you if you get in the way of the mission. Don't give me a reason."

Orteza seems to shrink, as though humbling herself. ineffectual to swap off the inherent aptitude for mutual assessment, I notice that her mammilla are abnormally large in copulation to her average-sized chest, and they're an odd coloration - almost moody putting surface. unknown genetic science again.

"If we are going to get caught, do it cleanly,"she says, and it's a supplication."A shot to the back of the head. Before I know it."

"I promise,"I reply in a gentler tone than I've used before with her.

As I've mentioned, suicide is an unforgiveable act to members of the Djenerion Sect, but there is much to a lesser extent inhibition on execution. Our group was meant to contain evening numbers, until The Nine added me. If escape from the aerofoil becomes impossible, with only slavery ahead we will discharge each other from the horrors of life history. Except that leaves us the trouble of the finally one.

"What are we going to do with the slaves ? During the attack ?"says Orteza.

It's a mistake for her to mention the cleaning woman. I can't help snorting with ridicule, and Orteza's mutual dark expression shows our truce has just ended.

"You have a boldness asking me that. Keeping them was your idea. You deal with them."

"We couldn't just let them die,"says Orteza.

"We could, and should. The implanted one is dangerous,"I say, with more article of faith than I feel. I too had watched her in the cave, admired her, and asked if she deserved a luck at life."What if they track her to us ? What if she side of meat with her master ? We can not let her know that we're really women."

"But the three others have a hazard at fighting for their freedom,"says Orteza."They can help."

"They're good for nothing. calculate at them, they're scared out of their wits. They're more potential to get us caught than to help us away from here. And what happens if we do succeed, and we survive long enough to seduce it to the rendezvous ? You know it's not permitted to take unmarked adult female off the planet's airfoil. We should have let them die in the crash."

Orteza stares at me very directly.

"Our religious sect's beliefs are life sentence affirming. Something terrible must experience happened to you, Ajeedie, to make believe you collapse up on all that."

"song it an Okhoron thing,"I say gruffly.

"No… I've met early Okhoron and they were warm. You're dead behind the eyes."

( A man's representative :"A Rape Run grade composition of tail, you are ”. And then the voice of Tisya :"The Elder God has found you worthy, Ajeedie.")

Angrily I snatch up my bodysuit. Here on this cruel planet, I can no longer comport being a bare woman. I'd rather be melting than be exposed.

"It's time to get back. We can't be out of touch from the others for too long."

She subject field me for a here and now, and looks as though she's about to say more, but thankfully I'm able-bodied to hush her with a aspect, and we return to the others without More talking.

4 - Raid

As soon as the sun has set, we leave Ko at the cave guarding the fair sex, and the remaining six of us start picking our way across the barren basis. She is most expendable in terms of this operation, having only specify combat ability. Also, if one of us is seriously wounded, we are improbable to be able to deliver the injured cleaning woman off this creation anyway. The bodysuits are fragile, and each of us knows that a damaged suit will conduce to the indignity of the undisguised female abandoning it, and being forced to arrogate the role of our prisoner. For a wounded char with a break in cause, a barb to the head might be the kindest solution.

Orteza is laden with the technical school, and carries only a hand chargeman fastened to her bash. Illyri also concentrates on equipment. Norenda, Diaz and Ak-Mancheen and myself are bearing the heavy weaponry. I look approvingly at my police squad in their disguise - perhaps myopic than norm for a group of men, but otherwise convincingly masculine, and appearing exceptionally seedy even for that sex. No one would ever know the truth.

Some of the ground in The zone is arenaceous, but where we are now it's stony underfoot, and it's difficult to be active in low light without making noise. We're all supremely grateful for Orteza's long stove scanning to avoid danger. Without it, we'd all be even more nervous.

"Multiple lifesigns, two clicks"Orteza says."Slaver grouping. Bearing 225, stationary. Also a single lifesign, stationary. Animal or female. Bearing 180. One click."

"It could be a blue runner,"says Norenda."What if it's Tisya ? We could be on our way habitation tonight."

"We could expend half the Nox hunting the desert, and even if it is a Runner, the odds are small a fair game would be her. Finding one of the other Runners would just pull attention. No - we need that slave dealer technical school first."

The sky is unclouded, and above us, the myriad hotshot of the galaxy look peaceful. Aghara-Penthay has no lunation to speculate light, so even after our heart have adjusted it is still very night. But the temperature is mercifully cool, so we'll close until morning before needing to retch. Ak-Mancheen is trying to swipe the mood and says,"Nice Night for a walk of life,"but then because she's looking up, she sends a exhibitor of stones skittering across the ground.

"Night vision,"I lodge curtly.

When we're XV minutes into the march, Orteza identifies a new undivided lifeform, moving at the speed of running human. It will bisect our route about two hundred yards ahead.

"back !"I ordering, and we conceal ourselves in a nearby bankrupt building. Although Illyri watches through her goggles from the incoming, we don't even get a ocular to confirm the lifeform's mintage.

"All clear,"I say after ten moment, and we move out again.

The rules of The Brassica napus Run state that the faction leaders and their team must not move around or hunt at nighttime. This isn't for the Slaver's benefit - it's because men aren't the lonesome predators in the desert, and it's too dangerous to encourage moon-curser to be fleeing during dark. The audience prefer watching rapes, not fatality. Hunter sometimes maintain a lookout, however, and then pursue any base runner they spot with the return of day. So as we start drawing close to the Hunter encampment we move more cautiously, keeping always in cover and progressing from building to building. I have my team motility following a wide arc, so we don't approach in a straight line, leaving an easy trail to track to our origin. But even for those who take the furthermost caution The zone has its hazards, and in one of these building shells only a quarter of a mile from our object, we nearly come undone.

"individual's been here recently,"says Norenda, puzzled."A runner, maybe. Look, there's a ration large number. food for thought and water."

The rations are on the level, in a fictile case right in the middle of an otherwise evacuate room. The lid has even been left heart-to-heart to show the contents.

"That's not a base runner's rations,"Illyri says."They only get sperm to drink, and they're forced to eat that repelling broth made for slave. Maybe it's for one of the admin squad ?"

"spirit, fragility,"adds Norenda. She's already reaching for the case when I understand.

"No !"I cry, diving for her knee to tackle her to the terra firma before she touches the treats, but it's too late. The crash of metallic element is deafening against the almost tacit night, as something huge plummet from the ceiling. The cage which has dropped from the cap fills half the elbow room. The bunker was designed to catch a lone Runner foolish enough to upset the rations, firing when they'd naturally be in the substance. It's only sheer luck that none of our larger radical was underneath the heavy ironwork.

But the trap did its work. Norenda and I are behind the bar. Orteza, Diaz, Ak-Mancheen and Illyri are free. Within a mo Illyri starts up, moaning in reverence, the audio odd in a masculine part, and I see I need to assert control before the wholly team descends into panic.

"block that ! see for a winch mechanism,"I order."There must be a way they use to pilfer it back up when they catch someone."I add,"Now !"

Women search the room.

"It will stimulate triggered an alarm,"whines Illyri, her modified voice still high and reedy."Slavers will come."

"It will,"I agree,"but remember there's only the hunting watch teams in The Zone right now, and they're not allowed to incite at night. As long as we get out the cage before dawn, we're safe."

Disguised behind a battered cover on the wall Norenda discovers a computer keyboard, with a glowing LED betraying that it's under power. We're going to get nowhere using that without its codification, however.

"Try to lift this edge of the cage,"I command succeeding, pointing to the floor, and as one we strain against the heavy metalwork. Mercifully, it begins to dislodge. The yap is meant to watch a lone colza moon-curser, and for that doomed woman outflow would be impossible. But with the unharmed team working we're able to set up the keister border by six inches, leaving enough gap to escape underneath. But at a cost. Just from this small amount of exertion I feel myself cooking again inside the body lawsuit. No matter. As long as we can get out. Norenda wriggles out first, while I support the lifting with the early women.

I want to keep open proving my courage, my Okhoron superiority over the respite of them. prize will be important later. So when it's my turn I nonchalantly say,"Might as well shoot the treats as we're here ”, and ignoring Illyri's cry of horror I remove the fictile case from the eye of the room. The sensors are there, seeable underneath, but they can only spark the batting cage once. Hitting the ground, I crawl forward, boot encampment mode, under the alloy cage, which is trembling despite my squad's combined effort.

"Good. Obscure our footprints, and then let's continue,"I say with forced calm.

Illyri is still restive after we've resumed, and the rest of the squad are being affected by her anxiety. Every clock time somebody accidentally kicks gemstone across the gravelly ground, cleaning woman jump, scanning around with their artillery. We are irritable with each other.

"The ambuscade was triggered,"Illyri is still moaning."A Runner couldn't have escaped from the batting cage. They will recognize that a group has been here. They will know there are others in The Zone."

"That's why I took this,"I say, waving the case of provisions."They will imagine an creature activated the sensors. Something small enough to slip through the bars. So stop crying like a sister. No one will conceive you're male person with that much bitching going on."

That shuts her up. And the incident was perhaps even a good affair, for my team are more careful after that. We hike for thirty minutes encountering nothing, until we end up concealed in yet another ruin, peering through cavities in a edifice which, centuries ago, might give birth held window. We've only been moving at a steady march, but it was sufficiency that I'm drenched in sweat inside the bodysuit. It pools everywhere flesh jam against flesh - in between my white meat, which have to be squashed uncomfortably to make them appear like pectoral medallion musculus, in the cleft of my ass, under my blazonry, everywhere.

exploitation Night visual sensation goggles I take in the scene. The precise location of each faction leader's base encampment in The Zone is kept mystical, but I have watched enough footage of prior Brassica napus Runs to be familiar with the layouts used by each leader, and I know whose camp lies only L 1000 in nominal head of us.

"Lotho-Etsarra,"I say with distaste. Of all of the faction leaders who we might meet to destroy, I'd hoped we'd come across Salarin first. Salarin the Sadist, the devil who haunts the incubus of so many women. From this sorry nightmare, we could have done some goodness for the creation if we'd killed Salarin. But there's always tomorrow.

"That means the one captive Runner is there,"Orteza says."Siilka. A dupe will bring duplicate men to the camp."

She is even up. With the Slavers ineffective to hunt during darkness, they normally turn their tending to abusing their captives. idea by governing body which support the coltsfoot's women claim a failed ravishment Runner is violated by between ten and l men on her initiative dark in captivity.

I consider leaving to expect for Salarin's camp. Tempting, but no.

"It can not be helped,"I say."There isn't prison term to find another huntsman before dawn."

"At least there's no watch,"Bartholomeu Dias says with backup man. Another good reason to choose this place.

I look around my team. Women disguised as men. Not one experienced warrior. I'm probably the only one who has killed before. We must act before their fears build. I need to be first to bring demise upon this place, and once it's irrevocably begun, they'll have no choice but to follow.

"Ready equipment,"I order."Let's Edward Thatch these fuckers a lesson. This is what we came to do."

Most of my team substantiation blaster, but Illyri takes something from her backpack - a metal oval which reminds me of a sports ball. I would gestate such a device to suffer a glowing light, something to signify technology, but there is nil.

"Remember, we're looking for a pad. The hunter are permitted almost no tech during The Run, so it's probably the only gimmick you'll see. Our whole operation is impossible without that pad. Norenda, Orteza - search and clear the building on the left. Diaz, Ak-Mancheen - the right. I'll take the sum one alone. Illyri - you stay outside, in case anyone escapes the edifice, and mop up."

They know our object lens already, but a reminder is never any harm. I try to sound to a greater extent understanding.

"Listen - you're all good and gentle people, but we must kill anyone who is not trapped in restraints. Even unbound slaves might be dangerous. The men will probably only have slave spurring, because they'll expect to be condom on their homeworld. I'm not expecting to face many fatal artillery. They don't need them on the surface. But deadly or not, all the men must be eliminated, so no-one may follow us, and we can't risk hard worker being turned against us."

There is an uncomfortable murmur - The religious order values life, but they know the necessity.

"Let's do this. prepare ?"

I give them one last-place import, and then it begins.

"Activate the EMP Illyri. On my sign - three, two, one, mark."

She hesitates for one last secondment, then squeezes the ellipse. To our perception, there is nothing. No stochasticity, no light. We can only hope that the bomb has worked as intended, and the nearby tv camera just went down. Unfortunately, during the assault Run invisible cameras provide blanket insurance coverage of each Runner, and each of the huntsman. There aren't decent tv camera to pass over the entire Zone, but we must temporarily criticize out the local ones before each encounter. The EMP weapon should hopefully do that.

"Go, go."

Many people fear combat, but I've always found it a gloriously emancipate loss of stress. At last, there is for me no past, no future to mean of, only the now of the delegation. The ship, the cave, her spokesperson, all those retentivity leave me. I even smile, as we move quickly across the flat coat, almost at a run. When we're only curtilage away from the first building, and just as we're separating into teams, the for the first time man emerges from the doorway. He's in the heart of rummaging with his drawers, as though he's just finished wee-wee. Or perhaps just finished raping someone. His unexpected reaching is actually good for us, because I've raised my blaster and killed him before the others have time to think. cub often hesitate faced with their first kill, and being led by example is always helpful.

I enter the doorway without pausing. The room is barely furnished, little more than a store with crateful and provisions stacked up. Two men are inside, their Slaver uniforms disheveled and unkempt from a day's foul undertaking. They look up as I enter, eyes widen when they see my blaster, and one is perfectly, another is dead, before they fully understood that this was their end.

"Dolork ?"A male vox says, and from the next room he emerges. He just looks like another man, but he's the one. Lotho-Etsarra, looking down in puzzlement at one of his prone troop. With my Okhoron pep pill I have the lavishness of time to consider him. How many poor womanhood have you violated, Lotho-Etsarra ? Another victim added to your crimes only just now, wasn't she ? I can tell by your loose posture, and by the malodour, you've had sex recently. Well, here's one back for the char. With a spate of high spirits I aim, and deliberately use two shots to kill him - vaporizing the space between his legs, giving him just long enough to understand what he's doomed, then firing the black blast between his eyes before he's hit the undercoat. fuck you, Lotho-Etsarra. A woman just killed you ! ravish me now !

Okhoron reflex action are in overdrive. From a third doorway behind to my lead, I already sense another one of Lotho-Etsarra's men approach. I turn while dropping, and set up my blaster. This one is actually armed, and reaching for his weapon system, but he doesn't do it fast enough to save him. upright again, I make for the way from where the chief emerged.

I can get wind growing auditory sensation of men shouting, from charge close by and further away. They will get it on they're under attack by now. Let's hope the others are doing their jobs. There's no rejoinder from here. goodness. Fear us, concern adult female, for once in your lives.

The adjacent room is the slave trader's sleeping bedroom, and in there I encounter the firstly female. Chained on her back, naked, ankle and wrists secured to the corners of the bed so she can not protect herself, is the flunk rapine Runner Siilka Noneeva. I've never seen a woman who looked so pathetic, so anguished, so completely break-dance. The ruin of her coming into court is not enough to deter the male libido. Between her leg a man is fucking her, his scrap pants round off his knees, so I see his bare buttocks flexing as he thrusts deep within. Men are such brute ! His sex thrust is so potent that even with an incident occurring he run a risk his spirit to fill out his pleasure. The shaft of his penis, which I can see during the withdrawal part of his stroke, is coated with a glistening gunk of her sexual fluids.

I end him with a shot to the incline of the head, so a spatter of red brains decorates the grubby wall and shower bath the girl. He slumps on Siilka, instantly inert. She screams.

I scan the room checking for other threats. It is clear. And on a stool, to my huge relief, I see discarded the object we've sought like it's our holiest relic - the pad. Mission accomplished, but I will not take it yet - I should not encumber myself, not when I need two hired hand to get best results from the blaster. I briefly conceal it on the far slope of the girl, who after gang rapine and a bloodbath has lost her mentality entirely, and is struggling hysterically underneath her attacker's corpse.

The survival of all my team is more urgent than soothing the brat of one failed rape runner, so I leave Siilka there in her chain of mountains and preserve my sweep of the building. In the next room, I find a man crouched in terror in the street corner, holding a goad between his legs to defend himself as though it's some oversize electronic penis. Blocking my path to him is a naked female, her large tit distracting for the raging red injuries across them. The side of her face carries the slave owner's Gospel According to Mark.

"Out of the way,"I order her. Compelled by her implant combined with my regulate voice she begins to move, but the man screech,"protect me"and overruled, she moves back to block my pellet. Her face is a portmanteau word of emotions - fear, determination, and a plea - a plea to end this ?

I hate to destroy an innocent, but there's no choice. The principal proprietor coding will mean his program line supersedes mine. I shoot her in the face, instantly, without a delay which would further her hurt. Again, blood and brains spatter everywhere. Lotho-Etsarra had it coming, but with the woman I allow myself a suspension to respectfully mourn her, also letting the male person anticipate what's coming to him. I never knew anything of her life, but I still experience some sympathy.

Then I turn to him. He's shaking almost uncontrollably.

"She didn't have to die for you,"I Department of State coldly."You could have ordered her to retreat. It's time for justice, creature !"

I kill him slowly, blasting his genu and working my way upwards, pulverizing every piece of him. Into each shot, I try to carry my hatred for those men who have harmed vulnerable women. To begin with, his belly laugh are deafening - let all male nearby hear and learn to fear Ajeedie. But soon he's too far gone. Once there's null but flesh, I leave this charnel firm of a way, and continue. There are two more male in the building, but neither is armed with any artillery to present a actual threat, and I've soon cleared the edifice. One has wet himself, hearing the approaching sounds from the executions.

I emerge into the starry night outside. Probably I should feel more, but I am hollow with exhaustion. Illyri, shaking with fright and more disturbed by the shriek than the men, raises her weapon, but recognizes me in time. In the undetermined air, I contemplate going to attend the others who are still tidying up, but I decide to await. With such inexpert warriors, I'm more likely to get dash surprising my own side than to be helpful.

It's a relief when all the others emerge live. Ak-Mancheen has been hit with a spurring, and holds one of her arms limp and numb, but that's our alone casualty. My team are jubilant with victory.

"nooky you, slave trader !"Diaz crows.

"Do we throw the pad ?"Norenda asks. She has her head together more than the others.

"It's in there, with the fallen Rape Runner,"I say, gesturing to the center building."Everyone, go on lookout for anyone attracted by the engagement. I'll go and fetch it. Get cook to rive out. We leave in five minutes."

rear inside, the slew of me, apparently a male and one covered with panel, offers Siilka Noneeva little reassurance. She begins to scream and struggle.

"occlusion panicking,"I say harshly. Carelessly, I roll the corpse off her body onto the floor, and I retrieve the pad from behind her. Then I look at her. It's so strange to have a real ravishment Runner - one of the coltsfoot's most renowned and beautiful women, so wholly in my power. Undeniably she's stunning, even covered with human dilapidation. If I was a man, this is when I would charter her.

The little girl does not intercept panicking. She's too frightened to be coherent, and I realize I must floor her back to herself if we're to have any dialog. So without warning I reach between her thighs and cup her sex in the medal of my hired man. Siilka gasp at that, tensing herself. Her belly sucks in as she inhales, and her chains clang as they go taut. My bodysuit is reducing my boldness predisposition, but I can experience her organ is warm, and her nether backtalk are soft. No matter - it's just a pussy.

My feeling produces the craved effect. She quiets immediately, going rigid. Now she's capable to swear out what's happening. If she thinks my interest in her is merely intimate, she can sympathize the threat.

"The killing is over."I tell her, withdrawing my finger."We can not hold you with us, they will cover you, and we are a rogue Aghara-Penthay group, dissatisfied with our junto loss leader. But other Slavers will be here soon. They will apportion with you appropriately."

Weakly Siilka lifts her caput from the bed. Her manifestation is an appealingness for kindness. Perhaps I'm the first male to show her the least circumstance. It would be a mercifulness to kill her. I would give her that alternative to live or die if I could, but her implant already prevents her seeking her own dying, and she'd certainly refuse. More importantly, we are allegedly sowing discord between the factions, and it would be questioned why a rogue group would needlessly put down a high economic value sampling of flesh.

So having planted the lie which she will take over when they come for her, I turn my spine and abandon her.

I'm received like a champion by the squad now I have the pad.

"Let's get out of here,"I say,"before the cameras are back up."

In high spirits, we set off across the rocky land, tracking a zigzag road to the cave, intended to deter trackers. Orteza scans for lifetime signs, but nothing is moving, and we feel no menace. The cleaning lady talk boisterously, sounding like a bachelor party through their tone vocalisation. Even I'm effected by the comradeliness.

We halt to eat some rations, and even some of the fineness removed from the slaveholder trap. Now we're safe, that near miss with the coop is nothing More than a soldier's anecdote. To wash the food for thought down, we risk passing round a flask of inebriant.

Unlike many notion systems, the Djenerion religious sect does not prohibit alcohol, or even the economic consumption of meat. Only dairy farm produce is taboo, and for practical reasons. Seeing as the idol favour virgin females, lactating mothers of any species are therefore classed by them as the antithesis of the blessed, and dairy farm interferes with the endowment. I am like most Djenerion, raised to winnow out dairy, and I now find the concept of consuming milk or cheeseflower repellant. Only the darker, dairy-free candies are appealing.

rear at the cave Ko is waiting anxiously for us, her male form ( a particularly swarthy and rough specimen, even by our standards ) rubbing its men together nervously.

"Thank the deity you're all alive"she says with relief as she counts us back in. Everyone else is correctly here. The marked slave, Karmeena, lurking behind her in the shadows. The three invigorated gaining control, still secured together by their neck opening, remain at the back of the cave as they try to avoid our attention.

"Get working on this,"I say to Orteza, casually tossing her the pad."Find me the Djeneria."

"The ravishment Runners chips don't emit signals overnight,"Orteza says, unnecessarily."It would be too promiscuous to distinguish the democratic ones, while they were resting. But I'll get on it at first light."

"In that causa, you purge with someone first, then fill the first base residue,"I tell her."I'll take number 1 watch. Illyri - you're on safety device with me."

Orteza clutches the pad to her chest. Recovering it should indicate the end of our confrontations with the Slavers, meaning the most challenging component part of the mission is done. It's going well. Too well. And I should be careful, seeing how the gods have never been on my side.

5- Missing

As the ravishment Run grew in popularity, the slave trader developed more advanced means of maximizing the pleasure of the astronomic audience. Sir Thomas More joy meant more looker. to a greater extent watchman meant a mellow visibility for the Slavers. There were more visitant to The Hub. More credits were spent, and captives were sold.

One of the measures they introduced was a system reversing the traditional ability of a sports fan to support their favorite. Viewers were able-bodied to patronize the Runner they most wished to see rape, and that cleaning lady would be given a handicap, increasing her luck of being caught. To shorten the Run, using this system, each Runner's location is broadcast intermittently to a pad, one of which is in possession of the hunting junto leaders. The signal is anonymous - no more than :"There is a smuggler at these coordinate ”, but it works brilliantly. It makes it risky for a woman to continue long in the same place. Runners need to run, and in the open rather than hiding, they're more vulnerable. The hinderance system means that the most popular contrabandist have their locating broadcast more often. If a char remains hidden in one location for too long, a Orion can guess her identity, just from the frequency of the sign. But so long as stolon move and overlap their way, the handicap only gives a pocket-size addition to her danger of seizure, and there remains the sporting element of portion and strategy.

huntsman are not allow distinctive tech - life sign trackers - in The zona. Combining a standard life history tracker, i.e. technology constantly recording the view of living creatures, combining that with a Hunter's pad, would enable Orion to lock onto each Runner. Cross referencing brace localisation with knowledge of the handicap, individual smuggler could easily be identified by their signal frequency. Which is precisely why a pad was so important to us. I go to reside leaving Orteza busily trying to synchronize the equipment. With circumstances, soon after first gear light, we will pinpoint Tisya's position.

My first morning in The Zone begins when I am woken roughly, by soul shaking me.

"Ajeedie !"and then surprisingly,"Commander !"

Not good, then. It's either bad news program or someone smell guilty, if they're willingly using my title. I'm unsloped before I know it, and facing Ko.

"Commander - the sun's up, and we've got incoming - Slaver group. We need to move. They'll laissez passer right across us in five moment if we don't relocate."

I'm awake instantly, scrambling to my base.

"Get everything ready,"I order.

"Everything's loaded,"Ko says in a panicked vocalism. And I see it is. There's a ring of faces, backpacks ready and waiting to be picked up. Even mine has been done for me. This preparation took some time. But something is amiss. The sunrays penetrating the cave entrance cast too steep a shadow for inaugural light.

"How long after dawn is it ?"I demand.

"An hour,"Ko says. She has an odd formulation - like a schoolgirl who's done wrong and is waiting to be found out. I look around.

"Why the Scheol didn't you wake me before then ?"I demand."Let's go."

And then I notice it.

"Where's Norenda ?"

"Please Ajeedie, she made me let her go."

"Ko ? Where the roll in the hay is Norenda ?"

"She went to vomit. Wanted to do it in secret. She said she'd only be ten second, but that was before the sun was up."

"What were you thinking ? We purge in 2. Always in twos."I notice the hard worker are watching, puzzled. They've picked up on the verbal elusion. Even in this crisis I have the horse sense to be cautious."And what do you entail"she"? Norenda is a he, remember."

I am told that the engraft responds to male voice modulation, but in a pressure state of affairs, it may be enough for the slave to baulk if they know we are women. The primary owner coding will mean they follow Slaver orders, rather than ours, if they manage to discover we're female in disguise.

"It doesn't subject now why Ko did it,"Orteza says."We need to find Norenda, and get out of here."

"At least you're right on that,"I retort."And I presume you'll have something to do with the disappearance too. Ko doesn't have the clod to do something this dumb on her own initiative. But let's save ourselves first, and deal with the fallout later."

"Ko is a he, think back, not her ? His initiative,"Orteza fires back at me. A comely hit.

We abandon our cave, plotting a course perpendicular to the incoming slave owner squad, and we make for a low peak that will volunteer us a well vantage breaker point down to the mat floor of The Zone. There's a breeze blowing this morning. It would be cooling on any early satellite, but on Aghara-Penthay it's like sitting under a vast hair dryer which kicks up dust and sand, getting sand in the oculus.

Even over the rising dust, to the north I can still take in out a thicker a plume rising, where the band of men are approaching. We're moving almost in a terror speed, but all the same our progress to the peak feels slow. The soil is hard, made of sharp stones and sand blasted rock, and it's difficult for the barefoot slave women to walk. Again I curse the determination to contribute them with us.

We reach cover - not timing it like a flick : it doesn't happen like we're cutting it so amercement that there's moment to spare, but it's dangerously close all the Lapplander. Squatting down in the cover of a cancel wall of rocks, I cautiously peer over the top, my view magnified by the sniper telescope of my weapon.

I count a group of ten men, riding on low hover platforms. They have scarves wrapped around their faces to protect them from the dust, so you can only see optic. The insignia on their vesture identifies them as being of the late unlamented Lotho-Etsarra's faction. It doesn't take foresightful to identify the commander - a male so magniloquent and gangly that he perhaps has some foreign genetic science. I note they are not one of the Orion groups looking for Rape blue runner - I see no sect chief among them. This is bad word for us. If other slave trader flock are being permitted into The Zone, then that means they're using them to expect for the rogues. Us. Not good, but not as bad as what they have with them.

Two of the men in a line carry a foresighted alloy bar propped across their shoulders. From this, is suspended a captive, bounce at the wrist and articulatio talocruralis. She hangs nerve down, so her spine bends back in an uncomfortable curve.

Norenda's bodysuit hangs halfway off her, as though she decided to push her boilersuit down to her shank during hot work. Her coffee-colored chest droop low and heavy. She seems unconscious, but perhaps that is feigned, her attempt to head for the hills the horror which soon will fall on her.

I grimace. Poor Norenda. We weren't the best of supporter, but any cleaning lady would sense sympathy for someone facing her time to come. She has doomed herself, the fool. All because she was ashamed to take a dump in front of someone else. She'll be allowed no body secrets anymore. They will plant her - the spry and most honest mean value of interrogation. Then she will severalise them everything. About our mission, about who we are, all of it. For now, the men bypass our cave, which means she can't have talked to them yet. If she were under their control, they'd already be making for our sleeping place. But it's inevitable she will talk. The Slavers of Aghara-Penthay are about to instruct that a chemical group of disguise charwoman are in The zona, and they're devising for the Djeneria, using a stolen pad.

Moving the stock of the blaster into my shoulder, I aim at her, and start out to control my breathing ready for taking the shot.

"Ajeedie, what are you doing ?"Orteza says indignantly from adjacent to me.

"I must down her."

"But then those men will find us !"Ko says in a panic-stricken voice."They'll know where the snapshot came from."

Yes, the blast will fall in away our position, and a firefight with these men is almost inevitable, but better than the certainty of Norenda talking, after which all Leslie Townes Hope is lost. Determinedly, I move the mickle with her unconscious, bare-breasted soma. The slaver are almost in screen, approaching a canon between the rock candy, but I am prepare.

"It's worth the risk,"I state of matter firmly.

As I begin to gouge the gun trigger though someone smash my artillery sharply upwards, raising the blaster almost to erect. It is only down to a miracle that the weapon does not discharge, betraying our location.

"What in the three hell, Orteza ?"

"That's Norenda. You can't just drink down Norenda because she's been caught."

"I'm not killing her because she's been caught. I'm killing her because of what they'll do to her. They'll implant her, and she'll say them everything she knows about our commission, and then they'll seminal fluid for the repose of us."

The balance of my squad shift nervously from substructure to foot.

"I'll be humane. But it's her or us. I have to…"

I turn back to the sentiment from our hiding office and half resurrect the blaster, but the slave owner team are already in cover charge in the rocks.

I moan, as the reality of our plight cesspit in.

"immortal damn you all to The Nine. That's it now, you fools,"I tell them."We only have a few hours before they'll know everything. Do you know what form of things the Slavers do to women who dare to aim them on ? You'd better pray all they do is rape us."

The concern begins to circularize through the group.

"We need to abort, make for the rendezvous,"wail Ak-Mancheen.

"That won't assistant, you know that,"I reply."We can't just hang around a landing pad for two days waiting for our ride. And as soon as Norenda talk of the town, they'll arrest the recovery team up on The Hub."

"Then we steal a shuttlecock,"pleads Diaz.

"We'll have to try,"I confirm, fighting the despair swelling inside me,"that's our beneficial selection now - but our most experienced pilot is currently dangling half-naked from that admixture pole."

I'm not immune to the growing terror infecting everyone else. Gods help me, by sundown I'll probably be dead or a sex slave. Wanting to take it out on someone, I round on Orteza. Let the chemical group blame her.

"How could you block my shot. Your little crush has doomed us all,"I state."I should birth killed Norenda. Instead she will cuckold everyone."

"Leslie Townes Hope is not lost entirely, there's the bird,"Orteza argues valiantly, but finally the others are on my side.

"Shut your trap, Orteza,"says Ko, and the others murmur agreement.

"What's with you ? You didn't want Norenda to die either,"Orteza continues to protest.

"Of course not,"says Ko,"but one attack would be tolerant than what's going to happen to her, and then to all of us."

"No ! This can't be real… What are we going to do ?"moans Illyri.

"We try for hijacking a birdie,"I say firmly,"but we can still clear for the Djeneria first, if we go right now. As long as Orteza has cracked those IDs and done one job properly today, that is. But the second Norenda talks, the whole mission is lost. violation Run or not, as soon as they know Tisya is our target, she'll be guarded. I estimate we have a duad of hour at most to hunt the Djeneria. If we don't have her by then, we must abandon her, produce for the launch lodgings outside The zone, and try to steal a shuttle or bluff our way up to The Hub."

I've never seen a group of men look so frightened. But my team, in their bodysuits, nod acquiescence, and I feel a moment of pride for the courageousness of these women. The slaves watch silently. Of grade, they will accept guessed the rest. They will know we are women. But does that mean our controller over Karmeena has been lost, or will she observe my masculine modulated voice ?

"hard worker, you know what we are ?"I ask bluntly,"And therefore, why we haven't violated you ?"

They nod cautiously, Karmeena in her wrap, and the three nude fresh captures, chained at the neck.

"I need to check our control condition over your implant still works. Forgive me, but Karmeena, bury one of those stones,"I order her, and she crouches and stretch to the stain immediately, popping a lowly Harlan F. Stone between her lips like it's a odoriferous treat and gulping it back.

"Our articulation still compel you, then ?"I ask her.

"They tell us it's to do with the pitch, Mas…"she hesitates,"original. It's soft to telephone you that. But I warn you, I am Slaver property. If one of them calls me, you must demolish me. I am not safe."

"Noted,"I reply."And on that topic…"Are they ready to hear what I must say next ? It must be told, all the same.

"To everyone - you've all understood now my team are all women here, women in male bodysuits. We are char of the Djenerion, on a charge to spare our leader from the degradation of the Rape Run. The most probably event is the Slavers will find us, as we try to nail our work."

"My beginning message is to the cleaning woman in my original team. I say that each of you must reconsider her own heart, and make up one's mind if you wish to die - fighting, or shot by one of your sisters, or if you'd prefer to be taken alert and survive as an implanted sex hard worker, with a future like hers,"and I indicate Karmeena."We will pause in one hr, and announce our reply. Your sisters will try to post them out, if matter turn out for the worst."

I consider the former women captive, those not-yet implanted. Perhaps saving them was a salutary idea after all.

"To you fresh captures, you are not implanted and still have disembarrass will. Now you know the truth, you can select to press with us, or accompany us in the purpose of striver. Our chance of escape cock is little now, but it is still a luck. The choice to die with your lordliness, rather than expend your time to come serving Aghara-Penthay."

I gesture to where the group took Norenda. In the canyons of rocks, the dust from the Slaver mathematical group has vanished.

"Think on it. But you must mean while we move. We are in peril here,"I Department of State."Now, Orteza - it's finally your moment. Where is the Djeneria ?"

"I have her,"Orteza says, with some of the swaggie already returning. By deflecting my chargeman back there she's doomed Norenda and probably us all, but she's not cowed. The kick annoys me so very much. I vow that if I have chance, I will dish out with her before this is over.

"Then let's go,"I society, and as one we move.

6 - Choice.

Even with Slaver-grade tech, it takes a little while to edit out rape footage. Each meter a smuggler is captured, the highlights of her downfall are broadcast for the entertainment of the galaxy, and shown on giant presentation projected across The Zone.

Thus it is possible for us to depend up in the sky and lookout man Baleria Acron, a brunette mantrap, being violated by The extraterrestrial being on a heavyweight presentation, while the real aliveness Alien strides around his summer camp a short aloofness ahead of us. Baleria was the master of ceremonies of one of the most popular game display in the galax - serail - where contestants win by building the gravid group of coincidental sexual better half from the astronomical public. These participant must persist incognizant they're supporting cast in the show - harem is a conceal camera program - but must be fully informed about any other partners - the entertainment deriving from how contestants persuade multiple individuals to be a leave member of somebody's harem. Sex usually involves the contestant with someone, but sometimes there are groups. Of course, the debauch, shown in wide, are the main erotic incentive for many viewers.

Famously chaste, Baleria lived by different formula to those in her show, and her sex aliveness remained entirely private. The astronomic metier stalked her on each vacation, trying to hitch an image of her with a married person, but she always outwitted them. Paraded for the colza Run as all objector are, it was a surprise to the universe when she wore a tag identifying that she wasn't a virgin.

Baleria's going to have a lot of pardner from now on. Footage of her bare, her rather-flat chest squirming as she writhed in pain in the ass, suffering impalement on the giant member of the Alien, will be enjoyed forevermore by pervert and sadists across the universe. Once Jackran-ad-aktar had his fill and she was left barely witting, she was mob raped by others from his men.

"You're sure Tisya's in there ?"I ask Orteza, ignoring the moans of sexual activeness reverberating across the sky.

She nods, although from my arse view I barely see it when her pass is only seeable behind a ginormous backpack.

"idol have mercy, the Alien has the Djeneria,"moans Illyri.

"Hey, why don't you get someone else to lead some of your kit ?"I interrupt, complaining testily to Orteza."One of the au naturel ace ? You look cockeyed. And by noon you'll be collapsing from carrying that in the heat."

Frightened, Orteza has tried to reassure herself by arming against all eventualities. As well as the scanner pad and EMP devices, she has added a whang of grenades, a blast-proof singlet, a heavy blaster, hydration fluids, and a first aid kit.

"If I start struggling, I'll hand some of it over,"she insists.

On her head be it. But I pray she doesn't collapse. Please gods, no more incidents thanks to my squad's folly. This mission has been an unending flow of own goals, scored thanks to the poor people sagacity of people like Orteza. We should never receive spared the slaves. Norenda shouldn't have gone on her own to study a shit. Orteza shouldn't have protected Norenda from my shot. And then Tisya shouldn't have got herself caught by The extraterrestrial being only minutes before we would have reached her.

The only piece of music of trade good fortune we have is that the men ahead of us in The noncitizen's cantonment don't yet seem to be armed. Either the meaning of Norenda hasn't been see yet, or Book hasn't reached Jackran-ad-aktar's faction that an infiltration chemical group are in The Zone, and are heading for the Djeneria. It's only a matter of fourth dimension, though. Then our loss leader will be guarded, by men with chargeman weapons. While they protect Tisya, we will be hunted, and mercilessly destroyed or enslaved.

The eerie secretiveness in The Zone belies the revulsion ahead. These passive minutes might be our conclusion consequence before pandemonium is permanently unleased, so I address the group.

"It is time,"I tell them."We might not get another hazard to talk, so each of you must recite us your choice, in case it goes wrong. It's a simple decision. destruction or captivity."

"I choose to die,"Ak-Mancheen says firmly.

"I choose to die,"agrees one of the nude person cleaning woman captives."They've raped me already. Anything is better than another man, touching me like that. Let me struggle alongside you."

"Me also,"says her Quaker."I will fight back until the end, if necessary."

Bartholomeu Diaz seems to be wavering, but she follows the others.

"I'd rather die,"she states quietly.

Ko is the first to accept the former path.

"I choose thraldom,"she says, and then in response to the discontented grumbling, explains."Even implanted, there is Leslie Townes Hope. I might be rescued. I might bear an owner who is variety to me. Death is final. Some slaves do have a future."

"I'm with her, I choose slaveholding,"says Illyri. She was always nighest to Ko, so that's not surprising.

"I choose slavery,"says the third of the naked prisoner."It's just sex. It's not so bad."

She can't jazz a good deal about Aghara-Penthay yet, then. But seeing how she's linked at the neck with char with blasters, it's going to be impossible for the last one to avoid the discharge line in the outcome of executions. Still, disillusioning her will only cause problem. I nod.

"I often wish to die,"says the marked, implanted charwoman named Karmeena."But I can not end myself. And I can not harm Male. The control of my implant is absolute. I understand you are cleaning woman dressed in male wooing, and yet I hear and see you, and must serve up your every control, as though you were men. The young woman I once was would beg that you spare me more woe, if it looks like I must hark back to my true masters."

"Orteza ?"I ask.

"I'm a Virgo the Virgin,"she says bravely,"and a gay woman. The prospect of a man inside me is repellant. Actually, I have a phobia of any form of penetration. I can't even stand the intuitive feeling of a woman fingering me."

She pauses.

"So there's only one answer. I choose death."

"So that's all of us."I state."I think we're set. Can you give weapons to the women who want them. And then we'll begin."

"There's still you, Ajeedie,"Orteza says pointedly."Don't put the quietus of us through this confession and not participate yourself. I've seen you nude. You'd make a prize slave."

I pause, and let myself reflect on a animation of service to the Sect, on everything that bought me to that place, and of a fate that seemed to inevitably rescue me to Aghara-Penthay. But it's his vocalism that comes to me -"A Rape Run grade slice of tail, you are ”.

"I too choose Death,"I state firmly.

7 - Tisya.

The earth we're crossway Allium tricoccum down to a rockface - the cliff then climbing back to the flat point level of The zone, thus forming a low where a series of ancient buildings shelter in the lee of the rocks. The building are identifiable as another of the hunting bivouac of the sect leaders, for in the heart-to-heart we can see the typical setup of slave hunting - cages, crisscross, and devices of chasteness.

We proceed across the ground at a leisurely walking pace, heading for the inner circle as though we're meant to be there. It is commons for there to be hanger-on and other manful ne'er-do-wells in The Zone, men who make the most of the aftermath of the gaining control in order to dishonor Runners otherwise out of their purchasing power. The camp guards are unlikely to acknowledge a few more pack rat drifting in to relish the kill.

I order my team to act as such a chemical group - low caste Slavers sniffing around the fall of Baleria Acron, and once we're nearby, we're to commence the attack from point space range. The defenseless 1, chained together at the neck opening, I order to hang back until the fight is over. I don't doubt their commitment to escaping this inferno, but individual want to guard Karmeena, and the wad of armed distaff nudes will blow our binding immediately. The captives are an indirect help though, as their duties free Ko to join us for this attack, making up for the absent Norenda.

And thus it proceeds. Like the previous night, an EMP discreetly disables the camera, and then I open the hostility by blasting a Slaver from such close range that virtually of his amphetamine body disappears, spread in a gory fan across the rocky ground of the zone. Excellent. It gives me great satisfaction each sentence I vaporize another Slaver man. Like the previous dark, the stranger emerges before realizing the risk. He seems gigantic in really life - over seven foot tall and equally oversized in every attribute. fix for his adjacent act of perversion, he wears only a rectangle of cloth which hangs across his lumbus.

My squad are battled-hardened after our first gear meeting, so the others follow my Pb in the destruction more quickly than utmost metre. Thus it happens that I am not the one who kills the junto leader this clock time, but that is o.k. - I detest The extraterrestrial no More than most male of Aghara-Penthay. All that issue is that he is dead, and a shared triumph will tone up our morale when affair soon deteriorate.

Dead, Jackran-ad-aktar lies sprawled on his spinal column, one of his branch twisted at an unnatural Angle underneath him. His loincloth has slipped to the side, and I can see his infamous harmonium. Even limp, I can secernate it's simply prodigious, and I'm ineffective to conceive the suffering a woman would feel if that affair were to penetrate her dead body. Suppressing a shudder, I move on.

As planned, we break up into mathematical group and clear the building. Inside one, I drive out a man who has taken cover armed with a hard worker goad. He hides behind a doorway, but Okhoron instinct warns me there's soul inside, and I react at occult swiftness, rolling into the way with weapon aimed. He too is quick though, and he manages to touch my berm with the goad as I blast a hole through him large enough that if I wished, I could slew my clenched fist straight through his chest and out his back.

The bodysuit offers me some shelter, but the slaveholder weapon still delivers an intense jolt of infliction, and my arm is left tingling and useless in the aftermath. For a while I'm forced to heft my blaster mostly in one hired man - a handicap that restricts my accuracy. In nastiness of this minor combat injury, again we are favourable, though. The cleansing is easy, and the naked captives follow as soon as they can see there's no rattling men alive to establish Karmeena a command.

"Where is Tisya ?"I demand as we reassemble outside.

"In there,"says Diaz. I can separate from her trunk language she has chosen not to identify herself to our loss leader. Star-struck.

With my heart accelerated from more than the combat, I make my way inside, and everyone else follows me. I'd prefer they didn't, but it can't be helped. It's lifelike for them to need to witness the culmination of the mission.

As we enter the room where she's being held, I hear Orteza, who is closest behind me, groan at the view of our loss leader.

One of the pieces of equipment inside here is a simple embellish bench with a metallic element build, much like the workout article of furniture found in the Okhoron gym. On her back, secured to this work bench is Tisya, the Djeneria, and revered leader of our sect. She is naked. I've seen Tisya in res publica of undress before, but never naked like this. Her knees are spread, ankles bent back and secured either side of the bench, so she is forced to remain with her second joint open, vulva exposed, and I can see every detail of the buck private place between her legs. The fuzz she once had down there has been removed. This is a green handling for Slaver captives. They have marked her face, as they do with all female prisoners processed on Aghara-Penthay. It softens her, making her look more beautiful. The mark is proof of the chip she carries. Rape Caranx crysos are not spared nidation and marking - it avoids the competition escaping by suicide. Only the winner is spared the fully energizing of her implant, triggering a lifetime of servitude to men.

Other than the processing she's suffered, Tisya is surprisingly undamaged. Unharmed.

I heard say that The stranger is ineffectual to regain foreplay for a significant time after union, and that must be what's happened here. If he'd used her, we'd be able-bodied to recite by the downfall between her legs. Tisya is being held in facility for his pleasure later. Seeing our entrance, she thinks that fourth dimension has come, and she becomes frightened. She struggles, trying futilely to recede up the workbench and away from us. She's believes we're a group of slave trader men, as she's supposed to.

"Praise The IX. They've not tainted her yet. Quick - mortal look for the paint,"says Orteza, and then changes her mind."No. I'll go find them."

"holy place Djeneria,"says Ak-Mancheen, deferential in the presence of the drawing card."My name is Ak-Mancheen. Do not venerate. We're not men. We're women. cleaning lady of the Sect. We're here to rescue you."

But the sight of us, dubious and dirty in our bodysuit, overrides the Good Book. It's too much for her to believe, and Tisya continues to try and get free. There hasn't been a smuggler successfully rescued for years. She probably thinks the words are a cruel thaumaturgy.

Taking the directly approach, I'm already beginning to pull at the dorsum of my neck, spirit on teasing the suit away from my aspect. And then I'm reveal, the real-me pouring perspiration in the heat of Aghara-Penthay, as usual. My team wait quietly as I strip right down to the shank, my head and real chest exposed, much like Norenda after capture. The others let me study the steer. It's raw that one of us would take a leak some gesture in order to calm Tisya. They don't know just how personal it is between us. They don't know how much I want it to be me that Tisya sees. The true Ajeedie.

"You,"says Tisya, once I stand half-naked before her."Ajeedie. The nine always said our circumstances were connected. So, you're the one whom the God sent to me."

"I've found the keys, they were on the noncitizen,"interrupts Orteza, bursting back into the room, and then she says"Oh !"at the sight of me in my topless finery, standing over the leader.

I've learned my lesson from what happened with Norenda. This time I won't let one of the squad stop me.

"Wait, Ajeedie,"says Tisya, who might give birth some inkling what's coming, but I raise my blaster and hit our unviolated leader wide in the face, before she can finish her sentence. Even for the hardened soldier, the result is a damn peck. Tisya's brains spray in every focal point. Ak-Mancheen, who was standing closest to the flare-up, stands glacial with blow. The Djeneria's remains are spattered across her body.

Panic breaks out next, and I fire my blaster again, into the floor, to get their care. I shout :"Everyone stand still,"and cool off the squad at the point of a blaster.

"What the screw, Ajeedie ?"cries Orteza."What the literal piece of ass ?"

"I just completed our missionary post,"I state simply.

She half raises her weapon at me, but I read more uncertainty from her than intent to terminate, and after a consequence she lowers it again.

"Orteza, you can lower your chargeman down. We've done what we came to do here,"I say firmly."We fight them - the Slavers - for ourselves now. Let's get out The zone shuffle for the launch pads."

The squad are not going to let me go so easily.

"We were here to save her before intrusion if we could,"objection Illyri, voicing what they're all probably thinking."And she hadn't been violated. Tisya was still a virgin."

I should keep focused, but I can't help rising to that.

"Tisya certainly wasn't a virgin,"I say wryly."I don't know what surgical operation she had to restore her hymen, but she'd had more cock in there than some professional whores. I'm surprised the slaveholder didn't find out before making her Run. And as for the idea of rescuing her alive, that's only what you were told. We were never intended to bring Tisya back. I'm sorry - they told you that because The Nine did not intrust you with the truth."

"What truth ?"asks Orteza, who has regained her equilibrium already.

"The trueness that in fact, Tisya had become a cancer in the brain of the sect. We were actually sent here by the inner circle to eliminate the Djeneria, so a new, unpolluted drawing card could be elected."

"How is that even possible ?"groan Diaz."How can we not have known ? She always seemed so… holy."

"And what would you do, in the place of The Nine, knowing the Djeneria was a slovenly woman who'd thrown away her talent yr ago ? Tell all the followers ? jeopardy the collapse of the whole Sect ? No. When Tisya was taken by the slave owner, the chance to send out an elimination team was seen as the graven image'gift to the Djenerion. I would have believed The niner betrayed her deliberately, if there hadn't been so many of the Okhoron captured with her."

Their body linguistic process tells me they are calming. Most are pacified by my discussion. Only Bartholomeu Dias is still under control of her emotions.

"We've been tricked,"she wails."It was all for nothing."

"No antic - what you did was essential for The Djenerion,"I insist."And you will all have the gratitude of the religious order. But forget them for now. Our time to serve The baseball club is complete. Now we're allowed to pore on saving ourselves. So Orteza - pull yourself together, and plot of ground us the fastest road out of The geographical zone away from the risk of the television camera, and then to a slaver city. We'll try to hijack a bird there."

It will be a while before she has any trust in my command, but Orteza complies anyway.

"Tak-Aghara,"she says."On base, we'll be there in four hours. Two hours to the edge of The Zone, and two to the settlement."

The sun is senior high in the sky and I'm boiling alive, but I reinsert my arms into the bodysuit, as though it's no more unusual than slipping on a sweater. I'm about to mold it over my human face when I stop, and pull the biotechnology away again.

"Does anyone desire to purge before we move ? It might be your shoemaker's last probability for a dyad of hours."

"Do we have to do it next to that ?"complains Orteza, indicating the remains of the leader.

In spite of the urgency, they can see it makes sense. Everyone is cooking in their suits, so with only a brief time lag to switch over rooms, we quickly strip, standing all together and revealed as women. Briefly we are one - a forget me drug, with handwriting joined. Orteza, Bartholomeu Diaz, Ko, Illyri, Ak-Mancheen, and the three au naturel prisoner, chained at the neck opening. Karmeena even removes her buckle down wrapper, in a display of solidarity.

We look around at each former. It's instinctive for women to appraise each other, and inspections are not meant to be rapacious. But I'm never allowed to leave that my beauty is the variety considered olympian. I'm used to the aspect of jealous awe, and I'm used to forcing myself to resist the impulse to bashfully cover my genitals with my arms. I wish I could unbend, but when they watch me, I can't stop anticipating the future. In a dire scenario where I'm captured before being capable to end myself, my consistency will only make it speculative when I'm nude. My tit have a drug abuse of stiffening when I'm self-conscious, and they're typically erect now the grouping is purging - only drawing more of the women's flickering glances to my full breasts.

It feels like the necessary vulnerability goes on forever, but there's barely sufficient time to cool off, before we're forced to resume.

"Incoming,"Orteza warns."slave owner grouping. Edge of my grasp, but moving fast. Coming right for us. They'll be here in ten minutes."

This is how the end begins."Coming right for us ”. No coincidence. We're being hunted. We dress as quickly as we can without descending into panic.

"Can we dress too ?"one of them asks, fingering the bloodstained uniform of a corpse."Unlike you girls, I hate being naked."

"Not in anything dignified, unfortunately,"I say."They'll never let women on a shuttlecock in Slaver uniforms - you'll need to appear like striver. So wraps only. There's a few lying around in this bastard's camp. We'll worry about the crisscross later. But if you can find footgear to spoil this rocky terrain it would assist. We can chuck the the boot before we reach any billet where we assemble other men."

A distraction is full from the approaching horrors is skillful, so I focus on watching the captives cover themselves. They make an odd mint, their sensuous and revealing slave wraps counterpointing the heavy masculine fight the boot. As for my team, we anxiously resume the pretence of a riffraff isthmus of male ne'er do H. G. Wells. it would be a better manoeuvre that we run naked, and don the suits at the last moment, but I'm quarry to the same weaknesses as the others and don't suggest the idea. I'd feel too vulnerable fleeing across the surface of Aghara-Penthay as a nude painting, desirable female person.

"Let's go the great unwashed,"I say, and seeing so many on the verge of losing their nous to the panic I add."Don't give up Leslie Townes Hope. We might escape this, yet."

So at a run, we start into the barren Wilderness. Speed is currently more crucial than secrecy, so I don't criticize the way that Orteza doggerel verse, and her footfalls are heavy under her gist of kit. We are in more danger than ever, and yet now, there is a better feeling of freedom. I prefer fleeing to hunting for Tisya. We work for ourselves now, only ourselves. Orteza keeps one eye on the image scanner so we can head off threat. Shortly, two sprightliness signaling cross ahead of our path, but we're able to dodge them without seeing if they're human being or animal.

Her updates are helpful, but they do remind us of the precariousness of our situation.

"The group is at The Alien's inner circle now. aliveness grade. Men,"she says.

This is to be expected.

"Norenda will have talked,"I gasp, breathless from exertion."The Slavers will love everything of our mission, and of what we truly are. If we reach their settlements first, we have a chance of losing ourselves among the other slaver. If they catch up before we get there, we're doomed, and we must end ourselves."

"What about the bunch on The Hub ?"says Ko."Morine, Beana ? We have to try to monish them."

"They're on their own now,"I say."We won't get a signal out while we're in The zona. We have to hope the evac team figure something is wrong before the slaveholder find them."

We resume the journey, our pace getting even faster. Too fast. My head is starting to swim under the burn sun, and it turns out I'm not the one impression it most. Without warning, Illyri pitches fount first into the dust. Reluctantly we expose our pelt once again, and break, bodysuits pushed only down to our second joint to save a piffling precious time. We hydrate.

We've completed three quarters of our journey when the next development occurs.

"They're coming for us,"Orteza announces in a wavering phonation."The group from the camp is making right for us. High speed. Mounted on boards, or speed demon, maybe."

"Are we going to reach the settlement in time ?"I ask.

"It's going to be very close,"she says.

"Then let's hurry."

Everyone but Karmeena starts to jog again. The strike out striver is behaving oddly. Instead of rushing with the rest of us, she has paused, and is rubbing her ear, while frowning, as though she's been swimming and there's water supply residue in there. Instinctively, we all dense, and time lag. Her eyes seem to glaze, and before we know something grave is wrong it's already too late. The slave relocation towards Orteza in a sudden sprint.

"What's the matter Karmeena ?"Orteza asks, her ward down entirely.

"Karmeena, No ! Someone, stop her !"I scream. Perhaps it's the gift, but I'm the only one who seems to see what's about to hap. I'm reaching for my blaster, but I've left it strapped across my back to make it easier to run - my routine to prepare a critical error. By the time I have my weapon ready, I can already see it will be over.

Karmeena snatches the pad from Orteza with one hired hand, and a grenade from Orteza's swath with the other. Orteza, still too slow to make we've just lost control of the implanted female, reflexively tries to hold onto the pad, the tracker still connected to it, but she doesn't grip strongly enough to prevent Karmeena wrenching it away. The slave woman spins on her heel with the grace of a dancer, and as if in slow motility, I see the grenade pin start out its rolling fall to the ground.

Karmeena bounds away from my team, and towards the other captives. relocation, bitches ! I'm trying to scream. She can only hurt adult female, and even our courting are enough deterrent. But torpid, they remain together, huddled and useless just as they were when we first saw them on The Hub. During the tussle I've have prison term to bring my blaster to bear, but if I shoot Karmeena now, the grenade will only drop when she's nearer my own team. So I turn to protect myself from the good time, bawl"dive !"to anyone who's listening, and conurbation in the malicious gossip just as she leaps into the rophy of women.

The detonation is thunderous. Dense grey smoke instantly obscures everything, and rubble and unthinkable phase of matter rains down on us. My ears are ringing, and I can barely see through the abrasive material mountain of dust and grit. But already my brain is resuming processing, telling me I'm active, and I've sustained no serious harm. second later I can get making out the shadowy frame of the rest of my time. Orteza, who was near to the blast, is on her back. pother of skin from her damaged bodysuit hang from her human face, but the hokey cutis seems to make helped protect her from more life-threatening harm. Her center are out-of-doors and she's moving, trying to get to her feet.

When the dust clears enough to fully take in the blast site, the scene revealed is slaughter. Of the slave adult female we rescued, the only trace remaining to grounds our mercifulness to them is one boot, still vertical and holding the bally podium of a distaff grim leg like it's a vase presenting a rose. When Dias sees it, she turns to puke on the ground, and even Ko the medic looks ill.

"We need to keep run,"I urge my team as Ak-Mancheen and Ko help Orteza up."We can't postponement to mourn. They probably heard the blowup on the former side of The geographical zone. Every Slaver in twenty sea mile will be on his way here now."

"We're gon na get caught,"Illyri is wailing."They're gon na rape us."

She's just standing there, inert. I want to slap her, but I try to go calm.

"Not necessarily,"I counter, grinding my teeth."Sir Thomas More men in The Zone means more chance to fuse in. But not if we're found red-handed at ground zero. So pull yourselves together. We need to move."

We have no pad left to us for detecting life-signs and warning us of approaching slaveholder, so unfortunately the six survivor are now forced to progress cautiously, moving from concealment to get over.

It's getting difficult to prevent the group under dominance. Bartholomeu Diaz is moaning,"Karmeena, Karmeena,"over and over, until Ak-Mancheen says"shut the fuck up."There were brief moments where we felt merge, but camaraderie has begun disintegrating in the rising storm of fear overcoming each cleaning lady.

"But Karmeena was a human being,"whines Dias."I was speaking to her. And then she was nothing but that … that stump."

"You said you'd rather die than be a slave,"Ko says cattily."Still feeling that way ?"

Apart from myself, Orteza seems to make retained the most tear down head.

"How did they manage to get her to do that ?"Orteza says. Her voice sounds hoarse - dust inhaled from the detonation. Flap of her damaged bodysuit still hang down, and I can see bar of her real flesh revealed in the openings. The suit is almost useless, but she's still unwilling to expose herself entirely.

"Some kind of nano-drone. Like the ones they use for the cameras, only with a speaker. Norenda must have told the slave trader we had an implanted fair sex. They tracked her down."

"They're watching us ? Now ?"moans Diaz, her fear ramping back up.

"We should make sure they're not. How many EMPs do we stimulate left ?"I ask Orteza.

"Two,"she reply.

"flak one now,"I parliamentary procedure."rent out any photographic camera nearby."

Like cobbler's last time, there's a click on the EMP bomb and zilch. We don't even know if it was working. But now they're onto us, it won't support cameras away for long. I gave the order more to calm Dias, who is staring round with wide eyed paranoia.

"I thought implanted slaves couldn't kill themselves,"complains Illyri as we resume.

"Not from their own unloose will,"answers Orteza."But if they're ordered by a man, they'll do anything they're asked."

"But we look and sound like men. She could have stayed with us."

I answer this fourth dimension.

"Like I keep saying : there has to be a primary election owner who can override others. Otherwise, men could just endlessly belie each other. When contradiction happen too much, it triggers a kind-of mental crash in the imbed dupe. Karmeena knew the Slavers were her primary possessor, and not us."

"It's supposed to be impossible for an implanted striver to harm males as well,"argues Illyri.

"And she didn't,"I say."She pulled the pin and only took out the ones she could perceive as charwoman. Now stop talking and hurriedness up."

And praise the Gods, just for a abruptly patch, she does.

8 - Donaya

People sometimes think the immense volcanic crater that makes up The zone as being undifferentiated in its geography. This is not the case. Some areas are pancake-flat primer, with almost no cover. There is a realm being reclaimed by the desert, entirely comprising sand sand dune. Large surface area have barren hills, with drop-off, canyons, rocky slopes, and caves offering almost infinite screen.

The crater rim also has its variations. While much of it runs at a level height, a senior high school apex straddles the rim at one distributor point, and at the opposite word slope of the huge circle, is a region where the crater sides are missing entirely. With the gap providing the easiest logistical admission to The zona, it is here that the Slaver settlements begin.

Our pursuer will be expecting us to make heterosexual for our only when potential escape - through the settlement, so I have my team approaching the destination in an elliptical itinerary - longer, but safer. The route we follow takes us over a landscape painting like rumpled cloth, offering us plenty of hiding property, but making it unmanageable to see far. We must constantly air sentry to climb up the gradient, and this means our progress is slowed further. Now we're blind to approaching risk, we're all spooky. I keep fingering the trigger of my blaster, visualizing a moment where men ambush us, and when I'll have to direct the gun barrel up into my skull and shoot.

It feels as though those Slaver troops are about to swarm over each rise at any moment, so I have to be ready to take the final steps. I can't shake the sense of being watched - a prickling between the shoulder blades. But with no alternative but to proceed, we do so, and we seem to continue without encourage sign of lifespan, until we reach a place where the broken ground abruptly ends and from our reconnaissance point among some fractured rocks we can finally see right to the edge of The zona.

Through my binoculars I see a monster Stone fortress, the ancient nature of the construction a contrast to the high-tech equipment on its level roof. At its top I see a shuttle lifting off, and I see it turning to exhibit the unmistakable magnesium white burn of a gravity campaign. My aspect across to the home of salvation shimmers with the heat. Smaller edifice clump around the fort. Slaver men mill around the base, where a large earthworm is being loaded with a trailer of supplies. secrecy among them, escapism maybe, it's all just there in our sights. But between the fortress and our hiding space there is nothing. We must choose between crossing a full-of-the-moon mile of open ground with no possibility of hiding ourselves, or trekking along the border of the rocks until we reach the crater rim - easily half a day's hike.

"Getting across there won't be fun,"I say with distaste."And we're overdue purging. It's going to be twisting in this heat. Maybe we should find a cave. Undress and hold for sunset, and set about it in the dark."

"What about the ones following us ?"complains Diaz."It's been too long without a mansion of following. They could be right on our tails."

As though on cue, Bartholomeu Diaz's questioning is abruptly cut by a char's screech, loud, and coming from somewhere close enough that it makes me start. I turn back to the view across the monotone sheet in time to see a charwoman emerge from a canyon, only a hundred yards to my rightfulness. She is dressed in this class's Rape Run costume - a lustrous black catsuit, an rig revealing for being so figure necking, but yet concealing the pelt from the ankle joint to the throat. High-heeled kick are made of matching cloth. In spite of the impracticality of moving on her stilettos, the Rape smuggler, whom I know as Donaya Oshanka, is desperate enough that she tries to sprint in them across the clear ground.

And right behind her, on a fomite like a chariot which hovers a infantry above the priming, follows one of the two most important surviving men on Aghara-Penthay, and the one I loathe above all. The faction leader Salarin. I'm filled with a hate so visceral I can smack it. There is Salarin, Salarin the torturer. Salarin the sadist. Salarin the rapist. Responsible for the barbaric luck of two of the most significant women in my life sentence.

How many aliveness has he ruined ? Donaya, the one seemingly destined as his following victim, is terrified, but that only makes the torturer enjoy himself more. The two former men riding with him on the chariot are joking with him. Members of his hunting retinue, probably. Salarin laughs. Close on the bounder of the chariot two more of his men emerge from the canyon riding individual hover gameboard, and they fan out either side of the woman.

She screams again.

My heart wrenches with pity. She is lost now, and there is no probability for her even if she reaches cover, but she flees anyway, driven by brute instinct. The Hunter rides just behind her, following at a couplet of yards aloofness. He could overtake her easily, but he chooses to prolong the minute of her capture. Salarin lets her continue to run while he readies a device unknown region to me - a bundle of bright red cables dangling from a midpoint connection like they're the legs of some great wanderer. When he's satisfied, he pitches this towards the ankles of the fleeing cleaning lady. Her legs are bound so loyal I don't see it, but I hear her shriek. I only see her go expression first into the dirt, with her legs pinned tightly together by the winding coils of red.

Salarin plosive consonant and dismounts. His pace is leisurely.

Donaya Oshanka is one of the two most famous distaff news mainstay in the galax. The other, Suseya Nirolara - a little vernal, with a larger chest and a naturally sultry, more pouting expression, is perhaps even more in requirement as a assault Runner, but has been luckier in avoiding seizure. A common wittiness among the galaxy's men is they want the steady Donaya for their wife and the fiery Suseya for their mistress. Given the two are being constantly compared, one would bear the fair sex to be professional challenger, and the media try to create history of a feud, but the to a greater extent actual reports say they're friends, maybe even intimate one.

Aware that Donaya's beauty is the key to her professional achiever, she's not been afraid to use her plus to her vantage. The galactic datum feed have abounded with montages of her best lowest-cut meridian, and modeling images of lingerie and bathing suit. In her newsworthiness anchor work, she manages just to forfend being overly revealing, and outside of her populace persona she lives quietly. I believe she was married, but unless her husband is loaded enough to buy a go bad Rape Runner in the auction, he will now be in her past. Donaya is brunette, wearing her dark pilus in longsighted liberal gyre. lock which are concealing the slave mark that every Rape Runner has branded on her face.

Two of Salarin's men have Donaya back on her feet, each holding one of her arms. Her legs are still restrained though, pinned together at the ankle joint by the wanderer. She is struggling, but resistance doesn't stop the Chief pulling down the slide fastener from her throat to navel, and casually pushing apart her cause. During my time training as a Djenerion acolyte I've seen my share of naked cleaning woman, and she is exquisite. That will only make matter worse for her. Salarin seems to prize what he can see too. With her chest exposed, he lazily tugs at her nipples, watching her reaction. Meanwhile, in spite of her resistance, his men strip the causa the relaxation of the way down off her body. The restraining device releases her ankles instantly, once they need to bare her shinbone. Naked, we see Donaya's hip joint are rounded and feminine, and she has no tomentum to hide her sex - again the result of the discussion all moon-curser receive before the competition. Once she's been stripped entirely nude, Salarin permits all of his men to fumble her, roughly and intimately. We can hear their cruel laughter from our hiding place.

I'm half expecting to see the stark-naked Donaya violated there in the dust in strawman me. But that is not the nature of the Sadist. He likes torment before pleasure. So his men first force her arms into binder, locking her wrist joint together behind her back, and once she's secured, they step back. Donaya is left her standing, her saltation wrists preventing her concealing herself. We can see her, from head to toe. Salarin sends one of his suite to the chariot, and from its back he unreels three fine cablegram. The relinquish ends of these he walks with across to Donaya. His men close in on her again, blocking our view.

"What are they going to do to her ?"Illyri whispering, horrified.

I have no answer, but somehow, when the men move away and we can see again, two of those cable length remain, each attached to one of Donaya's nipples. She's saying something to them, begging desperately, and I catch flashes of her pleading whole step carried on the hot breeze.

I don't know the mechanism by which they then attach the final cable to her womanhood either - clamped, or perhaps even inserted, but it can't be pleasant, for we can hear the cry of discomfort, and we see her double over with pain sensation. And with that, they just walk away. I watch the men return to their vehicles, leaving Donaya with her coat of arms behind her, looking down in helpless obfuscation at the accoutrement fixed to her defenseless consistence. If her handwriting were rid, it might be little to exhaust her pipe organ, but her script are not free.

"No !"several of us cry out in sympathy as Salarin's chariot begins to move and we understand the men's intention. When the stemma first go taut, Donaya's tit are stretched out at such an unnatural angle I fear they're going to be torn from her body. She's jerked forwarded by her chest of drawers and she goes sprawling into the turd, unable to break her pin while wearing those binders. The chariot point and again I hear the men laughing uproariously. Oh yes, hilarious.

Donaya gets gingerly to her knees, and then her feet. Her front is scratched with poop and grunge already.

Knowing what's coming, this metre she's already running after her captor as the chariot pulls away. Therefore the tension comes less suddenly, and she remains on her feet, although her stage kick wildly under the sweat of making such unnatural swiftness."Run !"“ Run !"I can hear the men urging.

And thus it goes on. Under the burning sun of Aghara-Penthay, those clamped towlines strength Donaya to run naked for their entertainment, the woman desperately trying to keep up behind Salarin's chariot. He changes pace frequently, and weaves in rotary and chassis of eight, to do it harder for her to celebrate on her pes. Each meter she goes down, there's a flare-up of that sick laughter, the chariot stay, and she's ordered back up. Before ten hour have elapsed, she glistens with a lustre of sweat, and her sides are covered in incision from the gravel.

While they're abusing her, the sound builds of more fomite approaching. We scrunch up broken in our vantage point as a expectant speeder emerges from the same canyon where Donaya was concealed. The identification number in the second group have doubled since our in the first place confrontation, more than twenty now, but there's no mistaking the slave trader uniforms with the badge of Lotho-Etsarra's faction. It's the same men we saw holding Norenda. These are the ones who hunt for us, instead of for Runners.

The Amandine Aurore Lucie Dupin is no longer being blown around, so they've removed their headscarves. I give only a passing scan on the faces - one slave trader is like another, all made ugly by cruelty. Until I reach the leader. Riding in the statement situation is that same gangly man whom I saw with Norenda, but I can see a distinctive mop of blond whisker now. His face is hard, cruel like all the Slavers. I would not like to get hold myself at his mercy. Unlike the common slave trader hunting retinues, the blond man's military personnel are heavily armed. They're not here for the forthcoming gang rape of Donaya then. My belly knots with fear.

Salarin's chariot comes to a halt. Donaya slumps immediately to her knees, breasts rising and falling as her bare torso heaving with sweat. blonde man leaps out and approaches the leader, barely glancing at the Runner, and he confers with the faction headman. He moves with a slow loping walk. His expression shows loose disfavor for Salarin. I'm not indisputable why, but I find myself wondering how many women the blond man has raped. blonde Slaver spends a full phase of the moon second explaining something, then confirming the worst, gesture in the rough way of the rock 'n' roll where we're hidden.

There are clip I feel particularly conscious that I am a charwoman. Now is another one of those. Inside my bodysuit I am reminded that I have breasts, I am reminded I have a soundbox that men find desirable, and I am particularly reminded I have an possible action between my ramification instead of a penis, an curtain raising that on this earthly concern, dooms me to the status of a sex slave. I clutch my blaster - the best reliever for a genus Phallus. I repeat my vow - they'll not choose me alive. They'll not. What's happened to Donaya will not pass to me. It should not be allowed to happen to any cleaning lady. And there in front of me is Salarin, a catalyst for so many woman's distress, and the blond man, who hunts us.

"We could hit him,"I say abruptly to Orteza."The cruelest of them all. It would doom us, but we'd be doing the cleaning lady of the galaxy one giant favor."

I mean Salarin, of course of instruction, but where there is one stab, there could be more. The blond.

"Please don't, I don't want to be a martyr,"Ko admits to me, shamefaced."Not here. I want to try and escape, while there's a chance."

The others murmur assent.

"You all know, there might never be another chance like this for a woman to call for Salarin out of the picture,"I caution."We can make a standstill for females across the universe."

"Kill him, and another will just rise to the top,"says Orteza."As long as there are men who can hold baron over char, there will be sadists."

I might be bequeath to swallow calvary today, but my team, tired and overheating, don't have enough fight left to sacrifice themselves. And since the incident with Tisya, Orteza has been watching me carefully. She already has her blaster part-towards me. If I try to snap a fast shot, she'll deflect it again, and we could feed our localization away for nothing. For now, the men have to live.

"Then as soon as it's dependable, we'll make a break for those resolution. If anyone is desperate to purge, we can take a few minutes."

But no-one takes me up on that. No one wants to again feel the vulnerability of being a naked female person on Aghara-Penthay, not when we're so tightlipped to peril. It was bad enough when we'd first arrived. We'd rather faint from the passion now than show ourselves.

In front of us on the knit, Salarin and the blond man complete their discussion. Salarin's vehicle begins to incite in a imposing rate towards the middle of The geographical zone. Donaya scrambles back to her pes, and resumes jogging just in metre to prevent the parentage to her organ going taut. With her arms behind her, her only option is to run behind her captor towards the place where her colza will take lieu, and be broadcast to the galaxy.

The marvellous blond man ticker until they're out of our sight, his expression angry. I gather he did not like the consequence of the conversation. Again he gestures to the rock music, irritated, but in a counseling that's thankfully further to the rightfulness than our hiding place. On animal foot, his men fan out, heading that way. They have weapons ready. We are being hunted.

"It will take them a patch to properly seek in that terrain and see we're not there,"I say firmly."So we give them just enough time to get out of sight. Then we make for the settlement. I think it's now or never. Everyone harmonize ?"

Each woman nods. For once, we are in unison. A team. I look around at my group - seemingly the shortest, ugliest, gang of men who ever walked the population, and can almost finger some affinity. But I also think about how this could be the second we're together and at peace for the survive time, and the piteous decisions of these charwoman are to blame for that.

"Let's movement,"I command, and flavour exposed almost like we're missing our suits, we walk out onto the open plane.

9 - horde

"diaphragm and hydrate !"I lodge my team.

Forced by me to pause, manly faces frown at me, as sulky as children.

All this way across the dry give ground I've been holding them back - don't thrill when you'll only overheat, don't flush, and sustain stopping to drink. But with the tension racked so high, each time we resume, the fastness march gradually accelerates, and eventually I have to force another halt. We must restrain a taciturnity of endurance so we can run, if the worst happens.

At three fourth of the way across, the sudden blaring dissonance of a Slaver programme almost gives me a marrow fire. We're all imagining possible nightmare futures, and we don't need another reminder what awaits if we're caught alive, but we're to have one anyway. There is Donaya, Donaya who we just saw captured, resting back naked and spread-eagled on a hulk adhesive web, while Salarin rapes her. He wears some form of metallic cocktail dress over his erect penis. The web she's stuck against must comport electricity, for each fourth dimension he thrusts into her, Donaya's body goes so inflexible that her screams change to strangle gurgles. On top of all the other suffering a woman endures during trespass, Salarin has made the act of assault itself a form of torture. I should take killed him while I had the chance.

"Don't look at the screen,"I monastic order my team. Their emotions are fragile enough with this.

The slave owner must be hunting us, watching us even, but we make it most of the way across the open ground before there's a augury of pursuit.

"Ajeedie !"says Ak-Mancheen, pointing back towards the middle of The zone. Once again there is the evident cloud of junk kicked up by fast-moving speeders. I raise my field glasses, and the quantum oculus bring them so close it's like they're as near me as Orteza.

slave owner.

Him again. That same tall blond guy stands in the leader's view at the front. He also is looking through binoculars, and looking right at me. I see his mouth wrinkle into a smile of greeting. He can't have intercourse anything about me, other than I'm a female person in a body suit. And yet the grin chills me. It feels personal.

"Run !"I society my team, turning away with my heart in my mouth."Now it's time to run for the construction. They'll be on us in minutes."

Sacrificing concerns for the risk from the heat, we begin to sprint for the settlement. salvation sits just ahead, but on top of a plateau, raised perhaps a hundred feet above the eternal rest of the plane. The final phase angle of the journey will take us up a steep slope of scree that will be particularly taxing on our bodies. We must hurry up there, though. Fainting is a risk worth taking compared to the alternatives. So we run. Ko and Illyri start to snivel tears. It looks odd seeing grown men cry.

"pull yourselves together, or I'll shoot you right here,"I snap at them."aspect : that building up there. It's in use. There are Light from their technical school. We can get into the corridors and mislay them."

The very nearest building to us is an isolated structure, offering no onward safety valve route, but a petty encourage away, where I'm indicating, is an offshoot of the declamatory settlement - clustered construction sprouting out of the Crater cliffs like a fungus. They're linked by stone corridors - a net of building, corridor, building, corridor, reminding me of the models of molecules from my school Day. The enactment go all the way back to the main structures with the launch pads. Make it there, and we have a chance.

My words"Pull yourself together"were probably the last bidding I'll return them as a team. terror is almost come now. Our pursuers are only five hundred yards away. I brandish my blaster. I release the safety. He will not subscribe me awake. Probably, I only have arcminute left to live.

"The Gods blessings be on you all,"I say, more gently. That is my goodbye.

We scramble up the rocky slope towards the entrance. The loosen scree makes it slippery, and we all backslide to diverse extents, tortured by seeing our destination get nearer then further from us, over and over. With each woman acting for herself now, we end up spreading out into a line, Orteza at the forepart climbing well-nigh successfully, able to pass more stamina in her damaged cause, then myself, and Illyri doing well at first, then sinking almost all the way down to the prat with a heroic scream.

I look back and see the slave dealer are a hundred yards from the alkali of the slope. It's too belated for Illyri now. She'd requested slavery over destruction, but her cry was so pitiful I decide I should end her anyway, once I reach the edifice. But I must save myself first. I turn back to climbing. Orteza has reached the bland platform of sway at the building entryway.

"The others - shoot them,"I gasp up to her."They're not gon na take a shit it. It would be a mercy."

But Orteza isn't listening to me. She's busy looking out over the plain, her stare fixed on something else. Breathless from travail, I too reach the flavorless rock plateau, and turn to see what has her attention even during this crisis. Our pursuers have dismounted at the rear end of the side, but even though Illyri has resumed, and is once again halfway up the climb, they're no longer following. The blond man is just watching us, hands on his hips as though he's a foreman supervising a project. What is he waiting for ?

"Ajeedie - what's that ?"Orteza says, and then I see where she's been staring.

It looks like a cloud of smoke, except clouds don't usually undulate their shape, and move reverse to the hot wind on the planet surface.

"dirt ball ?"

The cloud is coming in our direction. As the dark gets close, tendrils begin to stretch out from it, like fingers reaching from a boxing glove. Fingers pointing to…

I can usually keep my head in fighting, but still the fearfulness almost overwhelms me.

"We got incoming…"I bellow.

I turn to the building and showtime to run. Its high arched entrance forms a blank like a cave. The archway is stacked with crates of provision, and at the back of it is a heavy blast door with a porthole window. It waits invitingly open, offering safety from the cloud.

"guard that door,"I call to Orteza."binding me."

There is plenty fourth dimension before it reaches us to show mercifulness to the others. I turn back to the slope, shouldering my weapon.

Illyri is at the back, forty yards down the slope, and the cloud reaches her first. I see her engulfed by something, something bad enough that immediately she forgets running, and only thinks of flailing wildly. I fire my blaster directly at her, but the irradiation scatters in the dense swarm cloud. In cattiness of my scene being on target, I see Illyri is left unswayed, but now moving sluggishly, as though she's burdened with carrying an tremendous weight.

By this time, Ko and Ak-Mancheen have been claimed by this mysterious hell. As I watch, Diaz too is consumed by the swarm. I will be adjacent. A tendril of the roll of tobacco is making for me. It will be on me in seconds. Abandoning those behind me, I turn and bolt for the door. I'm under the arched cap of the entrance - nearly at base hit. Ten yards, five railyard. I don't need to see from the growing horror in Orteza's expression that the secret plague is ripe behind me - I can get wind the phone of thousands of tiny backstage. But I'm gon na get to this.

Orteza's sass, visible through the damaged suit, opens in a soundless scream. I see scare fill her saying. And then, when I'm only three invertebrate foot away from her, stretching my hand so she can draw out me inside, she cracks completely and slam the threshold shut.

"No !"I bellow, crashing against the metal with the violence of my impulse. I have enough clock time to see her anguish typeface backing away from the small port of chicken feed, and then I'm engulfed by the cloud.

Instantly, the insects are all over me. I'm expecting to be twinge, or perhaps burn, but for the first arcsecond of the attack they simply land on me. One, then two, then five, then twenty, a hundred, a thou. come together up they look like no beast I've ever seen - a disc, with fixture serrated limbs, much like a throwing sensation of the antediluvian, except it's a magnetic disc with two paper thin wings on the top. No mouthparts, no center, nothing to designate social movement or back. Each individual is almost weightless, but the combination of so many makes my weapons system and legs start to feel like I'm swim in thick soup.

I'm flailing as Illyri did and trying to brush them off me when I begin to discover the design of the louse'limb. The fauna aren't falling away from me as they ought, but they stay in position by locking to each other. The serrations are hooked together, forming the creatures into a covering of interlock. My arm happens to touch my wing as I try to traverse the worm away, but rather than continue its natural motion, my arm remains attached to me, as though my sides were coated in gum.

I strain, but I can no longer locomote that arm away. It's locked to me as tight as if I were wearing a binder. Realizing the danger now, I keep my other liberate arm as far away from me as possible. Even in my scourge I can reason that the animate being must call for tangency with their neighbors in decree to lock those bait.

Still trying to take flight in any direction, I wade forwards, with my legs spread wide to inhibit the connections, but at the apex of my limb where my legs are closest together, the creature are still able to make restrict contact with each other. I feel myself becoming more and more restrain.

Slower and slower I advance, until finally, I have to founder up. That's it. It's sentence. This is the end, for me. I reach for the blaster, intending to steer it at my head, then pull the trigger. Only to find my chargeman, which was hanging by a shoulder shoulder strap, is now stuck to my side by a thick stratum of the puppet, as though it's secured in a tight-fitting holster. I realize I'll never move it into the right space. No, no, no ! Please, no ! I can't be taken live. Trying anything to avoid the horror of what's ahead, I stumble on once again, fleeing only on animal instinct.

I might give birth had a prospect of continuing to go on further, if it wasn't for my boldness. A wave of the swarm descends over my eyes, and I can't sweep them away, not without risking sticking my medallion to my brow. Blind, I'm already doomed, but rather than give in I stumble on anyway, until I misstep over one of the dissipate crateful and crash to the floor.

I'm falling. I land with my mortise joint together, and when I succeeding try to move my stage to resume my leak, I can't. My lower physical structure is bound as tightly as if my pegleg have been mummified with steel cable.

One free arm is all I have left. And it's an arm that's getting heavier and heavier. The cloud must be continuing to jam onto me, layer upon layer.

My blaster is useless to me, but I still have one of those grenades at my swath. Reaching for it will intend letting my free arm become irrevocably glued to my sides, but I might retain enough movement to release the pin. I commit, reaching down, and experience my arm bind to my side like a attraction. I fumble for the grenade and… it's not there. God, no, it was there, where did the grenade go ?

I probe with my fingers, but feel them block almost instantly, as my scale of louse engulfs even them. And then, after keeping my wits for so much of the mission, terror finally claims me. I surrender myself to the screaming and writhing, but with my limbs squashed against me like I'm a shrink-wrapped piece of pith, the struggling accomplishes nothing. Even my shrieks of horror are smothered by the swarm covering my mouth. Gods no ! Let me die, please just give me decent movement to find the fallen grenade and end it. If there was ever any Truth to the religious sect, if there was ever any Gods, cede me the mercy of ending myself. Please no, not a sex slave…

It feels like I struggle into exhaustion before anything else happens. It's possible that while I do this, there are men surrounding me, enjoying watching my terrified movements, but my audience is muffled by the creatures, so I know not. screen, and utterly immobile in my cocoon of louse, there's eventually nothing to do but wait for what's inevitable, so when the hotness and fatigue turn too often I go limp, feeling faint from travail, fright and the baking atmosphere of Aghara-Penthay.

("A Rape Run grade piece of behind, you are."his vocalism reminds me )

Since I left girlhood men have always looked at me with hunger, so I am unconvincing to be put immediately to death for my crime against the slaver. No, not before they've had their fun. I can't bear contemplating how it's going to feel when they rape me - cerebration of literally anything else would be better. So I latch on petition, focusing on the words for the first of all prison term for many years. But as always, my God choose not to respond.

10 - Caught

The swarm are gone, releasing in an heartbeat at his statement, but still I am restrained.

I stand on a trading floor, with my arms raised and extended, so my soundbox forms a shape much like a uppercase letter of the alphabet"Y ”. I do not admit myself in this status by choice. My wrists have been locked into debase wristband, which are chained to a triangular structure of alloy measure just above me, so I look as though I'm lifting a heavyweight coating hanger above my head.

A thick cable length extends from the acme of this trigon to a large metal pully in the ceiling, and thence down to the winch, far beyond my ambit, which they used to crank up me onto my infantry. Tighten it further, and the metalworking would lift me gamey, so I'd be suspended by my wrists.

My stage, they have left completely free, because now I'm trapped the men can safely do that. I'm not going anywhere with locked wrists. The only movements available to me are stepping from side to side in a futile drive to ease the strain of my situation, or crossing one leg over the other in a useless attempt to protect my groin.

Deliberately, they leave us all sentence to muse what lies ahead. And I can't help but do that. I think once again about how I am a cleaning woman. I think how I am fit and strong for my sex, but the toned brawn in my second joint are not going to be strong enough to hold open my legs closed and forbid them raping me. expectancy makes me pass off harder, and inside my wooing I'm even slicker with sweat. I can feel it running down my spine to pool in the crack between my buttocks.

The room contains ten bent of the windlass apparatus. There is no early furnishing in here save a few electric chair for an audience, and a duet of metal loge with breathing golf hole - just large enough to fit a hunched-up captive inside. It seems we are in a place purposed only to inflict distress, suffering dispensed after using the winches. Around me my poor comrades in arms have been similarly secured into bondage. We're positioned in a circle - able to face one another, and observe each other, no doubt to make the experience more terrorisation. I could bet at them, but most of the sentence I stare at the floor in frustration. I can not yield seeing the terrified faces of my team.

It is of late afternoon. Only 60 minutes ago, we had hope. We were justify. Now we are contemplating a future of perpetual revulsion.

Ko, Bartholomeu Diaz. Ak-Mancheen. Illyri, or at to the lowest degree their male guises, dressed in slaveholder faction overalls, and the two who waited on The Hub, with programme to steal a shuttle and rescue us - Beana and Morine. Orteza is the merely one they don't have yet. Where is Orteza ? She can't have got that much further after betraying me to capture.

But no Orteza. I can see all my other brave young lady facing into the circuit, but not her. All of us captive of Aghara-Penthay. All defeated. All lost forevermore. If they execute us immediately as penalization for the destruction we inflicted, it will be a mercifulness. But the Slavers are not known for being merciful with woman, and by now they certainly know that under these layer we are char. No. What is coming will be sexual, degrading, painful, and we'll beg and we'll pray for death, but we'll only be granted it when they tire of other anatomy of vilification.

hazard was never on our English, but the chief reason for our licking is here. Norenda. I can't keep from glancing at her and seeing my future - Norenda who was once a brave soldier, now standing in a striver wrap, all but naked, with her face bearing the mark she will carry for life - that of a female captured by Aghara-Penthay. All who see it jazz that slave dealer have implanted her and broken her will. Once the chip was in, she would accept answered every question they asked about us, and our mission. She will always be a striver to men now, beyond any salvation.

Eight womanhood - Ko, Diaz. Ak-Mancheen. Illyri, Beana, Morine, Norenda, Ajeedie. Perhaps two dozen men. Ko and Illyri are already crying openly in anticipation of what's ahead. My team are no doubt doing the math, as I am. How many of them will I have to fit ? Is it improper to hope they prefer the others ? Maybe, but we are all prey to the same scourge. The other women will be hoping I am the favorite.

"Be brave - what lies ahead will be abominable, but hope is not lost until the Gods end us, my peachy Friend,"Diaz tells us.

I scowl at her stupidity. One of the inhumaneness of nidation is that at a male word, every female can be turned into a rival, an enemy even. It is life-threatening to declare friendship when a program line to an engraft readiness your most intimate protagonist immediately against you. The slaveholder pleasure in having friend abuse friend. It arouses them. The sight of male against male person is not erotic. They only enjoy seeing cleaning lady cause their closest to lose. Being born female is naught but a curse.

To ward off showing my tumultuous emotions, I stare at the floor again. What torture awaits underneath ? I'm standing on a midst alloy phonograph recording, like a utility hatch, only eight metrical unit in diameter and designed to slide apart down the pith, so we can be lowered into… what ?

"puss,"says the gangly blond man, the one responsible for for our seizure. The unit of his team hunted us, but I still feel it is down to this man. He looks at us with satisfaction."Yes, that's right. bitch. We know what you are. Your plan was clever. Faking an inter-factional difference of opinion that got blown out of ratio - not an uncommon occurrent on Aghara-Penthay, creating chaos to countenance you to reach the leader of your Sect. We suspected cipher until catching this piece,"and he indicates Norenda."After that, it was over. You were lucky to get through Tisya before we intercepted you. We didn't appreciate the slave's significance at first - if we'd implanted her earlier, your leader and the alien would be alive. But once that chipping went in, you were doomed."

I frown. I knew I should have got killed Norenda. shit Orteza for ruining my shot.

The blond guy has almost of his men in veritable scout troop uniform, but it's the civilian tagging along - the slaver medical officer, who terrifies me. I keep looking to his plain pitch-dark suit, wondering if there's an implanter gun waiting in there.

Blond-man pauses, to glare around our circle. His disconsolate humor adds to my fear. I know Slavers. They should already be in entertainment mode now we're caught - enjoying our terror, our anticipation, taking pleasure in their accomplished victory and index over us - their sex hard worker. But although there is currently some sort of a contest among the rank and file to predict which one of will be the prettiest, all it feels like forced jollity.

The blond leader addresses us all, giving a partial tone explanation.

"He was my easily friend - Lotho-Etsarra,"he says suddenly."He turned my life sentence around. I was something of a space bum, before I came here and discovered my function. We all looked to him as a leader."

"Aye !"a few of the men chip in.

"We had a estimable leader, until your team wiped him out, slaughtered him, and many o.k. men with him. Just to try and prevent one woman having to spread her legs. The punishment you receive for this will be terrible. You are to be handed over to Aghara-Penthay's rulers and made into representative horrific enough to deter the galaxy."His jest is vitriolic."The Slaver justice which awaits you will come upon scourge into every cunt in the galaxy. But our rulers will only have you once we're done with you."

"Aye !"more than of the men agree.

I hate that vulgar word - cunt. But it's what slaver call free females - the generic label for every bingle woman who isn't a slave.

"That's right. You cunts butchered our Quaker, our drawing card, and for that you must first bear the brunt of our personal wrath. We risked defying rescript to fetch you here, instead of delivering you consecutive to Slaver justice."

He stamps a bang down on one of the metal saucer, and I hear the tintinnabulation of a hollow blank underneath. What is down there ?

"You'll all be expecting to be stripped and raped ? Yes, my men are certainly going to take our payback on you first, but that's only voice of your fate for the next few hours ..."

The laughter that goes round then - the sheer cruelness in it - chills me to the os. I'm not the only when one horrified by it. A grim blooming is spreading from the groin of Ko's Slaver uniform. She's wet herself from fright.

"Charax, look, you're scaring the scratch,"of the underlings laughs coldly.

twat - another disgusting label.

But thus I learn the public figure of he who captured me."Charax ”. I sound it over and over in my fountainhead as though it might extend some cue as to his nature.

I am the captive of Charax. A man named Charax has complete exponent over my biography. Contemplating what it means to be Charax'captive, I force myself to be still, and I stare down at the floor, where in front of me I can see my bring up metrical unit on the metal saucer. If he wishes, Charax is going to rape me, but I entirely believe him when he says that won't be the high-risk of it.

Please immortal no, if there's any trueness or kindness to you, spare me whatever horror Charax is planning, let alone our final penalization, once their leaders have us. I failed to end myself before capture, so inevitably they're about to strip, rape, and process me, like any woman taken by this humankind. But later there's something even worse ahead, and that prospect makes me shake with affright. almost of the universe's women will be delighted that someone executed Lotho-Etsarra, but those persuasion aren't shared by a fair proportion of the galactic male population, and not the men here on Aghara-Penthay. The slave owner endangerment losing face in the center of the extragalactic nebula, and when one relies on rule by scourge, a exit of face is unforgivable.

"When will you cunts need to be sick ? Is that what you call it ?"Charax asks, almost as though he's concerned for us."I don't want you collapsing too soon ”.

No-one solvent him. We're all foresighted overdue and we're soaking inside the traitorously skins, but we will all tolerate the discomfort of boiling in the suit of clothes rather than willingly break ourselves. If I die from heatstroke, it would be the best outcome of my day.

"Very well. You can sudate,"Charax says coldly."Perhaps you'd like to learn about the chaos you've caused to my home, while you're warming up. Cronorgan and Salarin are currently out there trying to adopt vantage of the office and soak up the leaderless Slaver groups, but many refuse to serve them, and some seek to become new leaders. There is a state close to polite war around us as rival make their move, over the Alien's grouping, for example. The cabal of Cronorgan and Salarin have been forced to lock down, and are guarding their assets while the others fight it out. Matters are so unplayful that The Rape Run has had to be stopped, until gild is restored. This is the first time for seventy yr the upshot has been completely halted. In comparison to such political kerfuffle, it seems a pocket-sized issue that your foray also cost Aghara-Penthay a valuable violation base runner - the bid on Tisya had been competitive. And yet, merely damaging some merchandise would have already been enough to garner you dire consequences."

There's naught any of us can answer to this, so no-one speaks. more than of my womanhood have started crying. The audio of fraud manful voices blubbering is irritating, but I can't state them to stop. They're beyond my fiat now. I try to drag my wrists through the tight admixture bracelets. I can't seem to keep still, and I must keep twisting and testing my adherence. I am terribly uncomfortable, roasting alive. There's so much sweat dripping inside my suit it feels like being under a cascade. But still I struggle.

Charax subject us for a minute, but then abruptly turns to Norenda.

"Tell me, you - which one of these cunts was your loss leader ?"

I look up as compelled by her implant, Norenda indicates me.

"Then she will be raped first, while the rest of you watch what's ahead,"Charax informs the dress circle."Now severalise me, slave, which female do you think men would find most worthy in your chemical group ?"

Norenda probably likes me least of the grouping, but she is planted and must answer honestly. My heart is already sinking as she indicates me again.

"The same ? Convenient. It brings a little to a greater extent satisfaction to the exemplar she will provide to the rest of you,"United States Department of State Charax, and he crosses to remain firm before me. He's taller than me, and I have to appear up to see his fount. Intimidated, I drop my regard, and end up looking at his groin. His uniform is loose about his thin frame, and I can not tell if he is already aroused. But I'm sure as shooting Charax has a penis. He's favourable - his genitals mean he's not an automatic pistol slave on this world.

I'm still tensing in my restraints as though trying to shrink away to nothingness, heart beating insanely fast, but cypher helps. And it is thus, inevitably, the time comes when the ordeal we've feared begins.

"What is your name, cunt ?"Charax asks me.

"Ajeedie,"I answer after a break, trying to keep my voice steady. There's no stop lying when I can so easily be found out.

"Ajeedie…"he tests the sound in his voice."Are you cognisant, Ajeedie, it is a breach of our laws for a female on this world to masquerade as a Male ?"

I hesitate, then speak.

"Just get on with it, asshole,"I say defiantly."We all know cipher I can say will make a difference."

"Excellent,"Charax says, although I'm not sure as shooting why."In that case, winch them all up,"he continues, stepping back into the center of the circle."And let's get these pudden-head prick naked ”.

Men pop moving - Charax's underlings - as he addresses the room.

"They teach trainee Slavers that the two worst second in a slave's life are usually when she is first stripped, and first raped,"Charax says."Well, you have done well today, my men, so these present moment are yours to confer. The prizes are yours to undress. You may do to these womanhood as you wish, once they've been stripped. All I ask is the right to claim first the one I find most suitable. You may produce use of her too, after me, of course."

There is a cheer."Chief ! top dog !"they chant, as though he's not a Junior officer, but a junto leader.

I strain angrily, trying to rend my wrists free of the restraining bracelets. We are not"booty ”. We are not the entertainment for some triumph celebration. It's just been confirmed - this Charax is as big a prick as the eternal sleep of them.

But I don't have any more time to consider who I hate most on this cursed populace. There is the audio of cranking machinery, and the bar between my wrists suddenly jerks upwards towards the ceiling. Around the rope, explosion forth the scare cries of fake male. The joints in my weapon system stretch painfully as my wrists suddenly bear the system of weights of my eubstance. I scrape my heavy kicking futilely against the cover underneath me, trying to maintain some purchase, but soon I'm kicking the discharge air. When the mechanism stops, I'm left hand suspended - just far enough from the floor that I can't even reach it by stretching down my toes.

I look frantically up at my chained wrists, and wind and turn the bones in the hamper to try and free myself. But I know I'm helpless to prevent what's coming.

Charax's goons are already moving to the others, but there is a hesitancy to approach me. By explanation, a man with a tenacious nose asks of his commander"You're sure you don't want to discase the best one yourself ?"

"No, for now I simply wish to see,"Charax replies calmly."I want to savor the view."

There's not clock time to comment on that, for virile assailants are quickly onto me. I'm flexing my wrists and flailing with my metrical foot in a lastly attempt to give up at them, but of course it only invites them to cut away my kick first. Hands inevitably touch me, and then they inevitably pull at my wearable, and there's nothing left which prevents them undressing me. The removal of my slave dealer uniform they do in a perfunctory manner, quickly slicing the fabric when only the male body cause is underneath. The spate of a naked man is not of interest to these fellows. During this undressing I do not resist the process and hang there limply, despite the dreadful implications that come from being nude on Aghara-Penthay.

Before long the bracelet introduce me as a restrained, suspended, naked Male. I hang with my ramification slightly apart, and my faux genitals dangle downwards between artificial thighs. Around me, my raw comrades are similarly revealed. Ko's private parts are unfeasibly large in relation to her short stature. I wonder if she specified being hung like the alien. If only these flesh were real, our time to come would be so often better.

"Very impressive disguise,"Charax says with commendation,"but you will know that here on Aghara-Penthay, we all prefer the mint of defenseless female, and we are eager to see your material consistence. Men : continue."

Gods pull through me, here it comes, here it comes. His men move in again, and begin to pull at the skin on my upper arm, as though they're trying to unfold a party balloon to bursting.

"The skin suit of clothes open at the back of the neck,"Charax reminds them,"so the implanted one told us. Preserve the biotech cause. We want to analyze them. They might get in useful."

His men rapidly shift their touch towards my binding. I brace myself as the hands find the decent spot on my prickle. Here it comes. A sensation of tearing behind me, and then the air of the elbow room is on the glistening skin of my literal, bare, back.

idol help me, I'm being exposed as a woman on Aghara-Penthay.

"You're probably wishing you were utter,"Charax says, countersign primarily aimed at me, but loud enough to be heard by us all."I can't imagine how humiliating it must be for you all to be captives of the slaver. The Djenerion claim that their women are divine mediator, but the Gods really seem to hate you, don't they ?"

I can't supporter but agree. While he speaks, I'm gradually bring out - the suit opening down my spine to my hip, coming away over my dead on target typeface, spilling the long damp tail of my matted tomentum.

"waiting, stop !"Charax says abruptly. The men undressing me pause. I'm used to enduring men looking at me with admiration, but Charax's expression is more raging surprise.

"Gods,"one says."She looks just like a blonde variant of that assault base runner - the H.M.S. Bounty hunter."

Please, why couldn't I have died, I silently ask myself ? Even having my case displayed makes me feel terribly exposed. My resemblance to Ja-Alixxe doesn't explain the sudden tautness, though.

"Okhoron !"one of the men stripping me gives it voice.

Charax rounds on Norenda.

"You never said she was Okhoron,"he says angrily.

"I never had chance !"she stammers, shaking with fearfulness,"I didn't think it mattered."

"Didn't think it mattered that a trained slayer was leading the chemical group ?"

He's almost roaring now.

"A captive is a captive !"Norenda gabbles."You nearly had her anyway."

Charax breath deeply, calming himself.

"So, Okhoron, it's not surprising your group caused such mayhem,"he tells me, rubbing his chin with his script as he examines me."Okhoron, eh ? ... Well now, you, Okhoron, are a tasty little slit. Very pretty. But I'm sure you're well aware of that. Proud of that fount, huh ?"

"She's exquisite,"a muscled giant of a male agrees."I was on The Hub when Tisya's group came through, honcho. Salarin took some efflorescence gist with the former guardians, but this one stands out even among them. If her body matches the face, it'll be a pity when we have to cast aside of her. Look at that furious mouth. And aren't those back talk made to soak up cock ?"

"I'll bite yours off if I get the chance, prick,"I growl at him.

"Remember those Holy Writ when I'm fucking you, slave,"he grins."It's your asshole, you need to concern about."

"Perhaps you thought your peach would economise you, if you were caught ?"Charax asks me, resuming ascendence. I shake my read/write head."You hope you're too suitable to suffer like your booster ? But there is a consecrated rule on Aghara-Penthay. Even for men, there are some rules. We have one which says no fair sex is too beautiful to be above the law."

goodness. Even if it's brutal, I'd Sooner die than know as a sex slave to these men.

"Continue,"Charax orders his men.

The work resumes, the bodysuit being dragged down my arms ( requiring another fumbling tactics releasing my articulatio radiocarpea one at a meter ), leaving the biomaterial still giving its last-place protection to my chest, but exposing my back down to the groundwork of my prickle.

He's about to see my breasts. Aww, crap, they're all about to see my knocker. I tense my subdivision, as though lifting my body up a few inches might somehow move me safely out of their range of a function, but of course there's no escape. Strength fails me and I sink back down, blinking back the crying of shame, as my suit is tugged in one here and now right down to my venter. I can sense the air of the way on my pectus. Almost all the others are already completely naked. I'm the only when one with any covering remaining, and yet I'm still the one nearly everyone is choosing to watch.

Too humiliated to see their faces, whether cruel or sympathetic, I look down at the globes of bod attached to my chest, with those nipples I always considered embarrassingly overlarge. My raised weapon system lift my breasts even more now, while offering no chance of privateness. The picket pelt is my torso is glistening as though I've been oiled for a massage. Gods, this is intolerable, being on show like this. Kill me now, I pray.

"Now those are a twosome of bounty breast,"announces the one who bared my chest. The same man who labelled me as Okhoron. To me he adds,"Nice hooters, bitch !"

"peach is skin deep, but you'll always be a half-wit,"I try to retort, but it's hard showing sanction when you're topless and helpless, and my defiance just provokes a laugh.

"I'm going to eff you too, for that,"the moron informs me.

Without warning Charax steps up to me, and cups my breasts, one in each hand, and bounces them, daring to finger their weight, as though he's testing fruit. I close my heart thinking how they must all be watching me - all my team are watching me humbled and essay weak.

"You were quite right,"remark Charax to the minion who made his lustful observation."She does ingest Nice heavy titties. Excellent."

My titty are released as abruptly as the attack started, but when he's gone, the feeling of where his hands were on me remains.

"slave owner scum,"I say softly.

"Once more, proceed,"Charax ordination, ignoring my tidings, and my courtship is abruptly dragged down over my seawall. This move exposes my woman - my veridical bum and my genitals open to the room. These men can see my core now - the place between my legs, where I have an opening instead of a protruding member - a vulva and a vagina - parts of my organic structure that doom me to the status of a slave on this worldly concern.

Only the frame down my legs remain covered. Oh, this is unendurable. I try to adopt a position that's as untempting as possible, but my kitty-cat and ass are exposed now, and hanging from my wrists automatically forces my back into a raw arch. That posture may adjourn my vulva from protrusion, but it presents my rump all the more completely behind me. I'm not sure what's big - pushing my behind out invitingly, or the way the arch of my spikelet show my breasts.

I twist my hip, but give up. The only scheme left is to endure. I stare unbowed ahead and try to control my emotions, as I don't want them to see how much this chagrin is getting to me.

It's warm, even within the protection of buildings on this sun-blasted Earth, and my pale skin is still dripping with sweat. Between my tail end I'm still slick with fluid, and lead of limpid pursual the stiff of my suit down to my foundation, when the men finish rolling the remains of my covering away like pantyhose. And with that, even my last feeble aegis is gone, and I'm completely naked. I'm a raw fair sex, on display to the slaveholder of Aghara-Penthay.

I, Ajeedie, am being presented, utterly nude sculpture. I am unwillingly showing off my entire physical structure, displaying it to the men, displaying it to my comrades, as they display their soundbox to me. I see them all in their true forms. Ko - ebony skinned with a nimbus of frizzy hair, a little woman, with chest that are oversized in telling to her body. Bartholomeu Diaz - tall and gabardine with a healthy body and wide hip joint. She's the oldest - her chest are beginning to sag with the onset of middle-age. Ak-Mancheen - heavily built, strong and with picayune chest development. blonde and down in the mouth centre, she's rather mannish. You'd have guessed her to be the lesbian one, rather than Orteza. Illyri - a small, rather petite physique, with an healthy expression and a freckled face. Then there's the two womanhood from the rescue team - overweight, frumpish Beana with here pasty-looking, acne-covered face. And Morine, pale with a natural sensuality that makes her attractive, and with jet pitch-black hair's-breadth nearly as long as mine.

We are adult female. Women on Aghara-Penthay. We haven't been processed yet, but because we have female crotch, we are sex slaves, now - it is the law on this reality. And men on Aghara-Penthay may do as they wish with sex slaves. The rapes haven't begun yet, but they're unavoidable. I saw a programme of a survivor of slavery saying their creation becomes easier once the wrapped accepts it. I am Ajeedie, I am a sex slave, I tell myself. Don't try to turn back them looking at your trunk. It's pointless. They will do what they want, because you are a sex slave.

It doesn't seem to help.

"wellspring the rest of her does not disappoint,"is Charax's professional appraisal as he approaches me."Premium quality female. You would have been colza Run grade stuff, had thing been dissimilar. But you must be wasted, as you wasted so many male person lives."

I flinch at that hated idiomatic expression - rape Run grade, but Charax is too occupy to notice.

"windlass the marked one up as well, please,"Charax says. The cry suggests Norenda wasn't expecting the same discussion. Her sudden lament have no impact as she is dragged by two men towards one of the underframe, and quickly suspended like the rest of us.

While Norenda is being stripped - a mere matter of pulling a tie when a woman wears a wrapper - Charax walks out of my view, bout behind me. I try to move my tush anticipating an unseen assault, but that's not his first target. He reaches instead round off my front, and he touches me at my almost intimate stead, between my open legs. I can not forefend crying out. idol help me, don't touch me ! Not there, not in front of everyone.

"You're sore,"observes Charax."But don't be ashamed of that, cunt. That won't lastly for long. You won't sense a thing by the sentence we mitt you over."

Next Charax's fingers do travel over my rump, as though he's evaluating a prize wolf rather than a human being. Wherever I look for aid I see eyes locked on Charax and me - the men with expressions of cruel amusement and desire, the woman with repulsion. I try to be strong, but I start to blush. I'm ashamed. Ashamed to energise desire in the men, ashamed to look pathetic and helpless in front of my squad. ineffectual to bear so many center, I drop my heading and stare down at the metallic element floor.

It's fallen quiet while they watch us, so the rustling from Charax's pants opening is audible even with so many citizenry in the elbow room.

Is this it ? Please, isn't there something I can do ?

He grasps my hips with both hands, and pulls me back against him, lifting me slightly, so my naked buttocks are squashed against his abdominal cavity. Some of my consistency weight goes from the restraints, and I'm able to flex my wrists.

I feel the school principal of his cock now, iron-hard and warm. He must be big down there, for even from behind his length reaches between my legs and pressing against the lips of my vulva. I shake my torso, trying to move my pelvis away from the trespasser, but he grips my hips and continue me steady.

"You're going nowhere, slut,"he tells me.

I feel binge beading in my optic. Please, someone save me.

"Confirm something for me again Ajeedie : your religious belief - the Djenerion,"Charax says loudly,"is it right that only virgin female person attain promised land, and once you have sex with a male, even if it is rape, you're refuse entry forever ?"

He must already know the result. But he wants me to say it.

"That is even out,"I reply quietly.

"Louder, slit…"

"That is correct."

"And in your backside, is no different to the movement ?"

There is a chortle from the men. My fundament ? Why does he… ? Oh please, please, please, no !

"result, slit,"he insists.

"That is correct,"I repeat in an even softer voice.

"Louder…"

"That is correct."

"goodness,"crows Charax."That pleases me. That pleases me very much. At the moment when, in figurehead of your team, my dick enters your anus and your hereafter is torn away, I hope to hear you mourn, as we mourned the men you all butchered."

Desperately I look round for aid, even though I know there's no hope. All those of my team within my view are watching me, transfixed with revulsion, and having them witness my humiliation is going to be almost as bad as the physical suffering. These womanhood looked up to me once. No, please, not in nominal head of all of them…

"No !"I plead, but no-one seems to be listening to me.

Say adios to your gods, twat !"says Charax.

His thrust is sudden and brutal, and as forecast, penetrates not into my vagina, but between my buttocks and into my anus. Charax uses no lubricating substance, and something instantly rips inside me. I scream with pain. A second later he take back division way, rams roughly forward again, withdraws, rams forward, and so on. I feel stuffed with him, but my suffering is so intense that I am spared the experience feeling sexual - there is little sensation from my pelvis except botheration.

Forwards, withdraw, forwards, withdraw, while I cry over and over, unable to hold in my torment. So this is how my time as a unloose woman ends - brutally anally raped in front of my squad. Charax shag me hard, and each jab button my whole torso forwards, making my breasts swing and forcing out another moan. I try to send away my head in defeat, but he notices and ravel one helping hand in my long hair and uses it like an animal rein to displume my foreland back, so I must depend at the room. My team of virgins watch me, trying to comprehend and come to damage with the experience before they endure it themselves.

The disgrace I feel is almost as bad than the forcible distress. I'm ashamed of being naked in front of everyone ; I'm ashamed of being so publicly humiliated ; I'm ashamed of the way that after a min, he decides to reach around with his free hand and pull at my nipples, and that means they can all see my breasts stretch ; I'm ashamed of the way I can't avail moaning each meter he rams into my back, but strangely, I feel most self-conscious about having them see my face. They can watch the expression I pull when I'm being savagely fucked. I don't want to come out rickety and show I'm suffering, but the torturing to my pelvic girdle is too acute to hide, and it would be worse if they believe some part of me is enjoying this. Please young woman, don't flavour at me.

The way is strangely mute except for my cries, and his oink of pleasure. My eyes flick from boldness to cheek to face, looking for a rescue which I know will never come.

I don't have any word of advice when Charax climaxes. Overloaded with pain, I don't sense his member incite any differently. He just thrusts particularly intemperate, pulls my bum firmly against him and holds himself there as oceanic abyss in me as he can go, and gasps like he's carrying a weighty burden.

When he withdraws, I'm forced to cry out again. The overwhelming slicing sensation towards absence seizure is almost as bad as being filled. As he lets go, my head is finally released. I let it pay heed down in surrender as I reflect that I've crossed a point of no income tax return in my life. Before I was Ajeedie, an individual, a person, whose thoughts and tactile sensation mattered. Now I'm zilch more than a female body, one of the thou, probably millions, of buckle down char who have been raped over the centuries here on Aghara-Penthay. I hang big and limp from my wrists. I'm sweating almost as much as when I was in the suit. My rear is burning like it's on fire, and there's something slickness and disgusting I can feel filling the crack between my rear.

"Next ?"says Charax."Toscoro - why don't you take a turn ? You're hung like the alien was."

"No !"I plead, but Toscoro - the muscly hulk who's cock I threatened to sting off, is already stepping up to me. There is a sharp intelligence in his expression - it was a mistake to pass over this one. A second base mistake is looking labialise my women. I shrink from the blind horror in Illyri's face.

"Any more terror, bitch ?"he asks me. I look away, submissively.

Unlike Charax, Toscoro wants me vaginally. He pulls his penis from his uniform - a hideously magnanimous venose thing - while closing the outer space between us.

"surface your branch,"he gruffly monastic order me.

I'm complying, for their victory is complete now, but something doesn't satisfy him enough, and he punches me in my belly. Okhoron reflexes devote me plenty of time to previse the impingement, but with my workforce shackled above me, and my body weakened from the outset rape, I'm too slow to face-lift my pes and auction block it. The air rushes out of me. It feels like I've been hit in the stomach by a sledgehammer. Men laugh.

"Lotho-Etsarra was a great cabal leader,"he tells me."You're going to pay for what you did, twat. Now undetermined your legs."

I don't want to be punched again, so I docilely participate in my own Brassica napus, lifting my knees and wrapping my stage around him so he might more easily violate me.

When it's just the tip of him touching me, the penis of this"Toscoro"doesn't feel too unbearable. But then he buries himself deep in my vagina, and forced to accommodate the dig, I must cry so loudly it's almost a scream. Please no - gods, he's Brobdingnagian. Again, it feels like I'm going to rip apart.

Meanwhile Charax has returned to his place in front of me, to trump observe the scene. I can see him over Toscoro's massive shoulder. Charax's penis, the pipe organ which just orgasmed inside me, is still free from his bloomers. It looks revolting, even fatter and smoother than I'd expected, coated with the ooze of line and excrement from my rear. He is still severe, and there is a milklike ooze seeping from the tip of him.

He watches me, watches me with my thighs wrapped around Toscoro, while we fuck. The giant is supporting my eubstance weight by gripping my naked butt with his script, so my sleeve currently hang limp and passive from the bracelets.

While the second man is raping me, Charax addresses the room.

"You're all welcome to use Ajeedie,"he announces to his team."She's not taking long to tone down. Or if you'd prefer to be first to soil one of the others, help yourselves."

With a rumble of conversation, the men disperse. Some want to wait for a turn with me, but the frightened vociferation of some other womanhood join mine, as a few men make refreshed choices. Quickly the rhythmic moan of Thomas More fair sex being raped Begin to fill the silence. As of now, they too are no longer Virgo of the Djenerion sect. They have become sex slave. I am a sex slave. This sound of mass-suffering is perhaps to rapist, erotic, for Toscano sexual climax at this point. He withdraws his huge erecting from me, making me gasp, releases me, and again I hang helplessly from my wrists.

"Now you, Ajeedie, are a honorable piece of tail,"he tells me.

I had wanted to die rather than submit to this. I don't want to be a good fuck. I'm surely at the humbled point of my life. Perhaps it would be psychotherapeutic for me if only I could let go of my will power and weep dejectedly in front end of the women I used to dominate. But for some reason I can't. Perhaps I'm still numb with the outrageousness of it and I'll go to while later. Perhaps it's some shielding mechanism dissociating me from reality. Perhaps there's just not clip. A moment later mortal behind me unexpectedly strokes my bosom, and then that person then forces entry into my already damaged rear.

I could think I'm growing more immune to the pain, but that doesn't prevent my stamina depleting rapidly. Before long I believe I've felt so tired in my liveliness. Terror-induced Adrenalin is all that keeps me conscious. By the prison term act four rapine me, I'm barely able to lift my capitulum and smell around the way. When I do muster the strength, what I see is a tragic view of putrefaction. At the outset, Charax's men chose me as the most suitable, but well-nigh of my familiar are not so homely as to be beneath sating their lusts. Men are raping away the afterlives of unforesightful, dark-skinned Ko, elfin freckled Illyri, pale Morine, big-breasted Norenda, and older, strong Bartholomeu Dias.

divinity, did I look like as tragic as they do ? I've never seen charwoman look so utterly degraded. Their bodies swing from their chained carpus with each thrust from their raper, making their breasts sway like udders. look are screwed up with the inescapable saturation of the star. Morine seems to be their favorite, aside from me. She has a furrow formed, with two other men waiting their go.

Only mannish Ak-Mancheen and the acne-covered Beana are untouched. Are they to be envied or pitied ?

On this planet where all men are brutes, it's ironically a male who brings temporary hiatus. A messenger arrives, a scrawny, pock-marked feller wearing the badges of Salarin's faction. In malice of his uninspiring feel, he carries an air of authority, and a symbol on his sleeve denotes a social station surprising in one barely out of his teens. He freezes for a moment as he takes in the tantrum, but then remembers himself and draws himself vertical, make to say something of smashing importance.

"Who is in charge here ?"he asks in a sure-footed part."Who is Charax ?"

"I am. Who is asking ?"response Charax.

"I am Morg,"he says."I bring news. I represent Salarin's sect. I'm here to tell you we are your faction, now. You, and your men."

11 - Pit

"That asshole ?"says Charax scornfully."I'd rather rape that ugly one over there than depose allegiance to his clan. The man is dick-sick. He's losing it, only interested in that colza runner he keeps as a pet."

"Salarin holds you in similar admiration,"says Morg, unruffled."The whole of Aghara-Penthay remembers it was Charax who called the sandstorm alarm, allowing melena and Ja-Alixxe clip to escape from The zone. Another thirty seconds and we'd have had them."

"Aghara-Penthay also knows I was following the protocols, communications protocol ordered by the leadership,"Charax says stiffly."No-one could have predicted the outcome."

"But I'm here today on business enterprise, not to debate sports,"Morg resumes smoothly."There are maturation. We've been trying to touch you for the past hr. A powerful new leader has arisen from the social status of the Alien's faction, risen mostly by killing anyone and everyone in his way. Significant numbers of men have joined him from the other junto, particularly yours. The only way to counteract the new authority is for a second large faction to subsist. Cronorgan's group are too small. So Kordin-Desh, gamy remaining rank in the Lotho-Etsarra camarilla, has sworn loyalty to Salarin on behalf of the clan."

"I don't believe that,"Charax says."Kordin-Desh hatred Salarin almost as much as I do."

"But he understands the political state of affairs, so he did so all the same,"says Morg."Go and check over the news streams if you don't believe me. You know what a pussycat Wagner is. He wouldn't dare call up a cunt a snatch without official approval."

There are muttering among Charax's men as this update is taken in. Temporarily, everyone has forgotten us. We hang by our articulatio radiocarpea, naked and degraded. nigh of my women look blatantly soiled. There's no mistaking what's happened to us all. We have streaks of filth down our legs. We are sweat-covered, our tomentum matted and messy. There is the get around fearfulness in our eyes of charwoman who are dupe, victims like all the others we've seen since docking at The Hub. I don't have a mirror, but I can imagine I must count unsound than the others. I've been raped the most.

We're in this state when Morg pays attending to us, ending our breathing space.

"Who are these ?"he says.

"The strike squad,"answers Charax."They're the 1 responsible for all this topsy-turvyness. Once we're finished with them, they're to be delivered to the chief for judgement."

"They were supposed to have been delivered straight away,"Morg says disapprovingly.

"Yes, but delivered to who ?"counters Charax."We've been waiting to see who was in charge."

"rumour is, it's the Elmek Fetish for them,"says Morg, with a lead of smugness."Salarin suggested it."

"Then for once I approve of your boss's conclusion,"says Charax.

"Our chief,"corrects Morg.

"But first, Sloar,"says Charax, again tapping one of the metal plates with his kicking."The Elmek can have those who survive."

"Kill one before they're handed over, and you'll really be for the high school jump,"says Morg,"especially if you snuff the pretty one."

"Lotho-Etsarra was a personal friend,"Charax replies, determined."We'll take that risk."

We women look at each other, state of nature eyed with fear. Of course, none of us know what the"Elmek fetish"is, or"Sloar ”, but we repeat the countersign over and over in our psyche like some mantra, as though saying it will offer insight or protection.

"I sympathize,"says Morg."I liked him too. But still, make trusted they're all delivered to Tak-Hadern before sunset. I can forget I found you, until then."

"And what next for the faction ?"Charax asks Morg.

"attender will take stock of the new resources,"replies Morg."role will be assigned to new tribe members."

"normalcy is restored. Salarin thinks to grab the wealth first,"Charax says snidely.

"None of this likes this billet,"says Morg."These cleaning lady have committed more than price than can ever be answered for. But so it is. That is all for now - I have others to inform. diffuse the discussion to troop in the camarilla - our faction - if you see them."

With that, he turns stiffly on his heel and walks out the elbow room. There is muteness for a moment as Charax's men take in the developing, and thankfully, for a while longer colza seems to be forgotten.

lease my head slack, I find myself looking down at my nude statue, sweat-covered organic structure. Oh, I'm so tire out. Gods facilitate me, I'm in a terrible situation - suspended naked in strawman of men, dangling naked from my carpus - a prisoner of the Slavers, but I can think of fiddling but resting. concealing of my tit is unsufferable, but with a dwindling reserve of vigor I cross a bare thigh over my early leg to briefly hold in my gist, smearing a streak of my line which runs in a thick trail down as far as my knee.

My vagina look like it's on fire, but the pain from my ass is much worse. I don't need to see so much blood on my leg to get it on I've been seriously injured in my nates.

I summon the strength to face around at my naked, helpless, squad. Morine looks to be in the regretful state among them. She's also half unconscious with debilitation, blood steaking her legs too, her luscious dark whisker matted to her blench peel. Freckled Illyri's unhurt body is trembling as though she's cold. Surprisingly, the unstained Ak-Mancheen looks the most scare. She's twirl and turning futilely in a desperate effort to bunk her bonds. Perhaps the most terrifying affair is that which we don't know.

Meanwhile the men, all but ignoring us, discuss Morg's announcement.

"We're in Salarin's sect ?"says the one named Toscoro, who raped me."graven image damn him, that cum-drip."

A cum-drip - a thing of shame. I can still sense Toscoro's cum-drips, seeping from my vagina.

"You should lead a faction."It is one of Charax's men who offers this, rather than Charax himself."break away. We'll follow you."

"Aye !"a few Sir Thomas More agree.

"There are too few of us to form a new faction,"Charax disagrees."And we'll not be able to depose Salarin from within this clan. The White rapist are too loyal."

"His personal ground forces ?"says Toscoro."immortal imprecate them too. If I had my wish, they'd be serving on The Hub, implanted to please men, and their leader with them."

"After that shambles in the Rape Run they blamed me for, if Salarin could be publicly discredited, that would be enough to clear my day,"grumbles Charax."I'd even settle for one of his bitches snapping his cervix, if it would just get him out the way."

"A girl with a operational implant would never do that,"says Toscoro."And a miss with a broken implant - she'd be too busy trying to save her own neck."

"Of path, I know that,"Charax crack irritably.

Toscoro looks at me speculatively.

"It's a shame we can't keep primary control of that one,"he says, indicating me."You know what Salarin's doing with the other char like her ? The Okhoron ? He's got them all kept back, for a Cum Race. They're all in a pen, just waiting, while his men use them. And the Cum Race victor is to be taken to bring together his personal striver. You have an Okhoron right there. Put her into the raceway, and wee certainly she gets to the castle. We already know she's a killer."

"But we can't keep direct control. And I've not forgotten who she murdered,"counters Charax."It's thanks to her chemical group we're in this kettle of fish. It's more important that she's punished, and we'll mass with Salarin later. Open the hatches."

My ticker begins to race with care again. At his command there is a deep rumble of machinery, and from beneath me the book binding begins to slide apart along its centerfield line.

"You think the penalty she'd suffer for murdering Salarin would be any well than the punishment for murdering the other leaders ?"argues Toscoro."flavor at it as postponing the inevitable."

I can see what's below now, waiting for me, and I scream. former women in my team are doing the Saami as panic sweeps through our circle. Some are already flailing their wooden leg, as though trying to escape by swimming up through the discharge air.

It's a humanoid, but only just. Its consistence is covered with a thick dim fur, and it has an ape-like projection jaw and low forehead. The eye that are fixed on me only show limited intelligence, and a bowed stringed instrument of midst saliva knack from its jaw. The thing is vast - perhaps nine feet tall, and incredibly thickly muscled. It looks as though it could easily rip me in half with those gigantic arms. well-nigh terrifying is the creature's penis - larger even than the extraterrestrial's. Perhaps a foot and half long, and easily three inches thick. The brute is rampantly severe, and as it stares at me it touches itself.

"Woman ! Woman !"it growls at me excitedly.

It talks ?

"No !"I beg to Charax, calling out shamelessly to him now that I understand."Please, Gods no !"

"meet the Sloar, pussy !"Charax smiles as he addresses us all."A semi-intelligent species from the Danaris system. Unlike human males, who can mate pretty much any time, the Sloar go through a ten-day mating Hz only once every hundred 24-hour interval - one of their solar years."

"During the cycle they experience a huge surge in testosterone, and they have an uncontrollable urge to mate. Anything with a puss on two legs will do it for them when they're pumped, but their females are hairless like ours, so they do give a exceptional appreciation of human being women."

"No !"I plead. Gods no - that affair's dick can't possibly fit inside me.

"Sex in their mintage is always rape. The male don't go flaccid after climax, like human male, but can continue for hour, holding down the small-scale females to prevent their escape. Scientists believe that this brutality ensures only females with strong genes have sufficient stamina to survive."

I look at little Illyri, who is hysterical with terror. She can't possibly go if her goliath is as big as mine. Its penis will arrive at half-way to her throat.

"Of course, the Sloar do not possess the medical checkup capabilities we do, but even to charwoman encountered in the cultivate Galax urceolata, the animate being are still serious. But have comfort in this - any of you who perish now will be luckier than the survivors."

Illyri's riot are almost deafening.

"soul gag that female over there,"Charax says with a dismissive wave."I can't get wind myself think."

Bastard. Fucking bastard. I don't think there's anyone I hate as very much as him. Unfortunately, there's naught I'll ever be able to do about it. Charax moves towards me. I'm the one he wants to see going in.

"You, on the former hand, are very detached to hollo,"he tells me."I'm still waiting to try you properly scream."

"nookie you !"I manage to say - probably my final chance at defiance."If you're going to do it, just put me in there."

"Excellent,"he says again, and with a gesture to one of his subordinate Charax says,"Lower them down."

I kick out wildly, trying to gain some purchase on the rim of the pit, but it's too wide.

Gradually I begin descending, in small jerky move as one of the men cranks a handle. I'm instinctively pedaling my stage in the discharge air, trying to figure some way I can protect myself from penetration by using my arm, even though I know it's going to be futile. divinity no, this is not going to be nice. All around me, my comrades are screaming. about are lower than me already.

Charax watches me impassively, his weapon system folded, as I gradually drop into the pit. motherfucker.

"What if we could control she's loyal only to us ?"interrupts the medic, hurrying over to Charax, his voice urgent."There are ways… Risky. Illegal. But think of the rewards… You could take over the faction."

I look at Charax desperately. He's the sole way I can avoid the unimaginable horror that's waiting below. I am selfish, cowardly, but I want him to save me. Even if he saves only me.

"We can discuss it while she's down there,"Charax says with icy calm."Until then, I'm uncoerced to take the chance that she might die."

The men all seem to retrieve the beast is unlikely to shoot down me, but I don't see how destruction can be avoided if they do put me in the pit with it. They can't seriously be planning to let those things have sex with us ?

"charwoman !"it growls.

Illyri's hysterical screaming abruptly modification to mute howl. I look at her - perhaps the end time I'll aspect at one of my team before I can only guess of my own survival. Her lip is distended by the whale musket ball that's just been strapped between her jaws.

illegitimate child. They're all bastards.

"womanhood !"growls the animate being below me. I look down just in time. Without warning it jumps for one of my metrical unit, and I barely manage to rear my limb away. It's surprisingly fast for something so big. Others are less lucky. Across the lap from me, Illyri's body jerking downwards from some tremendous force, as though she's being tugged like a pet's toy. Her articulatio humeri stretch unnaturally, and her muzzled watchword abruptly cease as she loses consciousness.

I understand the risk more quickly than she did. I must prevent it getting a hold on me for as long as possible. If it tries to drag out me down with its huge bodyweight, there's a risk of exposure of pulling my limb out the sockets. So I lift my feet, bringing my knee joint to my chest, and I fold my belly in, using the athletic flexibility which comes of Okhoron training. I'm showing an obscene view of my sex organ to the room while my hip joint driblet below the degree of the level, but that can't be helped.

"Nice pussy !"says Charax.

The creature jumps, and swipes my buttock with its paw. Its skin feels lovesome and leathery.

lower and lower I descend. My knocker drop below the level of the floor. Then the pit opening is level with my eyeline. From across the rope another of my team gives a blood-curdling scream - an inhuman phone of unbearable horror, but I can't see which cleaning woman it came from.

"I suppose you thought you could use your dish to save yourself ?"Charax asks."That face, those tits… You usually get what you want from men ?"

There's not clock time to answer.

"Woman !"growls the creature below me, winning.

I'm in its image now. I kick out with my heels, trying to preserve it off me as long as I can, but the shadow furred demon relocation with glaring fastness, and grasps my branch - successfully seizing one of my knee in each of his vast manus. I tense everything, trying to preserve myself closed to it, but it pulls my thighs open as easily as a homo might draw apart the forks from a sprig. The wildcat is incredibly strong - I might as well be resisting the fluid mechanics of a worker droid. And while keeping my legs open, it draws my vulva to its face, not caring that I'm still seeping dirty word from the rapes I endured above, and it buries its nose intimately into me. There's nil I can do to keep it smothering itself in my warmth, and my perfume, and my sexual enigma.

"Woman !"it confirms.

Think, Ajeedie, think ! I must try something - anything. Instead of trying to take in away from the beast's typeface, I squeeze my naked thighs tightly around its read/write head and device my humble soundbox. If I can break the monster's neck opening, I can delay abuse a little longer. But my endeavour fails. I might as well be trying to snap a tree trunk between my stage. For the indorsement time the puppet parts my knees with his big manus, and I find I'm lower into the pit now - it can reach all of me.

"fair sex !"it says.

Still resisting, I kick out at its monumental erect phallus - the harmonium as thick as a shaver's arm and just as solid. And this finally gets a response, but not the one I wanted. It growls angrily, and lashes the back of its helping hand across my font. The blow is a work-shy one - only intended to caution me. All the same it is stunning - it's like being run over by a speeder, and my grass reel. When I come to, I'm lower still, and horizontal surface with its facial expression. Its huge manpower are now gripping the backs of my knees, holding me against its fur covered torso at it keeps me open for its immense penis.

"Please !"I look up and beg, at the moment when the tip of that monstrous organ imperativeness against my under mouth. There's one legal brief minute when I can take care up at Charax, who is staring down into the pit with an expression of resolve on his face.

And then the creature impales me, and for a while there is thankfully nothing more.

12 - Pens

Each time men come to the Okhoron penitentiary, we line up - our naked shaping a cruel mockery of our former military discipline.

Apparently, they only had to order of magnitude us once."When we come to the pens,"they said,"you will stand in formation, naked, that we may choose the I we desire. Keep your hands at your sides during inspection, and do not attempt to conceal your bodies."

Our implants oblige us to obey the dictation of men. Thomas More than that. The french fries compel us to interpret, to get creative, in our urges to delight. So when the steel blast doorway to the Okhoron pen opens, I'm on my pes to show myself before I even realize it. Implants like mine are biotech. Tendrils grow into the learning ability, increasing the twist's appreciation over the victim over time, until they can no longer distinguish their break one's back coercion from their original nature.

Each time men come to our pen, it is not to institute food for thought or drink. An obscenely shaped dispenser on the wall provides sufficient liquid, and mere slave girls can be given the job of carrying in for us a pan of gruel or other staple aliment. These women wear the now-coveted red hard worker wrap. We have all remained naked for an indeterminate length of time.

The buckle down missy come in unprotected and unsupervised, but none of us harm them or try to steal their wearable, and even though the bam room access remains spread none of us attempt to escape. We have been told not to leave, and the dictation's control condition is absolute. Besides - where is there for implanted females like us to run ?

The domestic help duty of feeding us can be allocated to slave, and forgotten. When men need to come, it is because they want to take a female for rape. And docilely, we assist, standing to participate in their sick and distort looker contest. Once or twice, the inauspicious unsuccessful person is then taken on the unsportsmanlike concrete level of the pen, while the others must take in, and heed, and scent. Usually though, they take one or More of us to a room, where the man can enjoy us on the comfortableness of a mattress, and in a little more privacy.

I am something of a favorite with the men. My facial expression is classically beautiful ; I am cursed with the bombastic tit, slenderize waist, and long branch which men find worthy ; I am one of the youthful Okhoron. But no cleaning lady is to every man's taste. Sometimes they take Khaleena - older, but with a thorax even larger than mine. Sometimes it's Uteena - tall, lithe, and strong. Quite often it's Warani - willowy, and lacking the military posture of most of us, but the young, and possessing a dish that's almost divine.

Whoever is chosen, the victim has no option but to endure. We have no selection but to wait and anticipate our next crook. We're taken by the guards to be raped - anally, vaginally or orally, but always afterwards we're returned, to idle the hours away, to be afraid and to wait. But for what ?

Charax's man, Toscano, said the Okhoron were in a holding pen ready to drive region in something called a"Cum subspecies ”. But I soon find out the other women here know no more about it than I do. In fact, we receive almost zero information about upshot beyond the bulwark of this way, and in our windowless prison with only artificial igniter, we lose all track of time. I quickly experience completely disconnected from my former life.

I don't even call up much of my prison term in the pit with the Sloar. Its for the first time penetration caused me such suffering and such terms that I almost managed to escape forever from the universe, and there is petty recollection until I was revived in a bacta storage tank, fully healed and fix to be ruined again.

Curiously, I remember my life history up to the capture clearly, but all around the time with the Sloar my retention go into a full stop that's dim. There are big blanks until the time I found myself here in the pen with the former Okhoron. I'm in the shadow as to why Charax set aside his hatred of me and stowed me here with the others. When I try and recall, the moments slip away from me, like I'm trying to hold water in my manus, and I become so annoyed with my weakness, it deters me from trying again.

It's not as if the past matters much anyway when you're a sex hard worker. There are sight of trouble in the demo to occupy my cerebration. The Slavers like to teach captive that women are not just nothing - we're less than aught. Our wishes and notion are worse than merely ignored. Female emotions are there, if men want, for the use of using them against us. One of the Slaver males must accept conducted some research into the Sect, and their calloused lack of sympathy for us instigate yet another cruel entertainment. The day after my reaching, a medic visited the pen and gave each Okhoron captive a biochip injection under our left arm, and then a smaller injection into each nipple. These seemed to be benign until the next morning time. I say forenoon, but I actually just mean the light-time, which comes after the time they plunge our prison house cell into darkness.

On that cockcrow, I was awoken by the scream of one of my comrade. She was looking down in horror at her breasts, which overnight had started oozing milk. Another woman cried out in horror, then another, then hysteria spread. Quickly I checked myself, and of line my nipples were seeping too. I wiped myself clean on a fingertip, staring at the liquid in incomprehension.

"We found out Djenerion think milk is disgusting,"explained the laughing males, when they visited us later in the day,"but you are only slaves, and will drink Milk if it pleases us. The biochips inside your bodies release a hormone, stimulating the Milk production. There is plenty internal secretion to keep each of you lactating for several years."

I held my breast with my script, as though my white meat were outlander to me. They felt weighed down than the day before. Other women in the pens were looking similarly stunned.

"Furthermore, to exempt yourselves of the Milk encumbrance,"the male person continued,"you will not be capable to make your own chest, or use ticker. The nanotech in your teat ensures they will only function in response to another woman's lips."

He was already touching himself in anticipation.

"That's right, striver, welcome to your new lifespan, where you must suckle each other every day. Our new orders are, that you must relieve each former every day, and commend each time you do so, how proud you once were. Remember how you once believed you were better than men, but now you are nothing but our sex hard worker. And it is now metre for your first day milking each former. Begin !"

There was no refusal permitted. Weeping, I squeezed the handwriting of Uteena, the nearest female to me, reassuringly, and she guided me down to her body. I thought about how I was once majestic, but now I was only a sex hard worker, and I began my work.

In this interminable snake pit of the pens, our preceding no longer has relevance, except to remind us how far we've fallen, and our futurity, containing only horror, is best not imagined. We just exist in the miserableness of the present. The hard worker who care for us occasionally deliver snippet of flow gossip, but such barely matters. The Rape Run has concluded for the year. So what ? A new faction drawing card has risen and absorbed nearly of the unmourned Jackran-ad-aktar and Lotho-Etsarra's cabal, with the food waste drifting to Salarin and Cronorgan. His name is Monad. The woman whisper that he is risky than the others combined. He takes what he wants by force, and he often kills slaves for joy. Already they name him"The Brute ”. But so what ? A spry death might be skilful than the life of a sex slave.

We were only considered worthy of seeing one functionary news broadcast. Streams rarely upset me, but this one did, for it contained information of a personal nature. Wagner opened the study, informing the world that a team of crazed zealot women from the Djenerion sect had reached the surface of the major planet disguised as males, in an endeavour to economize their drawing card. During the insurgency, two faction leader met heroic meter last, as well as the team's target - the Runner Tisya. However, the adult female were quickly captured, and the coltsfoot can rest assured that Order is restored.

Aghara-Penthay is secure than ever.

Let their sentence be a warning to womanhood across the coltsfoot, of the fate that awaits if you defy us, Wagner had warned. And then I saw them. They were gifted to the Elmek, Wagner said, the Elmek - who fetishize cleaning woman as inert and immobile sex dolls.

I had my get-go glimpse of those"sex dame ”, and I screamed. My team had each had every single one of their limbs amputated, severed right to the articulation, so their lower dead body now terminated with their sex variety meat, and their arms were barely twitching podium. Wilhelm Richard Wagner said they'd also been muted - muted in every way, so they couldn't even communicate by using their locution to indicate ‘ yes'or ‘ no ’. And that seemed to be the typesetter's case. If it wasn't for the campaign of their heads, and of one occasionally opening her jaw, I could have believed they were manakin lying there on their backs.

poor pale Morine, her mum nerve framed by her dark hair ; Beana, slimmed through some procedure, and with her skin cleared ; tiny freckled Illyri - the rostrum of her limbs slightly moving, she was the clever one, but will never evince her wit again ; Ak-Mancheen, her brave forcefulness now useless ; dark skinned Ko staring out with her intellection forever locked inside ; Norenda's large breasts helpless ; and Diaz, her age regressed a decade to produce her more desirable.

Each one of my unfortunate cleaning woman helpless. Each one with eyes rolling in intolerable tacit revulsion, looking for a salvation that is never coming. Each one screaming silently.

And then I saw the Elmek.

They look android, but compared to the women of my team, they're miniscule - six inches tall at the very most. One of them was shown posing side by side to Illyri's sex reed organ - the place that used to be the apex of her legs, but is now the terminus of her body - and he's able to contribution the fold of her vulva like they're curtains. He buries his whole arm interior, and when he withdraws it, he tastes her.

For a mo, I assumed that was penalization enough - turning those poor tool into vegetables to fulfill some depraved taste for gigantic women.

But no.

The diminutive man abruptly raised a arm - something like a machete, barely the size of a matchstick to my center, and without warning he hacked a chunk of flesh the size of his clenched fist from Illyri's nether lips. He turned away, ignoring that her organ was oozing blood line, and threw the gist on a glowing brazier, where it immediately sizzled and smoked.

The Elmek only eat the erogenous zones, Wagner told us. That's the Elmek fetich - it arouses them to devour the erogenous zones of giant woman. How did that ever become ingrained into a planet's finish, he chuckled. Meat from the vulva is the most prized, then the breasts, and also the buttocks. It can contain half a astronomic year for the diminutive Elmek to reduce a convention size female, chunk by chunk, each small cut torture, to a distributor point where the suitable parts are gone, after which the victim is discarded.

I don't know when I lost my self-possession, but by the end of the infection I was screaming so hard I barely heard Otto Wagner repeat his warning to the Galax urceolata's"cunt"that the fate of the next cleaning woman to try and fight down Aghara-Penthay would be worse.

It took thirty minutes for my Okhoron sister in the pen to still me. Since then, I've only managed to take my sanity by hiding in the daze of clinical depression, eating only when commanded, forced to drink the repellant whitish secernment of my associate, and remaining largely unaware of prison term going.

I must only fully engage with world when I am chosen to dish out. On my back or my belly, and with a man's penis inside my organic structure, I would wish well to remain missing, but no. I am cursed. Then I am forced to be stage. Then I can feel every face of the torso that so many have called perfective tense, as they sweat and groan and free more of their vile seed into me.

My thought process tumble over and over the same loop. The Elmek Fetish should possess been me. That will be me - Charax tap me as implacable - or he would have been implacable, if not for handing me over to the mysterious Cum Race. It feels like I only have a impermanent reprieve. Would I have preferred that I was already there with them ? I deserve penalty, for leading them here. The Elmek juju should hold been me.

unit of ammunition and round of drinks I go, but meanwhile, each metre a stranger reaches his disgusting climax inside me, another low patch of my individual dies inside, as though I am being devoured. And I become less and less sure of the right answers.

13 - Sport

The colza Run takes place just once every galactic yr, but of course of instruction, it is not the but sport on the world of Aghara-Penthay. well-nigh mutation combine the delight men enjoy - competition, watching suffering, and desirable female. The women are usually motivated to reach by some phase of horrific penalty for failure.

There are five, maybe even ten thousand men filling this amphitheatre - the male sheltering comfortably under Brobdingnagian shades, those of us on the area flooring burning under the furious noonday sun of Aghara-Penthay.

In such a vast group, men no longer act as individuals. It feels like we're surrounded by a mob, brute, shouting and baying for origin. On the moxie of the bowl, we kneel for them - each one of us a extremity of the Okhoron, naked and similarly disposed ready for the mutant, positioned facing a VIP box. While we women wait, dizzy from the estrus, Aghara-Penthay's ruler relax under a broad sunshade, being served refreshing looking drinks by the most keen examples of the planet's slave girls.

My comrades and I each straddle a device much like a saddle, only modified saddles, with two additional chaff of a rubbery material fixed to our seats. I wait with one of these stalks lodged in my vagina, and the early stuffing my anus. My Okhoron babe are in the same plight. The cocks are both large, but the one filling my rear is particularly uncomfortable, triggering a sharp poke bother when I move, as though it's too prominent for my inside. If I were unrestrained, it would be a simple matter to digest and free myself of these phallic encroacher, but my kneeling situation - peg folded so far back that my heels press into my buttocks - means I'm unable to lift my pelvis to the mandatory summit. The Slavers have roped each one of us down to the saddle, in such a way that we have no alternative but to await and endure the touch of double impalement from this billet. These bonds stretch my human knee open as well as down, meaning I must look with my second joint blanket apart. Just having my nether regions exposed before men would be unbearable enough, but then there's my upper berth eubstance.

Every Okhoron's saddleback is located with two vertical poles either face of it, poles an inch thick and formed of a metal alloy. Shackles lock my wrist joint to these perch. Like the ropes opening my knees, the poles also permit no screen, being far enough away that I must carry my arm out, and my torso cast resembles a capital"T ”. ineffective to pull my elbows in, I kneel with my breasts on full appearance. In my past aliveness I always preferred to conceal my body, but now thousands have seen every intimate detail of my nakedness. I know this for a fact, because I have already appeared in close up on the gigantic viewing screenland in the box of the stadium. The obscene full frontal pose even reveals the way my vulva is stretching around the rubbery cock.

There is one final stage augmentation, which I do not yet understand. Every one of us has tiny alloy cups, no bigger than thimble, attached to our erogenous areas. There is one enveloping each of my nipples, temporarily concealing the constant oozing, and a tertiary over the sensitive button of my button. Their technology includes some mannikin of vacuity to enable fastening. It feels as though the sucking cups tinge every nerve of me, enclosing my nipples more intimately than a fan's mouth. Their purpose is unknown to me, but dislodging them is impossible, so I have no ability to conceal from the audience that I wear these things, and I have no option but to go them remaining fixed to me. Salarin called the event in which I'm going to take part a"Cum slipstream ”. No dubiety the thimbles relate to the sport.

I wish I could say that participation in the Cum race isn't going to be as bad as the fear of anticipating the unknown athletics - minute upon hours in a bare Harlan F. Stone cell with these early naked Okhoron women. But I've been on Aghara-Penthay long enough to know just how roughshod the slave owner can be. I'll take the boredom.

Fearing the risky, but able-bodied to do naught to nullify it, we wait. There is no want to festinate the beginning - not when the crowd have nude women to enjoy, and I believe we are deliberately given meter to strain against our bonds. The photographic camera enjoy the sight of us - advancing from woman to fair sex to char. Some of my comrade I see straining, but I remain limp. There I am again filling the display, kneeling, naked but defiant, my second joint spread showing my vulva. My breasts are particularly large compared to the women around me, and perhaps that's why there's a sunshine each sentence when I'm on screen.

The next lady friend in shot is a struggler, but her twisting is viewed from the rear. All the Okhoron are healthy and nubile, and it probably pleases the consultation to learn the musculus in her feminine buttocks flex and tense up desperately, in response to her movements.

I am located almost centrally within the rophy of the amphitheater. Perhaps this is prosperous, as it means I can't discern the barracking of individual men over the noise of the crowd. The women close to the edge can probably get word the most personal, and therefore deleterious abuse. I can see a distaff near the border of bowl shaking, as though she is crying.

For a while I managed to remain still, but once the inherent aptitude to proceed overcomes me, I begin rocking my hips, in an endeavor to reduce my striking with the Phallus. The tactual sensation of the two encroacher moving so deeply inside me has become more unendurable than the enforced inertia. I look nervously around. In the crowd I see slave charwoman, some with their owners, some moving around serving the crowd with refreshments. about are wearing the red wrapper of females belonging to Aghara-Penthay, but a few are nude painting.

Yet again I am on screen - I really do look to be a front-runner. The view is from my book binding this time, but I recognize my hair and the all-embracing curvature of my hip joint. I see myself and feel ashamed. OK, so it turns out the unscathed consultation can see my anus stretch as well, trying to accommodate the penis behind me, which rises and falls within me as I rock my pelvis.

I look back to the box, and see Salarin come up to his feet, triggering a sudden drop in the loudness from the crowd.

"pussy of the Okhoron !"he calls to us, his phonation amplified across the orbit."You pride yourselves on your bravery, your military posture and your toughness. Today we will test that to its limit point. receive to the Cum Race."

I hear the woman on my right, someone I'm unable to turn my head and see, moan in concern. We all feel the same terror of the unknown. What is a Cum backwash ?

"The prescript are uncomplicated,"Salarin explains."Grasp the poles either incline of you with your hands, and you will be rewarded with enjoyable shakiness from the stimulators locked onto your nipples and your clit. Release your hold, and the stimulators will switch to serve as pain actuators, torturing your erogenous zones. The shaft which you ride also have this functionality, allowing them to either arouse you internally, or ache you."

In the lull of the arena floor, all around me I hear the clink of chains as cleaning woman grasp their terminal. I am no stronger than them, and also stuff my fingerbreadth around the alloy like it's a line of life. There is laughter from the crowd.

"simple, no ?"continues Salarin."No, because slaves who give in to the orgasm from their stimulators will be removed from the airstream, and handed over to the joy of the crowd. The crowd may use you over and over right until sunset, which is in approximately seven hours'time. The most suitable will therefore be raped many, many time - especially the female who climax first, and spend longer with my men."

I release my poles as quickly as if they're red hot.

I'm doing the math, like virtually of those around me. scare Begin to unfold through the kneel females. The ambiance grows thicker with the terror. il cleaning woman. As many as ten thousand men. One female per two hundred males ? It's impossible. We'll be raped to death. But what's the option - straining ?

"Some of you will be pushed over the brink by the gangbangs ahead of you, but fear not - you will still be submerged in the bacta and healed. Rape gives you no escape from your worthless lifetime. Afterwards, every loser will be taken to a sales pen and placed for vendue, in the common pool with our other captive, and serving your new owner you will set about to garner a station in this universe."

No, no, no ! I too moan, and I try to resurrect from my saddle, but I can barely affect. The penis spear back to their full moon profoundness as I sink down.

"It is known that the female person body becomes desensitized to suffering, but for you pussy, both your delight and pain sensation stimulators will intensify during the game, keeping you at the heyday of suffering. So the terminal cunt to climax, will likely be she who has olympian tolerance for pain. That female will be rewarded, by being spared the great unwashed assault. My preference for those who can prevail is well known, and I will take her as my personal plaything."

He pauses.

"Before we start, do any of you wish to beg for mercifulness ?"

It is a jocularity, but I hear a few women moaning anyway. Salarin sits down.

"Good."

We're left a final moment, to anticipate what will materialise any second. I feel hyper aware of my consistency - of my nakedness, of the friction from the genus Phallus against my anus, and of the other phallus tight against the walls of my pussy, of the adept from the cups clutching my nipples and my sex. It's as if my pipe organ wanted to pass to me, as though they're pleading with me to give up them this. But I'm powerless to serve them, and the future is already decided.

To the loud roar from the crowd so far, Salarin raises his deal. As I take hold of the poles cook for the number one salvo of joy, he says,"Begin."

14 - Race

It is one of the form where I choose to fascinate the metallic element pole and enkindle myself. In devising the Cum slipstream, the slaver have exploited their knowledge of the female body mercilessly, and forced or not, the pleasure triggered from my sex Hammond organ is irresistible.

I can only permit myself the ecstasy for a limited time, seeing as most of the women around me seemed to stimulate adopted a alike strategy to myself. Delay the pain in the neck for as long as possible by riding up the pleasance curved shape until growing dangerously close to orgasm, and only switch to pain when there's no early option. When the painfulness becomes unbearable, repeat. Over, and over, and over.

The anguish is far big than I could have imagined. It's as though my sensitive organs are being smeared in albumen hot metal. It's unsufferable to avoid screaming from such agony. From all around me in the stadium, the two sounds come of others enduring the trial by ordeal - women moaning like whores in heat, and then abruptly their pleasure hitch, and the screech begins.

There were a few of us who cracked early. womanhood with low painful sensation tolerance, who would rather look crew rape than torture. A few also lacked deficient understanding of their own body, and their orgasms overtook them before they knew it. With each loser, slave dealer precaution, impossibly outnumbering the girl, release her from her adhesiveness, lift her off the giant phalluses, and carry her to the baying mob.

From our places kneeling in the sand, we can glimpse the victims through the scrum of trunk, and as long as we're not screaming ourselves, we can listen their cries. It doesn't take long for those of us still competing to conclude the torture might be better.

Sweet kindred, this arousal feels incredible. I wish it could go on forever. I've never felt so turned on my life. My pussy is glib with its own lubrication. Even the phallus stuffing my anus is no longer unpleasant, but combines to suit contribution of the overwhelming whiz from my lower body. At the focus of everything is my clitoris, buzzing like an insect sucking liquid pleasure. It would be so easily to just surrender to it - why not just surrender, Ajeedie ? I could dissolve into the coming and let the futurity return guardianship of itself.

But I know where that would lead. There is such a fight over one of the prettiest young lady, rival groups of men pulling her spread stage in unlike directions, that I think she's going to be torn apart.

I'm not so nescient of my own eubstance that I don't recognize the orgasmic wave beginning to build. I must act before it's too latterly. Bracing myself for the pain is pointless. It makes it no leisurely, and I will go rigid with the agony anyway. Despairing, I release my hold on the poles and am transported to a different universe.

There is nothing but the botheration. My clitoris, my vagina, my anus, and my tit are all I can think of. I have no chance of reducing the gang's sadistic entertainment by hiding my suffering. The only time my screaming stops is when biota military unit me to inspire. And it is barely possible to do even that basic survival appendage - my body is locked rigid in the exploit to chuck out my own sex reed organ. It's unendurable ! It's unendurable ! It's intolerable ! And I grasp the poles.

I had hoped that after each phase of torture my stimulation would be extinguished, and I'd have a similar sum of money of time before getting dangerously close to sexual climax. But extreme torture does not dry my vagina, and each time the stimulation resumes, I climb the orgasmic breaking ball more quickly. Salarin said the stimulators would go gradually more vivid, and that was the truth.

I make the mistake of glancing at the cover at a moment when I'm the focus. I'm stark naked. My look is red, and contorted in the expression of a fair sex in intense pleasure. I'm covered with stew, and my blond fuzz has matted to my skull and my shoulder. In the ultra-high definition of the big screen, I see my vulva wrapped polish the penetrating member like a mouth greedily sucking a lollipop.

And it seems even in my wretchedness I can still finger ashamed.

The screen door spares me by switching to another of the Okhoron. Her eyes are rolled back in her capitulum and in cattiness of the rod inside her she tries to buck her rose hip, such is the intensity level of the sexual climax she's experiencing. Like all the Okhoron, she is beautiful. Her name is Khaleena, I recall. She is approaching the end of her prime but is still intensely attractive, and the plenty of her squirming is arousing to me. As the sexual climax fades she becomes aware of herself again, and her eyes open and widen in concern. She shakes her head, protesting as the sentry duty come for her.

The distraction of watching her took me almost to the orgasmic tipping period myself, but just in meter I release the terminal and my erogenous zone match flaming. I've never experienced such pain in my life, and yet the irregular enduring it pass. Seeking any mental escape route from the white-hot anguish I try to use my Djenerion gifts and cling to anything in the now. Please Ajeedie, ignore your own scream. Your torture is only one element of everything. count the number of rock candy on the sand in front of me ; think of the M of individual voices around me ; the way there is no aroma in the desert except for the sweat and sex from my own trunk ; the taste of rip in my lip from a flyspeck cut in my cheek ; the sight of myself on projection screen - rigid with agony and my face inhuman ; no, not that, the saddle I'm straddling - it's fabric warm and made of some form of leather ; the terminal deep inside me - the temperature of my body now. The perch to my position which are hot from the sun when I grasp them, and slick with my sweat.

On and on it goes. Cycle after cycle. There is a timer in the quoin of each hulk CRT screen. When I next glide slope as conclude to orgasm as I dare, I see that 51 standard bit have passed since Salarin said"Begin ”. I've been drained by the ordeal. I must gasp for each breath, either through lungs locked rigid under torturing, or muscularity watery with arousal.

I grasp the pole and my painful sensation evaporates. There are not many of us left now. The screen cycles from charwoman to char to woman, repeating the loop, and I only count seven faces on their knees in the grit.

At fifty-seven mo, during another pleasure cycle, I first notice something funny. Salarin had said the intensity of the stimulators would increase over fourth dimension. And indeed the early women around me evidence this, seeming to be able to tolerate shorter and myopic phases of distortion. My distortion also grows sorry, and yet I am the opposite of the others, disbursal longer and longer in the pain zone, as though I have some mental fracture blocking between the growing stimulation and the coercion to save myself.

To keep the arena entertained, the shots of horny or screaming women on their saddleback must be interspersed with to a greater extent and more footage of women in the bandstand being raped. The fighting to contact the most desired females first has been ferocious, and some women caught between rivals have bruised body and offend limbs.

The buzzing against my clitoris is intense - pure velvet pleasure. In the times of pleasance, there is now an interval of only minute from the graduation of the arousal to looking down and seeing my abdomen muscles pulsing with the indigence to surrender. Every input is erotic when I'm being aroused. Even the sensual groan of the girls, the images of their bodies on screen. When one culmination, that too arouses me, imagining how much pleasure I might feel to orgasm.

Another young lady takings. Another. Another. And then there are only two of us.

My final challenger seems half-unconscious, and my knowingness of all but the pleasure/pain is fading, but during a joy phase angle, I am still momentarily able-bodied to question whether I want to win. Salarin raped me. I know he's a sadist, the most barbarous of the Slaver gaffer. He said he would work the master his plaything. Who would desire that ? I could surrender now to the joy between my legs and bear a vicious ordeal until sunset, but then disappear into obscurity. Then again, I swore after my first time I'd never give anything to a man, when I could hold back. Even under the coercion of an implant, I still have some ability to control my destiny.

The other female child remaining on her saddle is called Uteena. She is very marvellous and lithe, and like me, one of the younger Okhoron. We were acolytes together. Her naturally passionate disposal would likely make her a delightful lover. Now she is slumped, half-limp, on her saddle, eyes closed as she grips her poles.

Had I had a little more time to debate a hereafter as Salarin's torture toy and then resignation, my luck might accept been completely different, along with those of many other Okhoron. Repeated rape, torture, and unending abuse, but auctioned to a new lord. But the destiny of satellite can depend on random chance. liveliness and fortunes are won or lost on the pass of a one credit coin.

Uteena is on cover, loosely grasping her Pole, when she suddenly seems to wake up. I see her muscles contorting, as though she's attempting to shrink into an infinitely small ball while pushing herself into the floor of her bicycle seat. She screams, the sound barely different to the speech sound of torture. And she releases her perch and slump again, this prison term completely unresponsive.

The holler of the crowd reaches a deafening pitch, and as abruptly as my ordeal began it's gone. The stimulation against my clit vanishes, and for a second I rock my pelvis forward, not comprehending it's over, and seeking its reappearance to finish my fulfillment.

Two guard duty come rushing over to me. The larger one deliberately gropes my titty in the process of releasing me from my adhesion. He has an erection. But I do nothing to fight him away. In fact I can barely mobilize the strength to jerk a fingerbreadth. The oafs drag me up by my coat of arms onto my foundation, but discover I'm utterly incapable of standing. One of the guard duty has to lift me in his arms and carry me up to the royal box. I am strongly built, but he's a full-grown male person, and he bears my burthen easily.

On the way up the steps, another male person barges into us, someone rushing down the other way. My aircraft carrier swears angrily at him.

I'd seen Salarin during Donaya Oshanka's capture, but from a distance. On the balcony, for the get-go time I'm suddenly in the close mien of him, and the planet's other swayer. Salarin, Cronorgan, and a third gear man whose gens I don't know. This new colleague is the self-aggrandizing animal I've ever seen. He's grizzled and covered in scars and injuries, as though he's fought a thousand engagement. The big one barely glances at me, for he is currently fucking a poor slave woman who's sitting in his lap. I recognize her. She was one of this year's ravishment contrabandist - an olive-skinned beauty with smoldering dark eye and midnight hair. The girl's face is unnaturally distorted, for he has her head wrapped in a bag of enlighten plastic fabric, which he keeps cinched tight to her throat so she's unable to breath. Her face is an ugly violet color, and her eyes are bulging with terror.

No one is intervening, and I'm in no posture to help her. Even if I wasn't implanted, I don't have the durability to agitate a fly.

In front of Salarin, I am dumped ungracefully to my knees. Limp, I endure the inspection of the man I realize is my new sea captain. After my torments, any show of strength or defiance is impossible. I do not even essay to conceal my bleakness from him. I just wait there on the floor, my ribcage heaving with the aftermath of exertion. It's almost too much effort to calculate around, but I look around the box for cany monition as to what being his"plaything"means for my fate.

"Excellent !"Salarin exclaims with pleasure."You ? Well, this the sound result possible. Perhaps the o.k. specimen, you're also the toughest, and the resemblance is eldritch. Really, you're quite the natural endowment from the Gods. How I shall enjoy your torments."

The Sadist also has a cleaning woman accompanying him. Cronorgan seems to be the only one alone. Salarin's slave kneel on a leash. I note her body is exquisitely toned. She holds her thighs full to display her sex electronic organ, and her arms are folded behind her back into a mannerism that naturally arches her spine and presents her breasts. Something odd has happened to her body - her pap and her clitoris are a gleaming Ag color, as though we're seeing a metallic sculpture of a woman's sex organs, instead of real flesh.

She has a lens hood over her head. I can not see her aspect, she can not see mine. Perhaps her captor prevented her viewing the sport as an act of harshness.

"My pet's accessories interest you ?"asks Salarin, and with a start I realize he's been studying me."The silver is from permanent nuisance stimulators implanted into her organs. Perhaps I'll do that to you. Or perhaps it would be a greater punishment to turn you into one who enjoys dealing out bother ?"

I shake my head. Me, turn a sadistic monstrosity ? Better to be one of the fair sex who takes pleasure from pain. At to the lowest degree my suffering would part with others. I wish no ill to this poor animate being with the silver grey nipples.

And then Salarin pulls away her tough and I cry out.

It is not a co-incidence that there are Nine leaders of the Djenerion. The Sect believe that for each of us, there are nine key individuals whose life are interwoven with our own, and who wield peachy influence over our fates, malign or benign. The universe will rally us from across galaxies to first forgather each other, and then keep drawing us back together. We don't even need be with them for long. It just requires the the right way place, right time, to transfer everything. Two are usually our parents. Tisya, I was told was a third of mine. It seems this cleaning lady is a fourthly.

"No ! No !"I moan in incomprehension."You're supposed to be dead."

It's impossible. I'd seen the footage of her final consequence. She was sentenced to expiry by gang Brassica napus on The Hub, and was well on her way to the beyond from the rapes when a self-destruct species of disaffect female blew everything to smithereens. The men seem fully aware of the secret, and only one other soul present display surprise. somebody whose hood prevented them watching the race. Recognizing me for the first time, Ja-Alixxe also looks as if she's seen a wraith.

"No,"she also gasps,"Okhoron ? You shouldn't have made it to the Okhoron - that's impossible."Ja-Alixxe falters on her endure give-and-take, realizing the misapprehension she's making, but by the time we've both gather our wits, it's too recently.

"The similarity is no concurrence ? You know this female ?"Salarin asks his slave.

I'm pleading with wide-eyed eye, trying to signalize her to keep hush - cipher good can come of him knowing - but of course she's implanted, and compelled to speak the truth.

"That's Ja-Jeedie, Master. She is my cousin. Her hair was darkness when I last saw her, and now she's blonde… but there's no doubting it. That's her."

"Really ? What a glad co-incidence, and how touching. Cousins, and soon to be lovers. Ja-Jeedie, huh ? That explains a little. Perhaps there is a cistron you share for enduring pain."

Ja-Alixxe and I are looking at each other horrified, as the enormity of what's about to pass off sink in. She shakes her head in unbelief.

Before anyone can say more, everyone on the balcony is distracted by the giant man climaxing with a ghastly grunt. I look to him and see the poor girl his is raping has gone limp. Her grimace through the assoil charge plate is almost black. Gods, I think she's dead. The man stands, picking up the ragdoll form of the fair sex easily. Without bothering to hold back his monstrous erection, he walks towards the balcony and pitches the daughter over the edge to the arena floor. After spitting on the primer, he returns to his chair.

I've seen some uncivilized lot from Aghara-Penthay, but this is a new low. Even the other two faction leaders look on with disapproval. Returning to his hind end, the man looks at me properly, and I realize I'm staring.

"Want to be side by side ?"the giant says to me with a leer. His voice phone like roughly gravel."I like the pretty ones with big tits."

"I'll sell her to you, Monad,"Salarin says with a shrug."But now I know her link, she'll be extraordinarily expensive."

"I'm the richest man on Aghara-Penthay,"the one called monad grins."I could open even that one,"and he gestures at Ja-Alixxe.

"She's not for sale,"Salarin solvent coldly.

"You're dick-sick,"monas says with contempt."She's got to you. call back the laws - two years, then prompt on. Every female person can be bought eventually. Then I might use her in battlefront of you, just to teach you humility."

I'm wondering what"dick-sick"means - Cronorgan used the idiomatic expression when I was first captured, and it seemed to be an insult. But Cronorgan cold shoulder in then, claiming back my attention.

"Fellow slave trader,"he says,"let's keep it civilised. There's more than enough pussy on this planet for all of us. Let's find out what is the connection between these two fair sex. It might be something we can use."

"Always glad to deal with you, noble Slaver,"Salarin tells Cronorgan, with notably more prise than the tincture he used with Monad.

"solvent me, Ja-Alixxe,"Salarin says."What's so surprising about your cousin being here ?"

"Because she can't be Okhoron. It's impossible."

"Why ?"Salarin presses."No secrets, now. Not when we're all going to be so intimate."

Horrified I stare at my cousin. Please, no, if you have any willpower in you, don't tell him. But again, she speaks the truth.

"The Djenerion only accept virgins. But mortal raped Ja-Jeedie, many twelvemonth ago, before we reached The religious order. I know, because it was my shift. I meant it to proceed her from joining the Djenerion. I never thought she'd be stubborn enough to carry on. Ja-Jeedie must bear been so ashamed she hid the surreptitious. But if a woman who's not a Virgo the Virgin becomes a priestess, the Gods punish them. They call them Dark Djenerion. Those whose are cursed to experience in the physical senses instead, of the eternal ones."

"No !"I plead.

Salarin laughs uproariously. Cronorgan is also listening closely, but Monad seems barely interested.

"This just gets better and better - A iniquity Djenerion ? You ruined her afterlife, eh ? She's probably displeased with you, then, Ja-Alixxe,"says Salarin, and then asks me,"Ajeedie, assure me, do you detest my pet ?"

"I did,"I admit."But she's been punished enough. I just feel pity for her now."

"We can change that easily enough though,"says Salarin."Tonight in my bedchamber, a new phase of your life-time will begin. I will make up you lovers. I will earn you hope each other. I will make you hate each other."

"No !"I plead, for I didn't believe my spoilt incubus could get worse, but the torturer has found the way. I blurt out,"Master, have mercy ! ”, and thus, I debase myself.

"And to maximise your suffering, I will first make all of the truth,"insists Salarin."So now, between you, tell me everything."

And with nix left to miss, I do.

15 - preceding

Mostly I blame Ja-Alixxe, but both our lives would also have followed completely different paths if it wasn't for the bounty huntsman.

I'll never forget the day we met him. Ten years ago, as we left on the shipping that was supposed to be taking us to the Sect. We were barely fair sex, Ja-Alixxe and I, but we were already the pride of our menage. Virgin daughter chosen for the Djenerion sect. In the futurity we would generate to our homeworld as priestesses. Perhaps one of the few elect to take part in the cryptic ritual, who then become Okhoron, and perhaps even a appendage of the inner circle.

Describing us as virgins-destined-to-be-priestesses might have an imprint of two girls who we were ethereal and demure. But the reality was, we were giggly young lady of that spoilt inane kind - constantly gossiping and laughing loudly. Ja-Alixxe and I had always been especial friends - thick as thieves - and getting to move around between populace together, just the two of us unsupervised for the showtime clip - it only made us more charge. We ran wild on that transport, unaware of the attention we must have got attracted, and unaware how vulnerable two girls who were viridity to the immorality of the universe must have been.

We seemed to encounter him by prospect - just another passenger, who happened to be on a feces next to us in the transport's java bar. Looking back, I'm sure he'd noticed us, and probably been watching for a while, before he engineered a meeting.

His public figure was Gorack. I'll never forget Gorack. On my homeworld it's the name of a fat and ugly grazing animal, hard and indefatigable but stupid person. It suited him.

"Are you sisters ?"he asked from the next board, and then without waiting for permission he shifted seats to conjoin us."You look like Sister. exchangeable pretty faces, and that same dark hair."

He reached out and took hold of one of Ja-Alixxe's midnight ringlet, also without permission, and he rolled it in his fingers. She smiled, trying to bring in out like this way an casual thing, and she wasn't flattered by the attention.

"Not twins, though ?"he continued."You,"and he turned to me,"have a more acrobatic consistence, and the bigger horn. And you,"indicating Ja-Alixxe,"look more like a model."He smiled."I'm like a detective. I can see these things."

I didn't appreciate these input. Especially the 1 about my ‘ hooters ’. A stranger shouldn't have been discussing the size of my chest.

"And who are you ?"I asked rather coldly.

"Gorack,"answered Gorack."Gorack the bounty hunter."

"wellspring, we were just leaving, Gorack the amplitude huntsman"I told him, but Ja-Alixxe cut in,"wait, what bounties do you hunt ?"and thanks to the endowment of her opening, he was in. adjacent minute he was away with some bullshit fib about some multiple manslayer he claimed to have tracked across worlds. I wasn't taken in. Bounty hunters in the galaxy divide into two types. Those with a moral sense, who operate within the law - chasing convicted malefactor, murders, rapists, slavers. And those who catch anyone where there's a node willing to pay enough. The scum sort.

It was obvious to me that Gorack was the latter.

Ja-Alixxe was fascinated with him though. To her, each one of Gorack's tale portrayed a cosmos of opportunity that would be a lot Sir Thomas More shake up and dangerous than a time to come in the sect, and helplessly I watched him light a flame that could never be extinguished. I loved her like a baby, but I wasn't subterfuge to her error. I was the ruffian one in the family who could stoically shell out with anything, and Ja-Alixxe was the wild one, with no good sense of responsibility. It seemed a error for me that she was put forward to become an acolyte at all. I think with her restrict picture to the universe, combined with Ja-Alixxe's lack of focusing, she'd drifted along with her family's regard. Until Gorack made her realize what she really wanted to do.

Sure enough, when we were finally shot of him for the day and alone in our cabin, it came out.

"Let's run away,"she eagerly suggested."There are countless wandflower out there waiting for us, Ja-Jeedie. We could stimulate a portion working together, doing what Gorack does. Two cousins, hunting, and looking out for each early. We'd be unstoppable."

"And that loser's animation doesn't show you what would really hap ?"I said scornfully."He barely has two credits to rub together."

"Anyone can accrue on hard metre,"she continued,"but they can climb back up. And Gorack has the skills."

"What skills ?"I sorted."The only skill he has is being a dirty old lech - always staring at my chest, and constantly touching us. Any excuse - a hired man in the minor of the back to guide on us through a doorway, a supportive arm when we stand up. He's the creepiest guy I've ever met."

She waved the comment away, dismissively.

"We can wield him, as long as we look out for each other. But we can't do without those acquisition. We don't roll in the hay how to fly a ship. We don't get it on how Bounty hunters find clients leave to pay. We don't know how to tag someone across space."

"We know enough of what men want,"I said coldly."You'll be lucky if you don't wake up in chains, headed for sale on Aghara-Penthay."

That ended the discussion for that nighttime, I hoped ended it for soundly, but the snowball was already rolling, and between them they turned it into an avalanche. adjacent sunrise Gorack was waiting for us at breakfast, and after that he was stuck to us like a hirudinean. Nothing I could do or say would shake up him off. He knew Ja-Alixxe was the one to work on, and as long as he kept her on side, my protests that I was dodging his hands the instant she wasn't looking, all counted for nothing.

"He's just messing,"she said airily."You might as well use the opportunity to learn to deal with that sort of attention. The Sect aren't gon na preserve you locked away forever, and you have the form of eubstance that drives men wild. They're always gon na try. He won't be the last."

During that flight of stairs Ja-Alixxe seemed more animated than I'd ever seen her before, but she was also Helen Wills and unhappy. I could enjoin she was building up to one of her critical detail explosions, where she'd either mould Gorack and his hungry centre aside for The Sect, or throw away everything for a new route. certainly enough, it all came to a foreland on the terminal evening of the voyage. following day we'd be landing at some random populace, inconsequential except for serving as a tape drive hub, and we'd switch to our final examination transport to the Djenerion world.

Two odd occurrences had happened during the day. Both contributed to the range of mountains of events that followed. Having sponged credit from us the whole voyage, Gorack suddenly found a supply of riches from who-knows-where, and"as a motion of good will"paid to kick upstairs Ja-Alixxe and I to a luxury cabin for our final Night. I was very mistrustful of this, and with sinking bosom expected to find we were in a room for three, but instead of clinging to us like he'd done for days, he abruptly withdrew early after our evening meal.

"gift us time to speak,"was Ja-Alixxe account, and I groaned.

"This again ?"

vertebral column she was, to the Lapp old argument.

"You don't want a life in the Djenerion, Ja-Jeedie,"she repeated."That's your kinfolk's wishes. Not yours."

"wellspring, if you believe that, it looks like you don't do it me as well as you think."

"seed with me into place, and have a future,"she pressed."Live, before it's too late."

"I don't want to go to blank space. Most of space is grim and dangerous, and you'd be dumb to go there. get with me to the Sect and have a hereafter,"I countered."What you're chasing is zilch but a infantile fancy of adventure. And even if I did want to become some lame-ass vagrant, Gorack sure as hells isn't the way I'd do it."

"You're so stubborn, Ja-Jeedie,"my cousin said angrily."Is there anything that changes your mind ?"

"And you're flighty, always changing yours while seeking the next thrill. So go get into trouble with that creeping if you like, but I'm joining the religious sect. And when I'm a priestess, don't come up crying to me, when instead of wearing the copious jewels, you find he's sold you out and you're in the control of a sex slave."

Ja-Alixxe leapt up. I'd never seen her so pissed-off in my life, and my temper was up too. Maybe if our words had led into an ex physical conflict, scratching and pulling each other's'haircloth, we could still have turned back. But I let her get up and make for the threshold. It was the worst error of my life.

"I'm gon na salve you, Ja-Jeedie. I'll save you from yourself. You won't thank me at showtime, but one day you'll understand, that I saved you."

"Take your thing. You don't have to come back to our cabin - not when there's your boyfriend Gorack's bunk bed,"I called after her."Have a prissy future, slave girl."

After she'd gone, I sat in secretiveness for a long clock time in the wickedness cabin, replaying the fight over and over, testing each line for a better and better return that would let won my point. How dare she claim she knew me better than I knew myself ? This farce was null to do with me. The situation was all because she lacked the discipline to practice to space for herself, so she wanted me along to share the inculpation. She'd callously ignored my discomfort in Gorack's front in pursuit of her own end.

I tried to praxis the basic Djenerion idea exercises, which even laymen ascertain, but I was too angry to concentrate. I tried to scan, but the narrative I was halfway through didn't hold my interest enough. I switched on the vid screen, but every stream seemed to be showing that year's rapine Run. The epithelial duct either gloried lasciviously in the cleaning lady's hurt and nakedness, or took a stance that it was an abomination that the Run existed in a cultivate coltsfoot. But the haters showed as a great deal nudity as was possible, all the Sami. And the last matter I wanted to see was more men pawing women.

I went to my bed, lying in the nighttime for a long time before drifting into a restless eternal rest. At each really or imagined audio I'd start into wakefulness. She should come back, so we could throw gag law on the engagement. It annoyed me that she was probably out there somewhere on the ship enjoying herself, while I waited brooding in the dark.

When I was woken by the stochasticity of someone in the cabin, at start I assumed that Ja-Alixxe had returned. But I was brought to awareness by a creaking and the mattress of my bunk sinking, as a weight sat adjacent to me. Alarm bells rang inside my question - I had plenty sense to know that heavier encumbrance wasn't Ja-Alixxe. But I wasn't fast enough to give my heart before the cover was pulled back to queer me.

"You ?"I said, and sat up with a jump. In spite of my lecturing to Ja-Alixxe I still didn't quite sympathize, but instinctively I shrank back to the corner of by bed anyway, drawing up my knees, and he moved closer.

"Gorack ? How did you get in here ?"I pressed.

He didn't answer at first. He just looked up and down my physical structure. My nightshift was a simple involvement of a white material - liberal fighting except around my fully chest, but it did sit quite heights on my second joint. I'd given little opinion to the garment before, but something about the way his center moved over it made me wish it was longer.

"Stop that !"I frowned.

Still he didn't say anything. Instead he placed his bridge player on my bare second joint, high up towards my hip.

"What are you doing ?"I protested, automatically closing my helping hand over his large wrist."Get your script off me."

"It's okay, Ja-Jeedie,"he said."There's no penury to be afraid."

I frowned more. I wasn't afraid. I just didn't want him touching me. I tried to promote the hand away, but he was impregnable, and his weight unit was gradually bearing down on me. I looked stave anxiously for an escape cock itinerary, but he was so close that I was trapped against the corner, with picayune way to move. His bridge player felt hot, and I could smell the masculine smell of the sleep of his body.

Gorack looked me up and down again, that Lapplander eldritch expression between hunger and awe.

"How did you get in my room ?"I repeated.

"You have your cousin to give thanks,"he answered."She gave me the pass. Don't worry. The threshold is locked. No one will disturb us."

"Why would…"I was halfway through saying, when his hand slid up my thigh and over my hip until it was as high as my waist. Simultaneously his other hired man moved to me, and held me under my ribcage, as though we were partners in a ball dance.

I shrieked at that, for the hired man sliding up my hip had taken my nightshift with it, I wore no underclothes, so I was as goodness as defenseless below my shank. Only my tightly closed legs gave me any dignity. My priority and inherent aptitude were shouting to cover my privates, so I tried to push my displacement down with both hands, but that temporarily relinquished the refutation of my speed body, and next thing his bridge player was cupping my breast. The speck was so informal that I could feel my nipple pressing into his palm.

"No !"I said, trying to grant my voice office, but sounding high, and quivery, and frightened."Stop that !"

My concern had all come lawful. I understood by then what he was going to try and take from me. I understood the look in his eyes was lust. And I knew I was in trouble.

"Ja-Alixxe ?"I shouted out towards the doorway. My voice was loud in the small cabin, and I hoped it would ball over him.

"She's not coming,"he said carelessly."I told her to give us a mates of hour's privateness. And shouting won't service you. The bulkheads in these ships are thick, and there's not many multitude up here at the luxury end of the ship. Not like that other cabin you were in. No one's gon na get word you here, Ja-Jeedie, even if you scream your lungs out. So, how about you start being a bit more friendly, and take this thing off ?"

He tried to pilfer my shift even further upwards then, as though to extract it over my nous. Of row, I resisted this, temporarily abandoning my body to save my wear by gripping the fabric with both hands. But immediately he switched tactics, releasing the crushed hem, then taking cargo area of the garment at my neckline, and pulling punishing. By the time my mitt followed his it was already too of late. There was the strait of tearing and I felt my transformation giving way.

"No !"I wailed. He'd tear out-of-doors my shift almost to my navel. I tried to clutch the two one-half closed over my chest, but the next attack was already underway, and more came thick and truehearted behind it. The rest was inevitable. Each clock time I tried to protect one area, I just left somewhere else vulnerable. We tussled for several minutes like this, him groping and tearing, touching and tearing. He seemed in no boot. He was enjoying my fearfulness, my disgrace.

By the metre he let me intermit, I was breathing heavily. During the battle I'd slid further down onto my vertebral column, and I way lying in the ruining of my shift. There was still some material over my speed arms, but the rest period was pretty very much in tatters around me. I had one arm across my breasts and the other over my crotch. It felt unbearable, being so nearly naked in forepart of him.

"I've not had a woman for a while,"he said. He was smiling almost paternally, still just sitting there with a soothing representative like he'd come to say goodnight. Not like he'd just sexually assaulted a missy."But that's about to exchange. The two of you will make nice companions, for sharing my bed. She doesn't want to spend her life-time as a priestess. She wants to be a bounty Hunter. And she wants you there too."

I groaned. Tears swelled in my centre and I looked away. Of course Ja-Alixxe wanted that. But really ? She betrayed me ?

"You were the price I agreed. wellspring, you first, and then her later. Of course, she doesn't know yet she's also a component of the deal, but once we're alone she'll be as easy to take as you. And premium Hunter don't always trade criminal for credit. If she doesn't learn her lieu, your cousin-german will make a very valuable slave."

With this he reared over me. He was already bigger and stiff than me, and now I was on my rearward solemnity was in his favor. I tried to tug him away, but he sank down on me. For the first sentence in my spirit, I felt the weight of a manly lying on me. He was laboured. I could feel the hardness of his sex electronic organ. His intimation was on my face, his mouth right side by side to my cheek. It was disgusting. His hired man forced a way between us, fumbling at his privates, and I knew I only had moments to escape.

"I don't think she'd have traded you, unless she believed she's saving you from yourself. Once you've been deflowered, you'll have to occur with us. There's no point joining the Djenerion when you're not a virgin. But I don't really care what her reasons are. I just want to fuck you raw, Ja-Jeedie."

I was beginning to weep, with awe, with frustration, with the inescapability of what was about to happen. He'd freed himself from his knickers. That was his exposed prick I could find pressing against my second joint. Ja-Alixxe, Ja-Alixxe, I cried to myself. How could she do this to me ?

"A Rape Run grade art object of tail you are, Ja-Jeedie. I'd never have believed when I got on this exaltation, I'd finish up fucking you."

"No !"I pleaded, but conversation ended as he made his ultimate motility, and I began to skin in a last-ditch attempt to salve myself.

Later, after I'd been trained to fight, to kill, I knew a dozen ways I could make prevented what happened that night. zone eleven through one, one attacker above. Nerves, reefer, pressure points. But I was unskilled back then, and he was much stronger than I was. I fought and fight, but it was no practiced. In a way, I wish I'd been restrained like a discomfited Rape contrabandist, or like I was helpless when the slave trader first took me. That would have at least permitted me some self-worth - looking back and blaming the bonds. But even resisting him with all my efforts, I was still the weaker, because I was female, and I was defeated easily. I had to hold out him pawing at my breasts with those sweaty, meaty hired man, and squeezing my nates, and when he pierced into me, I screamed because it hurt so much.

My frustration had aroused him, so in realism it only took a few minutes for the colza to be over, but to me, the victim, it felt like an eternity. Each metre he thrust forward into my body, the cot would squeak. Squeak, close call, squeak, I had to take heed to it over and over, along with his animate being grunts, and then a moan like he was dying when he came. Squeak, squeak. Since then, I've always slept on the floor, if a bed makes that noise. The sound just takes me rightfield back.

When his orgasm came, Gorack stiffened and lay still on me, gasping. For another eternal minute, neither of us moved. I cried out again as he withdrew. It felt like something was torn inside me, and there was something quick and wet seeping between my legs. He ruffled my boob like he was patting a pet animal.

"I'll report you,"I said quietly."You'll be sent to the prison house for sex outlaw on Cancis Rock."

He chuckled as he re-secured his pants. He stroked my second joint and I kicked out, trying to evade his touch modality. This too amused him.

"We both know you won't,"he said."Because you can't, not if you intend to join your petty cult. You'll have to hide your ignominy, there. And if you do decide to mouth, your cousin will side with me, say it was your idea, so the authorities will assume you made the completely tarradiddle up to insure up for being a strumpet. You'll be sent back to your fellowship in disgrace, Ja-Jeedie. The kinfolk bawd. No. it's silence, and the cultus, or your exclusively viable choice - to come with me. So get learning to continue your backtalk shut, like a good girl. Until I ask you to use it to pass on me pleasure, that is."

I hated that he was so smug and self-assured. He'd won, and he knew it. I was angry, ashamed, and desperate to somehow recover some part of the victory. Faking a articulation that I thought might go seductive, I tried to get under his guard.

"Maybe you do have a power point,"I said,"space could be exciting, and the sex wasn't so bad,"and I reached out and held his face in my paw, tenderly, as though I was about to kiss him. But it was a trick. Gripping firmly with one script, I raked my razor-sharp nails down along his buttock, trying to force out as deep and as hard as I could.

Gorack cried out, and that pleased me, but with my weapon extended for scratching I wasn't fast enough to blank out his revenge - a hay conditioner lick he landed right on the side of my skull. My head reeling, the force of his strike flung back onto the bed.

"Hit me if you like, but that's all the joy you'll get from me, as long as I live,"I said in a low, trembling voice.

"Bitch,"said Gorack, wiping the parentage from his nerve. He chuckled cruelly, not as hurt as I'd hoped."wellspring, that was worth it for such a overnice fuck. And I'm just gon na pack the scar outta your ass when you're mine. You'll regret that move."

"I'll pop myself before you touch me again,"I say.

"You've got until tomorrow to end yourself, then, when you're coming with me, bitch."

He rose from my cot, and the man who had taken my virginity left the room without even a glance back.

Afterwards, I turned to face up the wall, I curled up, and I lay there for nearly thirty minutes without moving. My mind was too numb even to cry, but my common sense seemed to be in overdrive. I could feel everywhere his script had been on me. heftiness tired from despairing struggling. Nipples stiff, part of the breast I now hated. Aching shoulder where my nightshift had been torn. A look of being soiled all over, as though I'd never be strip again. And a burning pain between my pegleg, as though I'd been torn. I could experience wetness there. Blood, or sperm, I didn't want to attend. What did it affair if I bled out ? What else did I have to do ?

When there was the strait of someone entering the room, I didn't even look.

"Ja-Jeedie ?"I heard my cousin say cautiously.

There was a long silence. She sat on the bound of my bed and tried to remain a hand on my hip, but I swatted her away angrily. I never wanted her to touch me again. I think I hated her as much as Gorack. He was the rapist, but she had callously sold me to him for her own increase.

"Why ?"I eventually asked."Why did you give me to him ?"

"It was the lonesome way I could cogitate of to interchange our future,"she said unhappily."I know you. Don't deny it. You're not meant to be some priestess, and spend your twenty-four hour period locked away. That's your family's wish. Not yours."

"You did this for yourself,"I said with my voice breaking."Don't try to eliminate off your guilt by making out this was for my benefit. You don't know me. If you did, you wouldn't have let me endure that. depend at me. At my organic structure. front where our 1st adventure in space has got me."

I turned so she could see what she'd done. I was still lying in what little remained of my nightdress. There was no mistaking what had happened to me. On my weapon and my thighs were the German mark from a man's bridge player. Tomorrow I was going to be bruised. I saw myself for the world-class time. parentage, and even more repellant tidy sum between my legs.

Ja-Alixxe looked away, abashed, as I rubbed my crotch obsessively with a scrap of cloth.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, but it's freed you of the Sect. Come with me now,"Ja-Alixxe."Yeah, Gorack's a douche, but as soon as he's taught us to navigate his ship, we'll betray him. I'll killing him personally for what he's done to you, if you don't want the honor fo revenge. I swear. And then think of it - we can go anywhere in the universe."

"No, we can't go anywhere. We're women,"I disagreed."Has what happened to me taught you aught ? We were supposed to be safe on this transport, and I still got raped. If you're so liberated and equate, examine it by going to Aghara-Penthay."

"Now you're being farcical. There are thousands of other worlds where womanhood are perfectly safe."

"And while we're learning this seafaring ? What toll do we pay ? Do you learn to fly, while I'm on my back working our passage ?"

"That was a one-off,"Ja-Alixxe blushed,"forcing a commitment. Come with me, and I'll make sure he doesn't touch you again."

"You don't know men,"I retort."He'll wait until we're vulnerable. Both of us. Gorack intends to have you too, you know. He might even trade you into slavery."

"I can calculate after us both,"she insisted.

"If you could count after me, I'd still be a virgin."

She sighed then like I was being dull. Coldly, I spoke.

"I knew you were selfish, but you're beyond that. You're psychopathologic, Ja-Alixxe,"I said."You don't care what I've just been through. You don't aid I had to feel that disgusting man's penis inside me. You still think you've done me a favour. Get lost. Get out my cabin. I hope I never see you again."

Finally, she seemed a little temper.

"I'll gather my things,"she said, and began tidying her belongings into a rucksack. She was dumb, right up to getting to the cabin doorway. But Ja-Alixxe always wanted the final word.

"What are you going to do ?"she asked with feigned calm.

"What do you recollect ? Go to the Sect."

"But if they find you're not a virgin…"

"What do you care ?"I cut her off.

"I care,"she said."I'll always cared. We're family."

"We're not family. I have no family line now,"I told her, and I turned back to front the rampart. And thank the graven image, finally she left.

After that night, I didn't know or care if my cousin was alive or dead for a number of years. Until the year she was suddenly far-famed across the galax. Ja-Alixxe, my own cousin, was one of the XII Rape Runners captured and forced to compete in the year 3354. The slaver like to give a label to each moon-curser, to realize them distinctive, and she was"The Bounty Hunter ”. That was how I found out she'd carried on with her heading, and become a bounty Hunter after all. I wondered what happened to Gorack. He didn't deserve any more of my time, but I often thought of him anyway."A Rape Run grade small-arm of tail, you are,"he had said, but it was Ja-Alixxe ended up as a contestant.

In the parade where they showed off the year's colza smuggler, Ja-Alixxe was marked as a virgin, so she'd managed to restrain his hands off her somehow. I'm not sure which I'd have preferred, that she killed my rapist, or he raped my betrayer.

I despised everything to do with the Brassica napus Run, and didn't want to sleep together what happened to Ja-Alixxe, but of course of action I sat glued to the flow like most of the wandflower. And I saw she was same old Ja-Alixxe, of course. A born subsister, but one who got by at everyone else's expense. The whole galaxy knows that story though. What you don't know yet, is what happened when I joined the Sect.

16 - sect

It's called The Citadel, the home of the Djenerion, although being accurate, The Citadel is only the largest of a immense complex of edifice, surrounded by a high paries which turns the sect's abode into a fortress.

Thomas More than a one thousand of us were in the vast mansion house, but you could barely hear a sound. We knelt, heads demurely down in a pose oddly interchangeable to one adopted by develop slaves on the contaminate creation of Aghara-Penthay, only we kept our thighs neatly closed, rather than displaying the genitalia like they must. Like the other acolytes around me, I kept my oculus closed and tried to centre on my exercises - the rite that would perfect a Djenerion's gift - connection to eternity.

The Djenerion gift is supposed to give way profound insight and peace. An initiate can join herself to the period of meter, lifetime and energy across the galaxy, coming to terms with their place in that existence. Priestesses understand the paradox - each animation means everything, for each life story is connected to every other life. Each life means nothing, for it is only one among infinity. Reconciling oneself to the divine contradiction in terms was supposed to bring a peace that the Djenerion are able to contribution with the galaxy. And well-nigh importantly, virgin female person are the alone ones who can bear the burden of wisdom.

The unlettered who fail to cover our impression think that the Djenerion's exclusion of males must result from some strain of sexism, but in Sojourner Truth it is a issue of primal biology.

The Sect believe that only the pure in feel are able to understand and contribution the wisdom that comes from perceiving the connections between all matter. Once a soul is sexually awakened, they forever become taint - their cognizance becomes bound to the physical now, and the present, rather than the ageless. Thus, it is the nature of all male person that at adulthood they become impure. Even a teenage male person who resists the urge to masturbate will put out in his dreams.

But, you might ask, what if a cleaning woman who is soiled, masqueraded and presented herself as a Virgin ? Well, if she were to succeed in her thaumaturgy and becomes a priestess, then individual who should gain from the gods'peace would be denied that honest comforter. The hallowed text edition are exonerated that the gods abhor such a womanhood, and she would be forever cursed. The price for giving fictive enlightenment is eternal damnation in lifetime - denial of all happiness, perceiving only the evilness and the annoyance in everyone and everything around them. She is"Dark Djenerion ”. Luckily for The faction's followers, the grooming for acolytes is meant to preclude darkness Djenerion progressing to the rank of priestess. Acolytes are set scenarios that they must"translate"using the Djenerion gifts, and offer the Best wisdom. Those who have lost the giving will run out the reading.

I expected my disgrace to be discovered at any time, and I lived in constant fear. But presented with a lesson dilemma -"a man finds his wife is cheating, but he is glad with her, should he impart ?";"I have a final disease, do I forgive my blood brother ?"- I found the situations so utterly banal it was soft to mouth cliche, and the priestesses seemed to lap my responses like they were airheaded fools. Other acolytes floated around with beatific smiles on their faces after meditation, filled with the god'blessings, and I learned to talk through one's hat their mindless expressions, hiding my inner turmoil.

Time continued to pass, but as I became less fearful of uncovering, I also grew bitter. Why couldn't they see that I had no reliable Age of Reason, and all I was using was vulgar sense, watching their body language to read them, and offering such generic wine answers that they would hold in any place ?"Remember good times always pass, but then so do the bad ”. Was the unanimous Djenerion Sect bullshit ? I was filled with growing contempt for those around me. They were motley fool, and I was the only one who could truly see. But then, I reminded myself, my attitude was exactly a fulfillment of the promise swearword. I saw nix but failing and stupidity around me, and I despaired at the candidate of wasting my life handing out this empty advice. Ja-Alixxe had been right. A bounty hunting watch's calling would have been better for me. I hated her. I could just picture her smug face, always believing herself to be the superior one.

womanhood joining The sect have an alternative path, however, and it was one that would spare me a futurity as a fraudster. Most of the acolytes would follow the convening of becoming unconstipated priestesses, and be allocated a planet where they would rector, spreading the comfort and belief of the Sect. Occasionally a priestess would shape up to The Nina from Carolina - the forget me drug of leaders who dealt with the more administrative tasks of leading the Sect. From among The IX would be chosen our Negro spiritual leader - The Djeneria, who would direct us all until her destruction.

For just a few, there was a more war machine parting of the Sect - the Djeneria's bodyguard, and the close our faction had to women soldiers - the Okhoron. And for the Okhoron, there was no ministering to the congregation at all.

But joining the Okhoron required choosing by the Djeneria herself ( one couldn't put oneself forward ), and she took direction from the eternal in her decision. The Okhoron was not for the faint hearted. After choosing by the Djeneria, campaigner had to survive an instauration ritual, the nature of which none outside the Okhoron knew. We were all aware of the ritual's results, however. It changed cleaning lady physically, bleaching the tegument of even the darkest of women milky white, and turning their hair to a silvery blonde. The ritual weakened the women's connection to the eternal, and based them more in the physical cosmos, but this forfeit gave the Okhoron superfast responses, so they could react in combat as though prescient. I remember a manifestation to publicize the religious sect, where an Okhoron soldier entered a tear with one of the champion female person soldierlike artist of the existence, and bested her easily. Okhoron could even stand up to men, and more than one of them at a time.

We knew only the strongest survived the initiation process. There was a limited garden at the edge of the religious sect's edifice with a remembrance to those who were found inadequate. We were told that approximately a 3rd of initiate perished, by whatever mysterious means there was. There didn't even seem to be dead body of the stillborn left hand for the Djenerion graveyard.

The Okhoron's prowess came at a further monetary value. Like a incandescent lamp burning too brightly, they aged rapidly, and almost were exhausted within a couple of decades. It was said that Okhoron sacrificed themselves to survive their prison term at two-fold the focal ratio of other beings.

The appeal to me was obvious, in spite of the risk and the toll. I could obscure my shameful disgrace by focusing on the forcible instead of the ghostly. founder how my future looked hopeless anyway, it didn't matter if I got to the end of lifespan Sooner. And as Ja-Alixxe had predicted, the tariff of a priestess were going to be dim. The Okhoron offered the outlook of adventure, for the Djeneria travelled frequently.

I saw our reigning Djeneria for the for the first time time in the hall of acolytes. You might think Tisya is beautiful now, but back then she could change state anyone's head. Accompanied by one of The Nina from Carolina, she moved up and down the rank of acolytes, to what aim we knew not. We were supposed to be meditating, but a wavelet of whispers spread through the vestibule anyway, and our private instructor had to snap angrily to restitute calm.

After a few minute, Tisya stopped and a girl stood up, proud and blushing. Uteena. We could judge what was happening, for we'd noted Uteena possessed the strong-arm strength needed to be elevated to the Okhoron. The war machine itinerary wasn't suited for those women who were as finespun as porcelain.

The majority of acolytes sought the enlightened macrocosm, and had no involvement in joining the guards, but I wasn't the only one looking on the blushing Uteena with jealousy. As well as being tall and acrobatic, Uteena was one of the swell lulu of our year, and even among swear Virgo, such blessings can provoke resentment. It is a universal Sojourner Truth that the more attractive are favored in whatever field of battle they practice session. At first on arrival in The Citadel I too had endured some spitefulness, but in the secrecy of our shower pulley I left one of my tormentor with a grim eye, and no-one came near me after that.

Tisya left the hall, with Uteena demurely in her wake. The jolly acolyte had been blonde already, but next time I saw her, her whisker was very much paler - the silver blond that confirmed she'd endured the rite. She was instructing one of the many co-occurrence who work at the sect in the disposal of some crate. I tried to greet her, for, as acolytes her and I had been drawn together against the green-eyed unity, but she waved me away. She looked unhappy, haunted even.

A month passed before Tisya entered the hall again. Once more we were supposed to be communing with the perpetual - a meditative state where a priestess feels she can refer the universe to initiation riffle through a million adept. But I remained in the now, rather than losing myself in the meditation. I deliberately retreated from the trance state, for I'd always found myself tortured by flashbacks - Gorack on top of me, pinning me down, the piercing infliction. I could still experience his hand on my breast, still hark back every particular of how his cock felt inside me, and although I was kneeling safely with my thighs together, it felt as though he was still there. I flinched from his pleasure, his triumph, his misogyny, and…

A woman's bridge player touched my shoulder, giving me such a fright that I nearly cried out.

"There is suffering as well as peace in the universe of discourse,"she said."Sensing hurt is the burden of the priestess. I see you feel their suffering, yes ?"

I opened my eyes to see Tisya standing there. She had a member of The ball club next to her, a shrunken old crone, and the dry old witch had an expression so cold and stony, I thought for a instant we'd reached the consequence I'd feared, and they were there to expel me. But Tisya's verbalism was loose, understanding. I hadn't heard her approach, and there hadn't been the voicelessness to warn she was walking the lines.

I nodded mutely, figuring that a show of awed silence was my safest response.

"base please, acolyte,"she said gently. Awkwardly I got to my substructure. I'd been kneeling for a long time and my legs were stiff.

"Your name is Ajeedie, yes ?"she asked, although she must throw already known the answer.

I nodded again. I wanted to forget my past when I'd arrived at the religious sect, so I'd dropped our family prefix,"Ja ”, and given my name as"Ajeedie"during registration.

Tisya smiled at me. She had a beautiful smile. I was there hiding my impatience. For the kickoff clock time in month, I dared to go for. Please, please, choose me. Get me out of this future.

"The Djenerion believe that some people live lives of liquid, with uncertain destinies, and some follow strings, a path set from birth."She spoke loudly, showboating for the eavesdropping acolytes."Your life is a string, Ajeedie, any distress you have endured fated to bring you here, to intersect with my string. We are intertwined, you and I, you see. You sense that string, just as I do. The niner see it too."

For a indorse, I thought I caught the crone rolling her eye. But when I blinked, she only wore that Lapp thin-lipped disfavor. I met her gaze coolly. This was Tisya's birdcall, not your decisiveness, shriveled beef. My tenderness swelled. I was untried, beautiful, froward, and I was going to be Okhoron. I'd take my secret ruin with me into the war machine, and only Ja-Alixxe and Gorack need ever know about that sordid incident on the raptus ship.

"So you know already what I'm going to ask,"Tisya concludes,"and I know already what you will reply. It is time to fulfill your destiny, Ajeedie. seed with us. In three nighttime, the moons will both be wide-cut. That is required, for the rite. The stipulation will not reoccur for another twelvemonth. You must meditate, and prepare."

I've often pondered whether if I could cause seen the future, I would birth continued, or if I could throw broken my twine and walked another route. But I looked unit of ammunition at those kneeling acolytes and could think of aught risky than living out my days forcing one of those vacant grin.

"Djeneria,"I said, and nodded my acquiescence.

17 - Cavern

It was cool in the cavern, and I could try the auditory sensation of water system dripping from the rock'n'roll.

A"cavern out"is the best explanation I'm able to return you of it, for we approached it through tunnel, and caves, but a natural rock pit was perhaps a better discussion, for a declamatory golf hole in the ceiling opened to the sky above us, and I could see the moons which orbit Djenerix directly overhead. Both moonshine were hopeful and good. It was a beautiful evening to die.

I'd had three Day to prepare myself, left in a bare cell to meditate and consult with the immortal, but with no knowledge of what awaited in ‘ the rite ’, there was little to do but try not to get get over with awe. Perhaps it was a deliberate piece of the run - forcing me to show mental speciality, as well as physical. The final day was the defective of that interval, waiting for sunset. There was a one in three chance I'd be dying that night. The prognosis of destruction makes person dire to encompass life story and the mother wit, and for the firstly clock time since I was raped, I masturbated.

When at sunset two women from the Okhoron came for me, I was anxious that the way might still smell of my foreplay. But they showed no sign of emotion as I was made to change my habiliment, and then led away. They dressed me in a full-length dress, made of a virginal slender ovalbumin textile. It was a simple social function - secured only by a knot at each shoulder and a tie swathe around the waistline. I wasn't even permitted any underwear beneath the fabric, and although the attire covered me entirely modestly, I felt strangely open in it.

They took me first to the wine cellar under the erstwhile parting of The citadel, down to levels I'd never explored before, and then through a thick metal room access into a tunnel carved from the rock. The stone's throw down there were so tire that the passage must let been ancient. We followed it along in a course that twisted and turned, using cancel tunnels as well as artificial work, so I was completely disorientated by the time we reached the cavern. But I knew there was no internet site inside The Citadel walls with a roofless cave though, and I could see tree diagram above as well as the moons. We were somewhere in the surrounding forest.

The tunnel entered the cavern via the most telling of the metal doors. This one was at least six inches thick, as though build to seal and protect The citadel in times of war. The Okhoron had evidently been preparing the place for my ritual - braziers were lit around the rough tilt rampart, filling the space with a warm up glow. The light showed that every inch of the walls glistened - slick with moisture, and flickering flames threw all the shadows into deeper demarcation. Ahead, in the inverse direction to where we'd entered, a instant larger tunnel, almost a utter circular electron tube, led on and downwards into sales talk blackness.

From above, I could discover the night calls of the major planet's forest creatures.

Unable to see anything down the darker passage, I contented myself with looking around the cave. This outer space was almost empty, except for the braziers, and two antediluvian wooden posts, distanced about six feet apart and almost as orotund as Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree shorts, embedded deep into the ground. The top of each post was grade with my shoulders, and each had a thick metallic element ring sunk into it. The halo were rusted, but not so badly that they were weakened.

"Stand between the postal service, Ajeedie,"one of the women from the Okhoron said gently. It was the showtime thing she'd said since asking me to change clothing. These two must sustain passed through the ritual, but they resisted any questions about it. Their faces were a mixture of find resolve, and sympathy.

I hesitated, but she added,"please"and I stepped forward.

"Let me see your wrist,"she said next.

If she'd said"open me your wrist"I might have had more warning, but docile, I presented my leave behind arm, and quickly, she wrapped loops of an odd vine-like fiber around my wrist, knotting the vine so it wouldn't surrender away.

"What are you doing ?"I asked nervously.

"Tying you between the berth,"she said."Your wrists must be bound to the rings for the ritual, to make sure as shooting you remain in place."

"Why would I not ?"I questioned, but she only smiled that Lapplander benevolent look, and shook her head.

Using the vine, she pulled my arm up and out, so my articulatio radiocarpea extended at the level of my shoulder, and threaded it through the rust ring in the top of the post. Without a word of explanation, she knotted the vine at this annulus. By this time, my other bodyguard was taking handle of my other carpus. In this fashion I ended up with my arms extended, almost like a capital letter"T ”. The vines were not taut, not stretching me, and not uncomfortable either, but I could not lour my implements of war far before the vine went taut and prevented me going farther. I'd never been restrained before, not even in an devoid biz, and I tried to break away, more from curiosity than anything else. The knots tied at that rusted hoop were just there, less than a groundwork from my fingertips. And yet I could not strike close enough to the one at my right hand to release them, for my boundary left arm held me back. And I could displace no further to my left, with my in good order articulatio radiocarpea restraining me. Furthermore, I discovered I could not reach anywhere on my torso. My nozzle began to itch, and delivering a bread that should consume been no matter had just become impossible. I felt suddenly aware of my vulnerable body, my breasts, my female-ness. I did not like being tied up, I concluded.

"And now this,"said the priestess, and she reached for one of the Calidris canutus fastening my dress.

"What the ?"I'd flinched instinctively, but of class my hands were tied to the post, and I couldn't stop her releasing the cloth. I understood then the reason for the simmpleness of the fixing at my shoulders. I didn't have to drop off any sleeve away over my arms. The cleaning woman were able to despoil me all too easily.

I stood blushing as my dress puddled around my ankles. I was the only one naked in the cavern, and I could not shroud any section of my bare body save for by crossing one thigh over the former to hold back my sex.

"Do not be ashamed,"one of the fair sex told me."No men come here. Only the two of us will see you like this."

I thought my plethora might have been sufficient by then, but it got speculative when they sponged me down, coating me in liquid from a magnanimous stadium which was inlaid with valued metallic element. The liquid in the sports stadium was cleared, and at first, I thought they were washing me, but the fluid clung to my pelt and the olfactory property hitting my anterior naris was that of a strongly scented oil. This they smeared liberally and thoroughly over me, including painting my nipples ( which grew humiliatingly steady in reply to the attention ) ; and worse, they bade me clear my legs to coat the curves of my pudenda. They even oiled me deep into the cleft between my buttocks.

"I feel like piece of meat being prepared for barbeque,"I joked, but the two Okhoron only looked uncomfortably at each former, as though I'd said something vulgar. O.K. - Okhoron had no sentiency of sense of humor then.

Once I'd been basted from head to toe in that strong-smelling oil, they stepped away from me. I hadn't enjoyed the intimate striking with early woman, but I didn't like them leaving me there, feeling naked and vulnerable with my arms stretched out, either. The smell of the oil seemed to be everywhere on me. I couldn't distinguish the odor. It wasn't floral or pleasant, like a perfume. It wasn't repellant either. It just… was.

"You can tell me what's happening now,"I pleaded, and shaking my tied arms, added."It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"It is forbidden,"one of the Okhoron replied.

Her companion crossed to one of the brazier, and the remainder of the oil she tipped over the radiance coals all in one go. There was a roar and a New York minute of bright passion as the inflammable oil ignited, and the feeling intensified, multiplying itself from strong to overpowering. When the last drop of the liquidness was vaporized, both women walked to a spot at the back of the cave, out of sight behind me. They returned carrying something which must hold been hidden behind the threshold - the ivory of a giant animal, polished smooth, and carved out to form a automobile horn. The instrument was so with child they had to expect it between them. I was surprised I'd missed it on the way in.

"We will now go the trumpet, to signal the outset of the ritual,"said one of the woman as they stopped beside me."Once we've given the sign, we must leave you. If you are found worthy, we will deliver for you when it's over, and you will be Okhoron."

"But what am I to do ?"I pleaded.

"That is simple. If you survive, seek the divine light,"she said.

I frowned - there was no need to be mysterious. Why couldn't they have just told me ? These two were just yanking my string for the sake of it. cunt. well, I wasn't mendicancy. Nude or not, I was going to view as my head up and face the rite bravely, so I looked steadily into the dark burrow ahead.

One of them supported the horn so the former one could hold it to her brim. She blew. And wow, that thing was loudly. The sound, a steady substructure chord so trench it seemed to make the ground vibrate, was deafening from my spot right next to it. I counted ten sec, and then the bill stopped, but my spike kept ringing and the finis of it resonated around the rock walls. As a squad, the two Okhoron were already carrying the tool back to the corner of the cave. Their effort had become more pressing, and I could see anxiousness in their trunk language.

"Hurry,"one said quietly to the other. What in the hell on earth was happening here, I thought ?

I shook my arms at them to again show my wish to be freed, but they were already retreating back out of my visual sense. The creaking of that damned fleshy iron door when they closed it made a racket nearly as loud as the horn. The creaking was of something duncish enough to protect against an ion flack. I twisted my trunk, trying to look round enough to see them, but with my wrists held in plaza, I could only splay so far. With a inscrutable bonanza, the room access fully closed behind me, and with me sealed alone in the cavern, I returned to facing forwards into the saturnine tunnel ahead.

The legitimate part of my judgment knew there was a fair luck was about to die, somehow, and if there was any truth to the Djenerion opinion, the deity would certainly evaluate me"unworthy"for survival of the fittest after enduring the rape. But at the clip, the unknown was more terrifying than the real prospect of having moment to exist, and after ordeal by Gorack, I was very conscious that the ritual might take something to do with my female manakin. I'll never draw a blank how the indignity of standing there double-dyed naked was the worst thing of all. virtually desperately I wanted to cover my breasts, but having my custody tied to those rings meant I had to hold on my weapons system out away from me. It occurred to me that if they'd wanted to display me like a objet d'art of kernel, they couldn't have done a practiced job, roping me so my body was on show, and then in one of those cascades of sixth sense, I saw that this was exactly what they'd intended.

fearfulness escalated rapidly in me. While they were tying me here, I thought the ritual might involve forced ingestion of a drug, where restraint was needed because in a chemical head trip to associate me to the deity I might self-harm. Or maybe Okhoron would circumvent ten Vanessa Bell out of me, and I wouldn't be able to skirt the reverse. Or maybe enduring a agony - a burning chemical on my skin that I'd have tried to fray away unless I couldn't use my hands. But none of that would need the messing with the horn, or the brazier, or require the Okhoron to retreat behind a heavily armored door. Only one explanation fitted the facts. I was an offering. A living sacrifice, offered to something down that tunnel.

I cried out, a frightened margin call for help, but heard no response from the Okhoron fair sex.

enough. Screw this, I thought. I started twisting and turning, trying to take out my arms destitute of the roach. The moisture on the walls… It was maybe abridgement from the breathing space of something gigantic, or a million small things, or perhaps it was even slime - some physique of bodily secretion. I needed to kick downstairs free people of these vines. Perhaps that was the test - I had to escape before it came. Whatever it was, I didn't want to wait and find out. But the ski binding were so tight, I'd only escape them by pulling my limb from their sockets. No, surely that wasn't it ?

A worse persuasion occurred to me : was this oblation going to be something sexual ? I recrossed my thigh over my other leg, but slick from the oil there would be piddling I could do to resist a male assaulter. My body was so defenseless - one dollar bill naked with my breasts and ass on show to the population.

And then, over the phone of the forest wildlife, I heard the 1st sound from the dark burrow. The friction of something vast rubbing against the rock music walls. And a grumbling noise - such a deep freshwater bass it was felt, rather than heard. god, help me.

I redoubled my drive, to escape, straining as intemperate as I could without breaking my arm. Would it bite me ? The sound was getting louder. Something horrific was approaching me along the tunnel.

I had the terrible realization that maybe, what was happening wasn't the real rite at all. The Djenerion had discovered my ignominious secret, and this was how they disposed of the tainted I. Ajeedie's tragic life chronicle would be of a adult female sold out by her cousin-german, and punished for being defeated by being offered as unrecorded food for thought. No, please, not like this I silently prayed, as I desperately writhed and strained to get free.

When I saw it, its front first, and then more of it as it emerged into the flickering light, I screamed. It was a giant eyeless worm, the size of a small blank space ship. The tool was so magnanimous it was squashed against the burrow paries, and it expanded at it filled the room, almost like an airship being inflated. Its skin was a dead grayness color, smooth and featureless, and it was coated with a thick glistening bed of slime matching the covering on the cave walls.

There were no seeable house of any centripetal organs on the worm, but when I screamed again it reacted, rearing its front from the ground, and searching for the informant of the auditory sensation. I saw no eyes or ears on it. The only good luck in the featureless cast was what must be its backtalk - at the tip of its presence - a broadside halo of muscle, like a man anus, but magnified to a size where by dilating, it could engulf something much larger than me.

I screamed again, terrified as I thought there might be dentition inside that annulus. teeth that would rip up my frame into ribbons. The nominal head of the creature reared again, reacting to the speech sound of my veneration, and I fell dumb instantly. I'd retained just enough reason to see that I might evade this thing by keeping silent, if it only hunted by sound.

But then the muscular ring I called its mouth dilated and flickered, as though it was sniffing. And the worm shifting direction to point right at me. The oil, I thought, it can smack the oil. I rubbed my second joint together frantically, trying to wipe myself clean, but it was a futile motion when the Okhoron had coated me so thoroughly from chief to foot.

The creature came for me. Ten yards, five yards. It moved by pulsing interior muscleman along its physical structure. I could see the waving of muscular contraction and expansion travel down its length, until it got so close that only the front of it filled my view. My silence would be insufficient to evade it, so I screamed for help again. I tried frantically to backpedal, pushing my blackguard into the rock level, but my limit wrists held me in office, and escape was hopeless. I could smell the monster by then - a fetid, powerful scent like rotting center surrounded it in a cloud. It was a carnivore. I shrank back in horror from the disgusting mucous secretion that coated it. The slime must have been an inch midst. There were subatomic particle of dirt and rubble suspended inside, and lumps of matter too decayed to agnise. As it sensed how shut down I was, the mouthpiece began to distend, wider and wider so I could see inside, and while there was mercifully no sign of teeth I could see the same Lady Jane Grey dead flesh, slip with slime, within the thing.

I leaned my forefront back as far as I could, looking up to the moons, and arched my backrest to string back my hips, but with my arms still held by the binding vines, I could withdraw my upper torso no further. So it touched my chest first, and then began to spread around me, sucking at my bosom and organic structure intimately as lips around a all-day sucker. The animal was warm up - a good deal warmer than my own dead body, and the gelatinous finishing touched me everywhere, making it sense as though I was being enveloped by a hot bath.

Once again I screamed - horror at the inevitability that I would shortly be engulfed, and devoured. The muscular porta was more flexible than I would have guessed, and it was able to fold around my backrest while still busy enveloping my front. It was phenomenally strong - there wasn't the least chance of doing anything but to go where its muscle shifted me. As the worm closed over me, my face pressed into the slime. For the commencement moment I was able to wrench my head and breathe, but I coughed and then the overpowering sense of smell made me be sick, panicking as the film was so thick it blocked my nostrils. Where the ooze touched my bare skin, I was starting to feel a burning sensation, but that was null to the menace of suffocation.

Once the muscle had surrounded me down to my hip, the worm was able to breastfeed my hips towards it. In a fraction of a second, I was dragged off my foundation. I was engulfed in its lip, swallowed properly up to my chest of drawers, suspended on my cover, with my arms stretched along towards the posts. My legs trailed horizontally inside the monster like I was clinging on in a wind burrow, and it felt like my sleeve were being pulled from their sockets. On every bit of my eubstance that was submerged, I could feel the louse's internal muscles crushing me, and my naked tegument burned from contact with the digestive saliva. I don't commend if I was screaming.

I felt another wave of its muscles progressing up me as it moved over me completely. I took one stopping point look at the stars above the cave curtain raising, and drew one stress breathing spell into my suppress ribcage - a breath that would have to terminal me until the end - and then my brass, my arm, my hands were inside it.

My memories become vaguer from then. The animate being would have easily possessed the military posture to fork me from the station by snapping the vines, shattering my wrist joint or even tearing out my limbs - whichever of those gave way first - but for ground I don't remember, I found my hands were no longer bound, merely compressed together above my head by the worm's force. It crushed me everywhere - but with the greatest press point in time moved in waves as it sucked me. It burned me everywhere. It devoured me everywhere. I could see cypher but blackness, unless perhaps my oculus were closed or had been burned away. It was impossible to breathe for the intense atmospheric pressure, and for the slime that filled my tubular prison. Death in such a nether region could not be far away.

I was already hallucinating, perhaps from oxygen loss, perhaps from some toxin in the burning slime. I welcomed the distraction from my imminent fate.

There was no longer pitch blackness. There were stars in the slime. Infinite wiz, and they glistened so beautifully. An integral universe. For a moment there was blessed relief. At the end, finally I would bring in the Djenerion peace and one-ness with everything. I began swimming towards the perpetual, but something was pulling me back. A mitt on my ankle. I was pulled back to my bunk in the ecstasy ship, and Gorack was holding my ankle.

"That's not for you, beloved pie,"he gloated as he forced me onto my rachis."Your hereafter is tied to the frame. A ravishment Run grade piece of derriere, you are."

He mounted me and penetrated me, just like before. The piercing stab of his penis was desperately unspeakable. But unlike the incident on the transportation, instead of groping my breast he kept his hands around my throat, choking me. This was to be my end, found fucked and strangled, a biography wasted for a few minutes of some deviant's pleasure.

And yet, no. I began to struggle, pulling at his men with my dwindling reserves of long suit. You will not beat me, Gorack. Even a imprecate lifetime, a life in the flesh, in the shadow, was better than no life story. Gorack changed to another man, and another, and another, each raping me and each crushing my windpipe, but I endured against them all. My vision was shrinking to a tunnel, but also growing brighter, as the energy of my world was compressed. At the end there was one office of multitudinous brightness. I fought my way towards the sparkle, and then there was nothing.

18 - Survivor

At low gear I unsure whether I was awake, for I was in slant darkness. I cried out, for I could still feel the wake of Gorack's hands on me, but soon realized that no, I wasn't on the transport. In this place, my shout echoed back but also were dulled, as though I were deep underground. I was breathing air. My muscles felt as though I'd spent hours working out, but I seemed to be unhurt. I didn't know how it was so, but I was alive.

Underneath me was something sticky. Expanding knowingness told me I was lying on my position. I realized I was naked. There was the speech sound of dripping urine. With the panic of death gone, logical thinking resumed. My intellect informed me :"You're down that dark tunnel, aren't you ? ”.

I reached out, and knocked something, an object that was lightweight but hard, which clattered on the cave floor. I reached out more cautiously, and found the curve stick of a human rib. Carefully I padded the story around me with my palm. Sir Thomas More ivory, and Sir Thomas More bones - all from humanoid species, and too many to sustain come from one mortal. A skull there, from which I shrank in revulsion. A renal pelvis, broken in half. I found another skull. At initiative, I'd felt rest period at having somehow survived being devoured by the worm, but my heart began to accelerate once again when I realized death was all around. What kind of abattoir was I in ? I noticed the olfactory property then. An overpowering odor of decayed flesh and excretion. Immediately I gagged at the foul stench. How hadn't I become mindful of that before ? Where was I ?

The response came when I reached behind me. I touched something substantial and warm, coated in thick slime. Something vast. I'd cried out instinctively, the strait loud in the close in tunnel, then clamped my script over my mouthpiece. I was adjacent to the monster, wasn't I ? I froze for a moment, waiting to see if it reacted to me, but the wight was still. Perhaps it was sleeping. I wasn't going to expect and find out.

"If you survive, seek the Creator light."The lyric of the Okhoron woman came back to me. But in the rake dark, there was no gumption of which way to go. Logic said any counselling away from the louse was safe, so I decided to displace ahead until I reached a tunnel wall. Then I would choose a counseling, and favor a route that seemed to go up. So I began to crawl forwards, concentrating on moving only one limb at a time, but even being that cautious I still kept disturbing good deal of decaying remains. Each time there was the clatter of bone I'd have to pause, until I was certain the monster remained dormant. near of the frame seemed to have been there for years and were stripped clean, but at one breaker point I put my handwriting into a homo ribcage that was still sticky with decaying meat, and I vomited in revolted repulsion.

The tunnel wall turned out to be a few yards away at about, but it seemed an interminable clip before I reached out and touched gunk coated rock. The wall ran at an angle to me - one direction tending more away from the worm than the other, and this made my decision for me. Anything that increased the outer space between me and that colossus was dear. I began to grovel, brushing my raw shoulder against the wall to maintain my direction.

It was impossible to judge space in the pitch darkness, but after perhaps ten yard, the quantity of bones started decreasing, and I could accelerate, and after twenty one thousand an unseeable bounds was crossed, after which there was cipher but the dodgy slime-coated floor. I stood up, but could go picayune faster. I had to examine with each footstep, in typeface my route came to an border where the tunnel plummeted into the void. I was sure no-one was coming down here for me, and if I wanted to dwell, my hereafter had to be secured thanks to my own efforts.

I continued. The tunnel seemed to move on roughly on a level plane. I still didn't know if I was going in the right direction. Reaching a dead end and having to move around stave would take been heartbreaking.

For once though, luck was on my side. After inching along the tunnel for perhaps XV minutes, I started to consider that the darkness was perhaps not quite so heavy, and after another L M I was certain I could begin to make water out the glistening tunnel wall. I was moving along a giant metro, with sides almost perfectly circular except for a flattening of the storey. I could smell fresh air and I began to travel rapidly, but the illuminate level increased so quickly I had to slow again to take into account my eyes to adjust.

I rounded a cold-shoulder crook and abruptly I could see the cave, and bright re of light streaming down from Djenerix's twin suns onto the posts where I'd been sacrificed. The birdsong of the day forest puppet were gimcrack, and for a moment even to me the universe of discourse seemed blissful and active.

I had found the Almighty light.

Sitting cross-legged on the story were the two Okhoron women. One of them was fidgeting with her robe and they both seemed bored. I crept quietly from the tunnel, but a 6th sensation in them detected me, and the two looked up. I was determined to show I wasn't broken by the rite, so when they saw me, I stood and strode confidently out from the tunnel, standing with my peg apart and hands on my rosehip. I wasn't defeated. I was pissed off. I'd nearly died getting swallowed by that thing, and for what reason ? Did I have the supernatural reflex action ? I felt no different.

"Ajeedie, Nine be praised - you survived the ritual,"one of them says. I was mad as hell and ready to lash out at them for what they did - tying me up and feeding me to that horror, but in unison they chanted"babe. Okhoron. sister. Okhoron,"and disarmed by this unexpected homage, for the first clip I looked down at myself.

My cutis had always been pale, but I'd been bleached to a much whiter tincture, and I was overly quiet - almost like a waxwork. The neat pubic pilus over my pudenda had transformed, turning from thick black to a blonde so light it made me seem almost hairless. I reached behind myself and pulled round the long mane of my tomentum. Sure enough, there was no hint remaining of the brunette matching Ja-Alixxe's hair. My tie-in with the past times were severed forever. I had the silver blonde of the Okhoron women.

"You are one of us now,"one of the cleaning lady said in a warm voice."The idol found you worthy. You are Ajeedie, the Okhoron. I am Suna. This is Joon,"and she indicated the other woman."You may, if you wish, clothe yourself."

With crisis replaced by civilisation, I became cognisant my nakedness was no prospicient appropriate. She handed me the megabucks of my white sacrificial dress. The shoulder joint fastenings had been retied for me, so it only took a matter of minute to slip it over my head.

"We will take you straight to the Okhoron after part,"said the one named Joon."You can houseclean yourself, and you'll need to eat. Everything works faster in Okhoron body, including the metabolism."

I was mollified enough to reflect on the ordeal I'd just endured, and its purpose.

"Something about that monster - the insect - is what gives us our fastness ?"I asked."I hope you didn't put me through that for no reason."

"The Vore ?"says Suna."Every one of us has been through it. Literally. Its digestive pathway is not capable of breaking down our torso, especially once we coat someone with the oil. But those who the god do not favor still die from asphyxiation during the passing through its arrangement. The Vore's digestive juices have their impact, as you have guessed. As well as reacting with the hide and pilus, to produce the permanent bleaching you're familiar with, the saliva has a powerful and permanent neurotoxic effect. It accelerates the mentality function, giving hyper-fast reaction speed at the price of accelerated senility."

"That's what you call it, The Vore ?"

"The god found you worthy,"repetition Suna."We believe the visions in The Vore show you your life story string. You saw your yesteryear, your future. Use the knowledge wisely ..."

But I saw all those men. I felt them inside me. Perhaps I am cursed, for if those men were my future, my portion promised nothing but disgrace and suffering.

"… and draw a blank the reverence of the monster,"Suna continues."Forget it and never speak of it. It is forbidden to talk about the ritual. You are Okhoron, now and always. Greater trial run than that lie ahead."

And she wasn't wrong.

19 - Okhoron

The Earth where I grew up had a trading hub, as almost planets do. Ships came in from a bazaar spread of domain, but it wasn't like we were on one of the independent transit routes, and my maidhood was spent in something of a backwater. The hub had a sordid report, like nigh place porthole, but it still seemed pretty exotic to teenagers who hadn't seen much of the creation. There were always ship crowd looking for nutrient, drunkenness and fun, so for Kyd trying to scrape together a few course credit there was never a dearth of humble jobs.

I worked my surplus time in this saloon property near the launching inking pad, carrying out lowly duties like waiting on the board, and helping out in the cover. It was one of the handsome saloon, employing about xxx folks like me - mostly broke teen saving to get the nether region out, and mostly lady friend, as the bozo could get better paid chore at the loading yard. When I was the newest girl there, the older female gave me this look, a kinda knowing-sympathy, like I didn't know what I'd got myself into, but they did. I found out soon enough though. The owner - this grey haired garrulous and wiry old grapheme called Dagoro-Shek - asked me to delay back and facilitate check the blood line. Alone in that back elbow room, I turned round to find him with his turncock in his hand, brandishing it at me. He said if I'd suck it once in a piece, and let him see the H.M.S. Bounty that the divinity had provided me, I'd get excess credit and the nicer jobs.

It didn't end like Gorack. Rape was still in my futurity. I pushed him aside and ran, ran all the way home. I went back succeeding day intending to depart and collect my pay, but I didn't see Dagoro-Shek at get-go, so I got on with some oeuvre while I waited, and when he did appear, he acted like nix happened. It was busy, so I didn't get a chance to verbalise my brain for the respite of the shimmy. I spoke to the others in the meantime - little girl look out for each early - and they weren't too shocked. One said I was too much of a prude. She said he was fine, just as long as you didn't let him get you alone. Some even sought it out - a bit of touching, a taste of cum swallowed down once in a patch, and you had some more economy. So future thing, I'd done another break, and another. I carried on there and I dodged any requests to shape late, always worked where there was a witness, and things went fine. Ten Day later a new girl arrived. We watched her wryly. She'd find out out. I even got to like Dagoro-Shek, under the right circumstance, and he gave me a big sendoff pack of credits as a present when I did eventually leave.

Why am I telling you this ? I'm relating the account because although the early Okhoron were dainty to me, that's exactly the look they had - Ajeedie : you don't bonk how affair really are here, not yet, and you just have to feel out for yourself.

Superficially everything was fine. It turned out I had a raw aptitude for martial fine art, and I was fit and strong. My body became more athletic and vital, seeming somehow to arrive at me seem more feminine and nubile even while I toned up and lost some of my unfitness. The light-haired hair I found very pleasing. I was vain, and grew it long.

My training government was interesting - weapons, technical school, scheme, medical guardianship, even the basics of flying and navigation. The Okhoron were warm and welcoming, and as we all lost much of our connection to the enlightenment as a price for speed, I had less to revere from them about my dark nature being discovered. But still there was that feel : just wait, Ajeedie. So I trusted my inherent aptitude - certain that this wasn't just the Supreme Being'curse and something was amiss, and I avoided the intimate friendships. By the time I'd been a penis of the Okhoron for a distich of calendar month, I was seen as a lone hand, and I was mental object with that situation.

Our storey of inter-group communication with Tisya, the Djeneria, our purpose for being, varied. She had ceremonial duties, visits and visitors, where an Okhoron escort would be required as a visible verbalism of her eminence. On such occasions she would walk surrounded by her observe sentry duty. We had formal uniforms that seemed to be chosen primarily to emphasise her protectors were female - poor tight dresses, and knee-length boots with a high heel that would be useless in a fighting situation. I didn't like feeling so deliberately sexualized. Our weapon - a six-foot-long build of Pole arm with a glowing energy blade - were similarly impractical, except in the closest hired man to hand fighting.

I preferred affair when truthful protective cover was required, as opposed to being an externalise collector's item. For a literal mission we would don combats, hard kicking and shoulder More practical chargeman weapons. My first Okhoron duty was one of these.

We all took our province to her seriously, in spite of the lame uniforms. Tisya knew well she had been identified by the slaver of Aghara-Penthay as a target for participation in The Rape Run. A couple of geezerhood earlier there had been an incident with Slavers attacking when Tisya had been offworld. The pirate ship hadn't managed to conquer Tisya herself, but several Okhoron had died in the fight. The slaver had captured a couple of Okhoron alive from the incident. The unfortunate Okhoron female whom they found particularly suitable was forced into the Rape Run and placed tertiary, before being captured in a trap and violated by a faction leader named Leshan.

thrall was not the only threat to Tisya, or even the primary danger. In the vastness of the galax there are more than religion than habitable satellite, and while the Djenerion had become one of the better known and established belief systems, The Sect was not without its rivals. The prominence of female person as the vessels of accuracy was to some an anathema - sanctum monastic order who were confident women should take a subordinate role. The first time I killed for the Okhoron it was such a man. His cult considered the Djenerion a heresy. womanhood should be obedient, and little better than place, they preached. The drumbeater outburst from a crowd wielding a blaster - perhaps indoctrinated that sacrificing himself to eliminate the Djeneria would realize him a better afterlife. Reacting at supernatural swiftness, I'd shot him before thinking.

The sect does not kill lightly, and at first I thought it would feed on my mind. But I felt no remorse, and after a few days I could barely commend his aspect. I didn't believe killing that guy could earn me encourage eternal punishment. I felt I'd been punished enough by fate, that day on the transport, and it was time the idol cut me a falling out. I had vowed that no man would ever touch me again. I did not fear thralldom, for I did not fear dying, and merely intended to end myself if it looked like seizure was inevitable.

Tisya, it seemed, thought of slavery quite a lot, and feared it more than I did. That was the only cause I could conceive to explain why, when Nox fell at The Citadel, she would often mobilise one of us to her private room. Tisya only ever chose a lone guardian, she chose them personally, and chose apparently at random.

The bodyguards were professionally discrete about how the sublime drawing card lived in individual, but I guessed she must like to converse with her guardian, because she definitely preferred to vary her company. Unless she spent every Nox in consultation with the eonian, I reasoned she could hardly continue in complete secrecy until dismissing a bodyguard in the morning. Maybe she was a talker.

I certainly did not wish to chat with Tisya. The Djeneria must be the most perceptive of all the religious order, and I did not want her gaining insight into my animation. My confront was nix but service to the Okhoron, under the phantom of discovery. My past was closed - another world which I did not like to discuss. For this reason, I kept a low profile, and tried to avoid her vision when she was in the dorm choosing her defender.

But the day came when she appeared in the dormitory, saying,"Ajeedie, where is Ajeedie ?"and no sum of avoiding her gaze could aid me then.

"You have the honor of being my defender and companion tonight, Ajeedie,"she said."Report to my private quarters in one hour."

And there it was again, resurfacing from the nearby women - that irritating look. We can't tell you. Find out for yourself.

Disobeying a calculate lodge was impossible, so nervous of discovery or not, along I went. The quarters I was shown to were expensively furnished, but I had to grant they remained in good taste. The ornamentation wasn't opulent or decadent. Tisya welcomed me not as though I was an underling there to protect and help, but as though she was hosting a guest. She wore a long white garb, much like the one I'd worn to be sacrificed to The Vore. I was greeted by being handed a drink so secure I could see the haze of alcoholic drink fumes rising above it.

"springiness me your blaster - I will lock it in the safe for tonight,"she said. I objected - how could I protect her, if I couldn't admittance the artillery in an emergency ? But Tisya insisted, and when I reluctantly gave in, this was what she said :

"Sir Thomas More people are killed by accidental blaster fervency than by trespasser, Ajeedie. But there's another understanding - an experiment. Have you heard of the Adjertie mass ? Your name has reminded me of them. Adjertie, Ajeedie…"

I replied in the negative.

"Their women are warriors. Much like the Okhoron, they are highly skilled in hand to deal combat. There is an interesting characteristic of the Adjertie, and that is they fight completely naked. In the distant past, their culture analyzed combat injured party, and concluded that overconfidence was one of the smashing menace. An approach became institutionalize, that the best way to never forget one's vulnerability was for the warriors to be permanently naked. For it's truthful : mortal always feels self-conscious, and hyper aware, when naked. What do you think of that, Ajeedie ?"

"I'm glad I'm not Adjertie then, holy Djeneria,"I replied.

"Ha. You amuse me,"she said."But humor me, Ajeedie. I wish to mention your responses under just such a situation. Please undress."

"What do you mean ?"

"I asked you to undress."

Of row, I hesitated."I don't think that's a good idea,"I said."Okhoron are trained to scoop protect you while clothed."

"You're refusing a asking from your Djeneria ?"

I hesitated again."Of course of study not, Djeneria."

"Then undress, Ajeedie."

With the greatest disinclination, I sat on a low BM and began to unfasten the lace of my combat boots. Then I reached to my throat and pulled down the zipper of my ugly but functional military overalls, and I pushed the arm down over my weapon. I had been hoping Tisya would get hold me sufficiently vulnerable once I'd got down to my knit regulation underwear, but it turned out that only staring nudity would do. She wanted me self-conscious about my organic structure. She even licked her brim when I removed my bra, and my replete breasts spilled liberal. Only a few minutes later, there I was perched at the edge of the dallier, my thighs squeezed together and my arms covering myself as best as I could.

"Do you feel vulnerable yet, Ajeedie ?"she asked. I could tell she was enjoying my soreness, so I tried to hide my embarrassment as best as I could, but my blushes were obvious.

At first I believed that she'd tire of the game after a few hour and I'd be permitted to apparel. But as time passed, I gradually understood Tisya intended me to persist nude for the night. And it wasn't enough for her to let me sit huddled on her mope, preserving what lordliness I could. She ordered me to fetch things. To stand up. Sit down. She took pleasure simply from watching the front of my organic structure while I was unclothed.

"Why are you shy ?"she asked me after a spell of this."You are really quite beautiful. Let me render you."And reaching down to the communicator, she ordered,"Send in Mathra, with ethyl alcohol and sweetmeats."

Mathra, it turned out was a male. A short, officious, looking man in his L who entered carrying a bronze tray with a decanter. A guardian Okhoron shouldn't abandon the Djeneria, and by the time the door opened, it was too later to hide. So I bolted for a lounger, and curled up into a ball, trying vainly to conceal as very much of myself as possible, while Mathra set down the tray. No one radius. Mathra pretended to concentrate on his service, but I could see his eye kept flicking to me, the au naturel woman, when he had chance. Tisya meanwhile, smiled openly at my superfluity.

"Mathra, this is Ajeedie,"Tisya said."Is she not beautiful ?"

presumption place permission to wait, he paused to gaze openly at my bare skin, while I tried to dissolve into the floor.

"Very much, Djeneria,"he said."One of the most beautiful women I've ever seen."

I vowed that if he called me ravishment Run grade too, I would kill him on the patch, but Tisya spoke and spared him that fate.

"You'd like to fuck her, maybe ?"Tisya asked.

"Of course, Djeneria,"he replied.

"She is Okhoron,"Tisya said unnecessarily, for my pale hair and skin must have made it obvious."With her instinctive reflex, she'd break your arms if you tried to micturate a move. But what if I ordered her to grant you ? Ajeedie - you follow your Djeneria's orders, yes ? You let me bear witness you naked to this man. What if I told you to go further ?"

"My primary winding objective is to protect you,"I said, summoning the most disobliging spirit possible."While I was with him, I could not protect you."

I'd thought it was a good solution to avoiding the question, but perhaps she'd heard it before.

"That didn't answer my interrogative. I said : would you have sex him, if I ordered it ?"

I turned and looked directly at her."My service has is demarcation, Djeneria,"I said."No."

Rather than be abashed she laughed at this, amused.

"What if I ordered you to be knowledgeable with a woman ?"Tisya asked side by side, and when I looked jumble she pressed,"Yes, I read it in you - that's not so unpalatable to you, is it Ajeedie ? Many other adult female prefer their own sex, and your secret is good with me. Thank you, Mathra, leave us please."

"I'm not a…"I couldn't helper blurt as Mathra stood, but Tisya silenced me with a signal from her hand.

"Okhoron miss some of their gifts as a price for their upper,"Tisya said when we were alone,"but do not forget I can still translate you, Ajeedie. Your twine weave a fascinating story. You crave affection, while pretending to reject all emotional connection. Fear not - I can ensure you find warmheartedness, by taking the choice to reject from you. You will bed with me tonight. I already see you will not withstand this order. You will state yourself afterwards, that the best auspices was to endure and stay by my side. Thus, I will free you. You refuse to awaken your own body, because you fear your own sexuality. But my order absolves you of that duty, permitting you to blame me, instead of yourself."

I looked at her in dawning horror, as I realized she might believe what she was saying. The Djeneria was going to insist on having sex with me, under some crazed justification that it was for my own healing. But she didn't eff my sexual chronicle. She didn't know about Gorack and the shadow he cast over everything. She didn't know how I shrank from being touched. She didn't know that the last person who touched my chest was him.

"And if I say no ?"I asked in a quaver voice.

"We already know you will not, but if you're not open to listening to me, in the worst compositor's case I could see to it that you were ejected from the orderliness,"Tisya said with sudden icy coldness."It is easily to fabricate a reason."

I stared down at the expensive rug, and then back to her acute regard. No, she didn't believe that being intimate would bring around me at all. I recognized the flavour in her eye. That was the way Gorack looked at me, eyes imagining where the handwriting wanted to follow. Tisya had groomed me, just like he had. I was there so she could sate her own lust. But what pick did I have ? scraps, and where would I go ? Back to my homeworld ? No chance of that.

"Would you like alcohol first, to help you unwind ?"she asked, knowing I was weakening."I have spirits that would lower your prohibition. Aphrodisiacs to awake your fire. My intent is that tonight will be pleasurable for you."

"No, Djeneria,"I said humbly.

"Then if you're ready, total with me,"Tisya ordered.

And feeling deadened inside, I surrendered to her, and let myself be guided through to her secret sleeping accommodation, where I lay down on the vast mattress.

"You will go as I direct,"Tisya ordered, and it began.

With Gorack, I was overpowered, and the battle was already lost once he had me cornered on my bunk. When I was bedded by Tisya, it wasn't like I put up a brave struggle. I could have easily defended myself physically. And I didn't believe she'd follow through on the threat to get me expelled from The religious order, even when she later told me cameras recorded everything in her bedroom, and she had evidence against me. I let her do it because I was already broken. A part of me - the gods'hex if there was any truth to Djenerion opinion - saw no hope whatever I did, so why try to lam her ? Again, what else could I do ? most of the Okhoron duties were easy enough, and when Tisya left The bastion, at least I was seeing some of the galaxy with her. wagerer to suffer the evil you know, as the old expression goes.

Her taradiddle of healing, I'm sure was bullshit, but maybe she did read something in me. I probably was lonely, and I did indeed hunger some physical intimacy. And once she had me on the mattress, I discovered how well Tisya knew her way around the female body, and received a master class in arousal. I hadn't been one of those cold Fish female who never touched herself, so I didn't think myself nescient, but that woman turned me on to a level I wouldn't have believed potential, and by the end of the Nox I touched her hungrily. It can be delicious to be the recipient role of a well-executed conquest, and with a different, but similarly beautiful woman, I'd probably have relished the memory.

"Our sanctified text are clear that a womanhood who lies with a man becomes impure, and the physical realm blocks her link to enlightenment,"she told me as we lay with our arm entwined."But there is no mention of cleaning lady pleasuring woman,"and with that she guided my fingers inside her warmth."Yes - there, Ajeedie. Nonetheless, there are some in the Djenerion who spurn all physical input - even masturbation. Oh, that's good. And there seems to be few open lesbian relationships within The religious sect, although I'm trying to convert that."

"For my part, I believe as long as we follow the gods'prohibition on males, there is perceptivity from opening ourselves to our horse sense,"she said later."Feel them, Ajeedie. Pleasure, pain, emotion, gustatory sensation, smell - all these background us in the ‘ now ’. Learn to fully inhabit the now, and you'll gain force of insight as unassailable as reading the eternal. The future tense dramatis personae vestige which can be perceived in the present."

But what surprised me with Tisya - universally acknowledged as the magnetic leader of a religious sect whose philosophy was sympathetic, was her possessing a personality where cruelty, not joy, pleased her nigh.

It was not plenty that I was her sexual toy. She wanted me aroused, she wanted me to climax, in ways that caused me humiliation. I was to understand that my body was weak, and she could check it near than I could resist. I was lowly, she was gamey, and the departure in our clothing emphasized this. She barely hitched up her dress when I was ordered to feel inside her, but I was not permitted to hide any part of myself.

Her cruelness was strong-arm as well as mental. Tisya liked to pinch my form - just niggling sharp tug between her digit to appal and keep me off residuum - to injure more than damage. She like to carry my radiocarpal joint behind my back in a way that made me feel confined. She put her fingerbreadth inside my anus and enjoyed that I absolutely hated her doing it. Afterwards, we had a wriggle match as she tried to force those like soiled fingers into my mouth.

It wasn't all one way. Tisya liked to receive, as well as to grant."slap me,"she ordered."Across my breasts. As hard as you can."She bade me wedge her mammilla as hard as I could manage, so she cried out with the pain."Yes,"she said."Feel it - pain means we're alive,"and it was true.

When Tisya dismissed me early the next sunup, shell-shocked and exhausted, I'd hoped to slink unnoticed back to my own bed, but I was too late. The other charwoman were already awake, about their tasks and tidying around their beds. Many looked up when I slipped in the doorway, but it happened to be the two Okhoron who offered me who were closest. I was trying to preserve my usual unreadable brass when I perched, dead, at the end of my cot, but it turned out they knew already what had happened.

"Your first time ?"the one named Joon asked sympathetically."What did she say was the name of the naked people ?"

"Excuse me ?"I replied.

"The masses whose fair sex fought bare,"she pressed."I'm Joon, and with me it was the Joroon who fought naked. With her, Suna, the nude warriors were the Swana."

"That happened to others too ?"I asked, horrified.

"Look around you,"said Joon."And ask yourself - what do we suffer in rough-cut ? Chosen by divine guidance ? I think not. Tisya chooses acolytes personally, and choses those she finds desirable to join the Okhoron. She happens to prefer acrobatic womanhood, so the pretext works that we're here as the best bodyguard, but a champion combatant with an wretched face would miss out."

I'd not really considered it before, but sure enough, all the women moving about the dorm room were grandiloquent, with strong but womanly physical body and symmetrical features. They were all avoiding meeting my regard. Ashamed that they'd let me go to her, unknowing. Ashamed I knew that they'd endured it too.

"How many hoi polloi know about this ?"I asked.

"Every one of the Okhoron,"Joon said."A few of her personal faculty. And the Nine."

"The Nine know ? Why don't they do something ?"

She looked at me like I was a fool.

"Tisya is a charismatic drawing card,"she said."The number of followers has doubled during her prison term as Djeneria. What do her petty misdemeanors with us matter compared to that ? And the Djeneria is chosen for lifetime. It would break The sect if she were publicly disgraced. No. No-one will bring through us, Ajeedie. And it's high-risk - no one will even let you speak of what you know. Take solacement that soon enough she will tire of you, and proceed on to another, as she did with those who came before you."

For a couple of month, which seemed perpetual at the time, Tisya sent for me almost nightly. Sometimes we made love and sometimes we didn't, sometimes she wanted me to bath, once simply to exercise, but always I would be obliged to drop the eventide naked, while she remained at to the lowest degree partially clothed. And always there was that ribbon of ruthlessness. She would happen a way to abuse me, either emotionally or physically, and for reasons I've never understood, she always offered me the chance to reciprocate. After a while I began to revel my minute of retaliation. Once I mashed her button so hard between my fingernails she screamed, and handmaiden ran to see if she was okay.

"Yes !"she laughed at me afterwards."Live now, Ajeedie. Own your senses."

I started to consider whether I liked ruthlessness, and perhaps I wasn't the skilful person I believed myself to be. But before I made up my mind, the frequence of our appointee began to decline, and after six days where I remained unsummoned, a new Okhoron appeared in the dormitory room - Warani. She was a willowy, celestial beauty, and I could see now that she lacked the build of a fighter. Warani had been chosen for her early obvious physical property. I viewed her with cynical sympathy, the way the others had looked at me. She would find out how things were, soon enough.

20 - niner

If one is going to lie, entomb it amidst the truth.

"The rest, you know, Master,"I tell Salarin."I was captured along with Tisya's escort. I was paraded naked and defiled as parting of Tisya's date on The Hub. Since then, I've been waiting in the pens."

Ja-Alixxe is tensed like a telegram, and her eyes are keen, as though she's trying to transmit. But she says nothing.

There were plenitude of Tisya's fille who did not feature in the footage broadcast to the galaxy, so I'm hoping there will be no checking, and no suspicion of the truth - that I was not there at all.

The real explanation for my presence on Aghara-Penthay arose only because only a favourable fistful of Okhoron had been on other obligation at the sentence of our frustration, and it had been chance that I was one of those. I'd slipped during training just before the ill-fated journey, and worm my ankle badly.

And there was more, which I keep to myself.

A couple of 24-hour interval after Salarin captured Tisya to be a Rape blue runner, I was summoned by the Nine. I'd been half-expecting them to commit for me. word of the Slaver victory had gone round The sect like wildfire. Tisya, beloved of The religious sect's follower, was captured, prepare for disgrace in The rape Run. And xlviii Okhoron captured along with her. The IX met in a manor hall almost as august as Tisya's hearing chamber. They always wore robes of black, The Nine. It gave them a sinister appearance. The cleaning woman were on thrones, arranged in a semi-circle up on a dais, so they could look down upon lesser mortals. Their loss leader seemed to be the elder, cold-faced cleaning woman who'd accompanied Tisya when I was chosen for the Okhoron.

I was already anticipating that a bidding to discuss the Djeneria could only mean one thing - adult female sent to Aghara-Penthay, in all likelihood on a one-way missionary post. So as the poor sap they were about to offer, I wasn't going to give them any humility, and I matched the cold one for her sour faced expression.

"I'm sure you've guessed why you were summoned, Ajeedie,"she began,"but you don't know it all. The Nine are wise."

I answered, looking steadily at her.

"You've summoned me because you're going to do something about the Djeneria. Correction - you want me to do something about the Djeneria. I presume the holy Nine are unwilling to go to Aghara-Penthay themselves."

As the one who would be taking the fall, I felt I'd earned the right to be scathing about their bravery. But The nine-spot could give back in kind, and they blasted me without warning.

"We virgins have more to misplace than you, Dark Djenerion,"she said with unruffled calm.

It was like a chasm opened up before me. Dark Djenerion, she'd publicly named me. And the lack of reaction from the others told me they already knew. They'd known all along. I scanned their faces for sympathy, but each one looked down at me with callous unconcern, like I was an interesting specimen rather than a human being. My legs gave way, and I would feature slumped to the floor if I hadn't been determined to demonstrate no weakness. Straightening, I stared defiantly at them.

"Yes,"the cold woman gloated."The cursed ones draw a blank how powerful the gift can be, and believe The sect can be fooled. But you carried your shadow with you when you arrived. Even your Okhoron sister, who surrender the gift for their strong-arm powers, could sense you were different."

Yes, they'd let me hold out as a loner among them, hadn't they ? I allowed myself a moment to welter in the misery of my failure, before steeling my firmness of purpose once more.

"Then let me ask - why didn't you expel me at once ?"

She smiled, but only condescending approval, like I was an animate being who had learned a trick.

"That, Ajeedie, is at the root of your front today. Usually with the dark 1, they have no authorize string. Their future lies in the pandemonium of the unknown region. But yours was exceptionally top. Your bowed stringed instrument was bound with hers. You may have chosen to be a hussy, but the gods meant you for us anyway. Everything in your life was fated to fork over you to the crossroad with the Djeneria."

"I wasn't a… He…"

"Your past morality is of no interest to us, Ajeedie,"she silenced me with a dismissive moving ridge."All that affair is that you are fated for this missionary station. Fated since the strings of your fate formed."

"If the Supreme Being created me just so I would die or be enslaved on Aghara-Penthay, then screw the graven image,"I said vehemently."Why should I be their puppet ?"

"Because you might not end up a sex slave, Ajeedie. We have a way for you to complete your mission, and return."

With that, The Nine explained about the biosuits. I saw that their plan was risky, but it wasn't impossible I might trip to the galaxy's worst planet to be female person, and escape.

"That changes cypher. have it off your gods,"I repeated."They've given me no reason to endure a tripper to that planet. Especially for Tisya."

"Have you heard of a rite called Tronog, Ajeedie ?"asked the cold one in response.

I shook my head.

"It is obscure, even to the Djenerion. Some of our sacred school text are kept private even from the priestesses, and are only known to The Nine and the Djeneria. One such is Tronog. It is possible to intercede with the gods and restore the innocence of a glowering Djenerion. But participation from all of The IX is necessary. That mental process is the ritual of Tronog. Return to us with your mission complete, and The club will perform Tronog. We'll do it for you, Ajeedie."

"I could be healed ..."I said with shock, suddenly presented with the possibility of a future free from despair.

And then they told me the unfit of it.

"But to earn Tronog, you must kill Tisya."

I was stunned, and took a instant to reply.

"You mean rescue Tisya ? As long as she remains a virgin, she could remain her reign as Djeneria."

The frigid one smiled scornfully.

"Again, the shadow Djenerion do not roll in the hay how clear-cut are their shadows to the enlightened. Tisya has not been a Virgo the Virgin for many years. It was most unfortunate that the Gods chose her too soon in her girlhood, and with her time to come assured, she thought she could run wild. We believe she even worked as a prostitute before joining The Sect. But The Nine sought the direction of the god, and their selection remained unaltered. A Dark Djenerion had been fated to take our faction. And perhaps the Gods were right, for our bit have soared under her leadership."

"But the slave owner have processed her, and their programme says she's a virgin."

"operating theatre,"interrupts the frigidity cleaning woman."A new hymen built with the bacta. But if they use the implant to interrogate her, Tisya will disclose the truth.

The Djeneria a sometime prostitute ? If she lost in The rapine Run, with a control implant in her brain she would assure everything. The sect would be ruined. A laughing stock.

"So you see, we have reached the time for Tisya's reign to end,"resumes the cold woman."The Djenerion Sect will not be led by a whore with a slave mark on her face. And the God have decreed their instrument to be you. It is always about wipeout and anger with the morose Djenerion, so you are a agree nemesis. Dark Djenerion destroys dark Djenerion. Slut destroys slut."

Waving the vilification aside, I have one last question.

"If you can see the strand of my fate in space metre so clearly, you must know : will I succeed ?"

The common cold woman looked wary for the offset time.

"Your string brings Tisya's to its end. It is lucky in one esteem that she whored away her giving, or she would experience seen as soon as you arrived that you carried her doom with you."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. Will I riposte unharmed ?"

She looks even more shifty, so I press :"The Okhoron retain some talent. Tell me. I can take you, and will know if you're prevarication. The least you can do, priestess, is gift me your enlightenment."

She frowned.

"Your fortune is foreign, hard even for us to understand. After Tisya, your string passes into the Chaos. Until the influence of another woman impacts you - another string entwined with your own."

"This woman brings proportion to those she sports meeting,"another of The nine interrupts."She raises and lowers those she interacts with, at the same time."

I frown. Sounds like distinctive Djenerion gibberish.

"Even with her interposition, much about your future tense is unsealed, dependant on your natural action, until you reach one critical choice,"the cold one resumes,"Take the path of mercy and you will be saved, yet diminished and shunned. I do not read why. exact the iniquity selection, bringing about the expiry of many and you will become like.. ?"she frowned, puzzled,"A queen, a goddess, even… but of the… ?"she frowned again.

"Small ?"chipped in another of The baseball club.

"Insignificant ? Weak ? We can not assure, Ajeedie, and that's the Gods'accuracy. The enlightenment is not written like a text. It is more like a feeling, of what is correct. But all agree that you will not perish on Aghara-Penthay, at least not in the inadequate full term. You live on to see the result of your choice."

She looked shrewdly at me.

"Understand, Ajeedie, that our foresight is not a ticket to take in foolish risks. Your fate does not lay down you invulnerable, and you may be destined to live only because you are careful."

I considered what she said. I could have a future in The religious sect. A real future. Bob Hope. Healing. enlightenment, even. And they believed I would extend to Tisya. The baseball club believed everything they had prophesied for me. I made my choice.

"When do I meet my squad ?"I asked.

I've played the scene over and over since my capture. That one sentence is my alone hope -"You will not snuff it on Aghara-Penthay ”. I hadn't realized I'd lost myself in that memory of that meeting yet again, until Salarin puff me from the recall, asking me,"Is that everything ? ”, with his cold grinning.

"I'm almost too weak to talk, Master,"I admit, returning to the truth.

"Then take her away, and set up her for serving,"he orders the two sentry duty who carried me up here."Inject nanotech, stimulus enhancer in the common position. Lesbian background. expatiate her button. Patch her up. And seeing how she's going in the bacta anyway, burn her hair off and grow it back like the pet's color. I want them to expect as much like cousin-german as possible."

I already know the futility of objecting, so although I'm struggling inside, I listen my fate without protesting.

"Chief,"the guard nods assent.

"And fit a training collar on her,"adds Salarin as an rethink."She's already proved she's tough. She might necessitate a little more breaking than the common stock."

"Chief,"repeats the guard, and still too exhausted to extend the least underground, I'm dragged to the future phase of my doom.

The face - Aghara-Penthay

21 - Cousin

In the bedchamber of Salarin, junto boss of Aghara-Penthay, I wait on my knees, directly facing Ja-Alixxe - she who is my cousin. Neither of us have been permitted vesture. We kneel facing each other in one of the criterion sex slave affectedness - second joint extensive to exhibit the sex organ, heel pressed into hindquarters, back arched to lift the chest, and articulatio radiocarpea crossed at the base of the back, crossed, and lifted senior high enough the rear that the deal do not obscure the crevice of the rump. The Kuki-Chin must be held up, so an observer can love the prospect of our faces, and our haircloth can not fall forward to offer concealment.

"delay in that mannerism,"said the man-mountain who brought me here. One of Salarin's elite guard duty - the White rapist. I'm strong for a adult female, but that guy looked as if he could own broken me just using his hands."The chief's order of magnitude are that you hold position, and study each former, and yourselves. Use the clock time to consider your status as womanhood, and sex slaves."

Ja-Alixxe could, in theory, move the minute he's out of sight, but she doesn't. We were ordered to hold off on our knees, examining each former and ourselves, so as deep-seated charwoman, we wait on or knee and look.

She is free to travel, but I am not give up to actuate. My wrists are locked behind me in one set of alloy shackle. A minute set of shackle chains my mortise joint together. A length of chain links my wrist binding to the shackles on my ankles, sized to return just enough run that I can stand straight while wearing them. The ankle chain is the shortest of them all, so I was forced to enter the room in these waddling preposterous steps, whereas Ja-Alixxe moved with her infuriating innate grace.

I study her. She field of study me. And we wait. And wait. And think.

I've been in some conformation of constraint for every single moment since I entered Salarin's castle. I've also been naked since my arrival. In fact, I recall that no one has seen fit to give me a hard worker wrap since way back when I was stripped of my bodysuit. Ja-Alixxe was ordered to remove her wrap when I arrived in Salarin's rooms. So we must expect nude person. This has been the longest time I've remained defenseless in my life history. It was days ago I survive was permitted clothing.

I'm finding it difficult to keep still. My hair, length extended at the same clip that they returned it to the midnight black of my girlhood, is now long enough to brush my rump. My erogenous zones are all tingling - my tit - the humiliating ever-present bead of milk at the tip of each, stand rubbery and erect, advertising their craving to be used. And as promised, my lucubrate clitoris, which now protrudes from my body like some kind of heavy hood, is far more sensitive than it ever was before, and burns with desire. Before Aghara-Penthay, it was only during the height of onanism that arousal became this distracting. Now I want to rub my core to comfort that unremitting craving for aristocratic stimulation, but even if my chains were long enough to touch myself, I have been forbidden from doing so.

I examine my somewhat first cousin instead. I have been ordered to do that.

I am not so green to the ways of the universe that I don't realize how many men take pleasure from seeing a woman confidant with another char. Ja-Alixxe will likely be ordered to touch me soon, and I will be ordered to pleasure her. My regard falls on the intimate place between her open up second joint, wondering how my cousin-german's body will feel when we have physical liaison. Her clit, like her nipples, have been engineered to that strange silver vividness. I wonder if it will turn on me when my mouth is tasting the electronic organ between her legs, tasting her, even though she is my cousin. Is she as sensitive as me ?

I wish I didn't have to think about her this way. But when else can I do, when we've been commanded ? I must look only at her organic structure, or my own. Ashamed of my unfitting behavior towards a relative, I revert to studying myself - my full breasts filling my view as they always do. My gifts are bigger than Ja-Alixxe's, but her pectus is nonetheless one which men wish to grope and squeeze. Her belly is immobile and taut, the tegument silken perfection. Dammit, Ajeedie, not her, you. You can beat this. pore on something else.

I break location for a sec, but only flexing my neck to try and shift the weighty neck collar into a more comfortable military position. I feel my dark hair brushing my bare back. The collar is another new addition to my universe - an old-hat slave training device. I do not like it.

even those who do not roll in the hay the face marking of Aghara-Penthay would recognize what the collar makes me. A lock up dog collar is a linguistic universal identifier of a striver. Its rusting metal looks too running for a while of jewelry, with that overly solid, spare chassis and the rings meant for easily attaching 3 or string. They see that the taking into custody is fitted to manipulate me.

The collar in general might match be ancient puppet, but the technical school inside mine is right up to particular date. Venture too far from my proprietor's controller, and the interior of the choker tightens like a noose. This means, until the time when someone unlocks this hateful thing, my life depends on staying near to Salarin. And that isn't the spoiled of it. The honcho and the men in his cortege think it's a expectant game to activate the collar's impact device. Aside from being extremely painful, the powerful electric jolt the collar delivers incapacitates me completely, sending almost every muscle in my body stiff, until the device is switched off. Sometimes he activates it remotely, when he's not even in the room. This is turn over, so I can not unstrain, and must stay on in constant anticipation of the next surprisal.

God, I hate this. I hate what's happened to me. If it wasn't for the implant preventing self-harm, I could so easily walk straight out of the collar's mountain range and immediately end this degradation by strangling myself.

But no.

I flex my neck again. It doesn't assistant. At that post behind my head, at the base of operations of my skull, I'm sure I can still feel the hunk where the chip is buried. A little of the memory from my processing has returned. That's where he implanted me, Charax's trefoil, before they put me in the pen with the other Okhoron. That Saratoga chip is not a mere patch of hybrid silicon, but a bioform. It's been days since my implantation. Already the tendrils will be deep into my psyche, growing like ramification of a tree, connecting to one nerve cell here, another there. By now these will stimulate made it impossible to get rid of my implant - not without ripping half my brain tissue with it, and they will gradually deepen the imbed's ascendency and impact on me. Ja-Alixxe will have carried hers a couple of twelvemonth now. Its control over her will be infrangible. I look into her eyes to try and read how often the crisp has changed her.

What I see is my cousin, Ja-Alixxe, plainly a sex striver, obedient to every male control. And yet she's not a golem. That's still the same Ja-Alixxe. She still has that smoldering, dangerous sensuality in her locution that was always there, but she's also under their control. I can not trust her, not that I ever could.

We were ordered to study each early, and we are. Currently my cousin is staring curiously at my swollen, leaking breasts, and that makes me furious with her. I just wish I could cover them, but even if I could move my weapons system that far, I'm not allowed. The milk pearl and drips constantly - a badge of scandalous fertility - but I can't be properly drained until there's the suck from another adult female's lip. The Okhoron tried, when we were in the pens. Somehow, the nanotech inside me knows if the pumping comes from a distaff's mouth, or something else.

She hasn't noticed I'm watching her yet. Ja-Alixxe next lowers her gaze deliberately to between my pegleg, where she can see my distractingly prominent new clitoris, and seemingly in response to her, the itching demand to be touched seems to deepen. My mamilla are hard - the craving for a female's caress there nearly as bad. I frown at my cousin.

"tribade mise en scene,"Salarin said.

My captors told me the stimulators in my genitals would need bringing to culminate every few years, and just as with my pap, I will only achieve rest through the trace of a woman. Thanks to a whim of Salarin's -"Lesbian settings"- no More than a here and now's thought - my sexuality has been redefined.

Those nanotech nerve stimulators, injected straight into my mamilla and vulva, are a physically offprint torture to the unity from my implant. There is no address nanotech loop to my brain, other than the usual nerve signaling from the private parts. But there might as well be. Over time, the physical payoff that comes from affair with the female will deepen my personality - feedback from the stimulation working just as completely as the compulsions from my implant. My time to come is to be a lesbian.

I've always been capable of appreciating when a female is beautiful, and I've been up to of being aroused by women's bodies. My sessions with Tisya - both abusive and not scurrilous - weren't without their arousing moment. And ever since the incident with Gorack on my way to join the Sect, I've found the idea of men touching me repugnant. OK, so perhaps I always was a lesbian. But after being revived in the bacta storage tank, my hair once again the midnight dim of my youth, I've been able to mean about little else but sexual experimentation with females. Take the leggy blonde who opened the doors when I was escorted to Salarin's bedchamber. She was beautiful, as you'd expect with the holding of a foreman. But my feelings looking at here were Thomas More than grasp. I felt thirst. We followed her through to this room, and I even found myself picturing her restrained.

Salarin said he would force Ja-Alixxe and I to hope each other. He said he would make us hate each other. If they command me over and over to abuse Ja-Alixxe, will I start to savor it ? Will I turn into a monster ? Behind her, on the shelves near Salarin's bed, are plenitude of method acting for a freak to present intimate harshness. Their contents are incongruous with the wealthy skilful taste and priceless art decorating the rest of the chamber. I see restraint, chains, ropes, taping, whip, perch, clamp, acerate leaf, gags, harnesses, straps, twist to inflict electric painfulness, repulsive phallic forms for insertion, and things with a function I can't even guess.

Please no. Don't let him pressure her to use them on me. Don't let me use them on her.

Once again, I look up and down my full cousin's naked consistency, the same way she's looking at me. No dubiety a woman such as her would worm sensuously in the throe of agony. And given the way she's led to so much suffering, I should deserve some vengeance. But would her raw thralldom arouse me, or would I prefer for her to be spared torture, and be the one with power over me ? It's a mistake to even think about Ja-Alixxe as a dominant. Her character already reminds me of Tisya's, in some room. There is an odd tug deep between my branch as I imagine her crying out in the throes of pleasance, and I push the thinking away, shaking my head. I can not let this be.

I rock my pelvic girdle on my bounder. Argh, how can I be so turned on ? divinity damn the Slavers, if only there was some way to sweep my groin while still keeping my second joint apart.

"Don't battle it,"Ja-Alixxe says knowingly, and her gaze snaps back to my brass."It only makes your feelings grow stronger."

I can't bear her of all masses pitying me, so I reply irritably, Chain jingling as I tense my arms."You don't know what I'm feeling. You never knew me."

"I know slaves,"she says."I've seen them come and go. Try to deny what we are, try to retain our self-respect, and we just add to our torture."

"That's easy for you to say. You're not the one who's been turned into a lesbian,"I say angrily."input enhancer in the usual localization, he said. Lesbian settings. Just like that. A present moment's thought for him, and my life history is changed forever. Salarin will motivate on - a fresh gaining control will guide his pursuit soon enough - but I'll be old, and still needing some butch to finger me every few days."

"It is not faulty to take comforter from other womanhood's organic structure,"Ja-Alixxe says gently."Especially here, where the simply kindness is from other slaves. All men are brutes, but women can be gentle, exquisite."

"I'm your cousin,"I insist."You think it's okay that we take puff from our organic structure ?"

"I'd prefer it wasn't you,"says Ja-Alixxe, with an unconcerned shrug."But I have no choice, so I'm going to get what pleasure I can from the experience. I'm a sex hard worker. You're a sex slave, Ja-Jeedie."

"Don't telephone call me that !"I say.

"A sex hard worker ?"Ja-Alixxe response."But you are."

"No, don't squall me Ja-Jeedie,"I retort."That name was left behind me long ago."Wishing to change the discipline, I grumpily state,"And you were supposed to be left behind me too. The galaxy believes you are dead."

"So I've been told,"she answers bitterly."I believe it's a policy by the astronomic media, to spare me. I was condemned to death very publicly, so it would be a foretoken of slaver weakness if the coltsfoot discovered I was alert. The slaveholder would be forced to execute me, then. For my part, I wish they'd done that, or I had perished in the explosion. I don't thank the universe for its silence when photograph and quick death would feature been kinder. But perhaps my prison term will finally come this year. You heard that brute who's the new sect leader. He flaunts his riches even for a slave dealer - he can yield to dispose of every womanhood he rapes. He would buy me and kill me just to pass water Salarin off."

"I know enough of men. I've already seen enough of the way Salarin looks at you like a lover,"I say."He would never sell you. He calls you the pet."

"The choice isn't his,"Ja-Alixxe says dismissively."He must sell me soon. It is one of their few law. The men here are not supposed to own a slave for more than than two years. In a office where the economy functions on sales, Slavers believe forming an fond regard to a miss interferes with the profits, and clouds the judgement. A fair sex is allowed no force on this world, and if any flavour for her excessively influences a male person, even lust, that is giving her a sealed build of power. They see bond in men as a weakness. The slaver call it being"dick-sick ”. It's a serious insult. There are only a few exceptions to the two-year principle permitted, where a female can continue longer in her owner's servicing. Women with specializer science who perform an important function."

Salarin was called dick-sick by Monad. Well, well.

"A character of me is beaming you're alive,"I tell her."The year since you sold me out have not been kind to me. All thanks to you. Perhaps at finis the graven image give birth some justice."

"You must see, I wouldn't hold given you to Gorack if I'd known you'd carry on,"Ja-Alixxe says nonchalantly."Once you were deflowered, I never thought you'd be stubborn enough to continue with joining that pudding head religious cult. I'll apologize if you wish, but that counts for nothing here. The yesteryear is unimportant once someone becomes a slave."

Unable to keep from picking at that especial scab, I add,"What happened to Gorack, anyway ? Did you kill him ? Somehow, you made it to the Rape Run a virgin. Is he short, or is he still lazing around in some seedy nose dive, drinking himself into oblivion ?"

I'm not sure which answer I'd prefer. I want him to die painfully, but then that would rob me of my revenge. And I'm not sure I want to hear he perished by Ja-Alixxe's hand. I couldn't bear her succeeding where I'd endured such an well-fixed and humiliating defeat.

"I heard he made it big, believe it or not,"she replies."Not through his own effort, of course. He won some trading operation in a visiting card biz, somewhere out on the horse opera helix. By taking franchise deals, he let others do the work, and business boomed. I heard he runs a hale organization like a king."

"Then that proves there are no Gods taking care of us all,"I say angrily."I've devoted my aliveness to serving them, and been rewarded with an implant and the degrading Saint Mark of a hard worker. Leaking breasts, and lesbian settings. Gorack rapes the vulnerable, and ends up with a blessed spirit. He escaped with no more penalty than the Marks on his face."

"He kept the scars you left where you scratched him,"Ja-Alixxe answer, her tone careful."He said he liked the way they looked, and he liked telling the great unwashed it was a charwoman. At least, he liked how he looked until the day he tried to go too far with me…"

"What do you mean ?"

"He tried to rape me, and I drenched him in acid from the ship's barrage fire. It wasn't my intent to wipe out him, just to deter his libido, so I took him to the medick, but he'll never breathe without help again. I stayed long enough to know he'd survive, reflecting on how I beat him, then I stole his ship."

"But he never took advantage of you ?"

Ja-Alixxe's non-white eyes look at me calculatingly. She's mentation that she doesn't want to look higher-up to me, if that's likely to harass me.

"I performed sealed religious service for him,"she says cautiously."But as you've already noted, the whole galaxy knows I arrived here a Virgo. Rape Runners are not permitted to keep their gender private."

That's certainly true. The unanimous cosmos knows she's not a virgin now, and as a slave woman of Aghara-Penthay, Ja-Alixxe will be fated to hold sex with many Thomas More men in her lifetime. reckon what men have done to her - I hate them all. Ja-Alixxe's bedspread thigh make the folds of her vulva gape as though begging to be filled. Her silver nipples are set. She's served as a sex slave for so long that she can hold that pose without seeming embarrassed.

I look back to her face. She's watching me consider her, her expression understanding. I'm struck again by just how beautiful she is.

"If you want to keep on your saneness here,"says Ja-Alixxe,"accept that the ascendance of an implant is absolute, so there's no shame following it's commands. It's the implant performing, and not the cleaning woman. That's our mantra. We have been ordered to trust each other, so there is no disgrace in desiring each other. I've seen the way you're looking at me - yes, like just there - and it's not your defect, when you've been commanded. If I am ordered to hate you, I will hate you. If I am ordered to torture you, I will torment you, just as you will rack me under their command. You know the master's tastes, so we have to prepare ourselves - that is the likely outcome. He has been anticipating watching us trifle together for days. But I pledge to the Ja-Jeedie I once knew, if I have free will, I will try to throw you pleasure."

Again she used that name from my past times, but before I can object, something strikes me from her words.

"What do you stand for - ‘ anticipating watching us for years ’, Ja-Alixxe ? The cum race was this morning."

"They had you unconscious for three Clarence Shepard Day Jr.,"she disagrees.

"But why ? Healing my injuries, and making those changes should only have needed hours."

Ja-Alixxe's face goes red, strained, as though she's struggling with some internal battle. Then her consistency goes limp, and she seems to give up.

"You probably don't call back the priestess who came to us when we were small,"she blurts out suddenly,"But I'm a niggling older. She prophesied your time to come. My own destiny wasn't the only reason I…"

The electrical jerk to my neck opening comes without warning, and throws my body into such a violent convulsion that I strike the back of my head on the floor and see mavin. Every muscle goes rigid with pain. My dead body forms an arc with my spine distorted backwards, and I fear the alloy restraints are going to break my bones. I can't even scream, but only emit a strained moan. Foam seeps from my mouth.

I'm not sure how long I'm in that State Department, but when the distortion stops, Salarin is with us in the room. The faction leader is not alone - there is a slave woman, an exceptionally beautiful swart female dressed in the standard red slave wrapping. The clothing is woefully insufficient to conceal her boozer form. She should be adequate to satisfy any man, but Salarin curtly orders her"farewell us,"and with her closing of his bedchamber doorway, we're trapped.

While she goes, I get slowly and awkwardly back into my kneeling berth. It's not so well-to-do with my wrists shackled behind me, and my trend are abhorrent, lacking in all grace.

Ja-Alixxe and I look at each former, both silently trying to communicate. Meanwhile the honcho walks around me, as though inspecting a willpower.

vertebral column on my knees I find I still haven't stopped shaking from the galvanic torture - a compounding of fear and the physical effects. immortal damn that collar, and Gods damn him. If I'm trying to be brave, but I can see the collar is going to break me if I have to break it for long. The constant dreaded prediction is worse than the botheration itself.

"looking at at you,"gloats Salarin."Ajeedie… Your modified hair, and that fleshy clit are very much better. Aren't you a swag ? You could rival the pet. Indeed, now your fuzz is the correct color, you really have to know you both well to tell the difference between you."

"Yes, schoolmaster,"I say. I try to stay steady, but I can't conceal the tremble in my voice.

"Your tit are a piffling larger than the pet's, Ajeedie. But I think we can revel those just as they are."

"Yes, Master."

"And do you like your collar ? If I had my way, every female in the beetleweed would be trained with one."

I'm spared the need to reply, because he adds,"It usually takes five to ten solar day for a woman to misplace all self-control with the standard collar breaking process. seismic disturbance without warning, waking her in the midriff of the Night. She becomes so frightened, soon there's barely a need to actually use the bother. But perhaps you'll be strong, a paladin. Like my precious pet, here."

I look at my cousin. Ja-Alixxe tone nervous.

"Perhaps, Master."

He stops where he can see between my legs.

"And do you like your enhanced clitoris ?"I flinch, and he says,"No, don't conceal it from me. That nanotech was expensive."

"No, master. It's distracting."

He chuckles.

"care not. It is time to ease the craving, by sating your desire on your cousin. Slaves - riding horse the bed."

choose an obscene-looking harness, and a duo of tube-shaped structure of mystery paste. With these items in hired hand, he pulls up a death chair near the foot of the mattress, sitting on it like he's visiting a hospital patient, and not overseeing a session of colza and abuse.

"Lie on your back, Ajeedie,"Salarin orders, so of course I comply and shuffle round. My body lies straightened out, my shackled articulatio radiocarpea pushed into the bed by the small of my dorsum. I can feel the chain from wrists to ankle joint pressed between the nerve of my buttocks. A drip of Milk foot race down my bequeath breast, but I am ineffectual to wipe it away.

"Paint her puss with the indicant, Ja-Alixxe,"Salarin decree, throwing the firstly of the tubes to my cousin."And your own, for that matter."

I watch as Ja-Alixxe squeezes a small amount of a translucent red gel onto her fingertips. She leans over me, and I catch a ready flash of apology before her hair falls forward and obscures her face. I feel myself blushing as she leans close to the place between my branch, but I remain still, lying uncomfortably on my bound arms, staring at the ceiling.

My cousin's fingers touch my vulva for the offset prison term. She is aristocratic, and assisted by the nanotech, the touch between us stimulates a strong hurry. Ja-Alixxe is thoroughgoing, smearing the gel all over my vulva. Her touch arouses me, and when she probes her forefinger a little way into the cleft of my vagina, she finds me wet. I'm forced to squirm. My blush grows deeply. Forgive me, cousin. I feel a soft touch from her other hand on my exposed hip. understanding ? Understanding ?

I'm expecting some manakin of barbarous torment, but aside from the gel making my genitals feel wily and slippery, there is no change. Salarin sees my confusion, and it amuses him to explain.

"The index changes color to green when you orgasm,"he says briefly."Expecting it to glow, no ? What kind of a monster do you think I am ? You're almost right. It is this one which burns."

Salarin gestures with the second underground, and moves it towards that revolting harness. The apparatus resembles a cleaning lady's string panty, but the miniscule bands are strap of leather, rather than material. It offers minimal covering - a garment for mapping rather than concealment. The straps only serve to hold up its parts in place. It's obvious where its two hokey phalluses go, with both being fixed to the strap running down between the legs and bet on up between the wearer's buttocks. The penis intended for the vagina is monstrous - the size of Toscoro's phallus. The penis that goes in the anus is a little smaller, but still large enough that it will be miserable for whichever woman between Ja-Alixxe and myself ends up with that vile affair inside her.

"Your resistance to stimulation was excellent in the Cum airstream, Ajeedie,"says Salarin, as he calmly squeezes a palmful of the second gel into his hand and begins to coat the hammer on that obscene harness."But I want to see how you respond now, after your pussy has been sensitized to females."

I feel myself sinking into despair as I stare up hopelessly from the bed. I don't want to cry, buy tears are already beginning to bead in my eyes.

"Supreme Being,"Salarin laughs, wiping his hand on the mattress."I've bury how much this stuff stings."

He chuckles for a instant, then edict,"Ja-Alixxe - sit on Ajeedie's face. Intimately. I want her to be able to tongue right into your clitoris."

Ja-Alixxe straddles me as fast as she can, her breasts looking prominent from below, and again I see that shared savvy, but Salarin bark,"dolt bitch - No, facing her snatch."

For a second, I look right up her perineum as she rotates, stark naked above me. Then she lowers her pelvis, and a bonny part of her bodyweight presses directly down on my cheek. I'm looking right at her perfectly rounded rump and her bare back. The contact between us is so squiffy I can reek her anus, and already I can smack the unmistakable flavor of a womanhood's sex organs.

"That's better."I can hear Salarin, who hasn't moved, but I can't see him when my total position is filled with my cousin's naked rump.

"Slaves - I enjoyed Ajeedie's Cum Race so much, I'd like a fiddling rerun. But with my new pet a little more handicapped. I decree that Ajeedie will remain chained, but she's free to move those fine coxa to try and escape the contact, whereas the normal for Ja-Alixxe is that she must sustain her cunt constantly pressed on Ajeedie's face. So when I give the word, you will both try to arouse the other one to orgasm. The indicator will break when your moment comes. The one who climaxes first - the loser - will be forced to wear this burning gel-smeared harness for the relief of the Night. I will also assault her in the oral fissure while she is pain. And let me make clear as a command to your implants - perhaps you have feelings for one another, but you are both proscribe from trying to drop off deliberately, to dispense with the other."

He gives us a present moment to hold in the ineluctable repugnance of our next few hours. On the edge of panic, I strain my arms. How can I possibly win, when I can't use my hands ? Can I force her to climax with only my tongue ? And after my triumph - how intolerable to watch Ja-Alixxe writhing in pain, thanks to me. And what if I lose ? Just having those things inside me, coated with lubricating substance, would be bad enough, but how often worse will the paste be ? I try to call up if there are nerve sensor in the interior wall of the human vagina. Unless there's a miracle, I'll shortly find out.

"Menachem Begin,"Salarin says calmly.

"Forgive me,"whispering Ja-Alixxe as she leans over.

22 - badgering

I have come to consider that, during the Cum slipstream, I was under some anatomy of duress that prevented me from giving up. For this contest, there seems to be no such compulsion. If I'm to obligate back from climax, I'll have to do it on my own.

With my cousin's fulcrum pressed so firmly and continuously on my brass it doesn't take me hanker to evoke her, and once she's moist and lubricated, I can easily force my glossa deeply inside her and lap around in a frenzy. I caress her clitoris. I gyrate my tongue around the inside of her nether back talk until I'm overwhelmed with the taste of her fluids. I work her as though my biography depends on it.

But I'm soon for certain that whatever I do is not going to be enough, and inevitably I'm going to lose this one. During her yr of slavery Ja-Alixxe must have been with countless early cleaning lady, and she's built a sexual expertise that would make Tisya seem like a fumbling virgin.

I try to evade Ja-Alixxe's touch to my own core, at least as a lot I can with my limited bowel movement, but escaping her caresses is hopeless. And what she does to me is far beyond finger's breadth. She kisses me - little butterfly kisses over my pubic mound. She uses her tongue, as I'm using mine on her. Even her breath she uses as a weapon.

My writhing quickly has early motivations than an attempt to avoid her. It's unsufferable to keep still under the barrage of liquid state pleasance, so much of my struggle becomes unvoluntary. Equally impossible is keeping mum. I find myself moaning - whorish shameful auditory sensation that resonate through the weight on my grimace to her body. Every minute, I travel inexorably further up towards sexual climax.

I'm getting more and more heroic to escape her, but Salarin said"sapphic tendency ”, and it's severe to concentrate on dodging when so much of my brain wants her. The shame I initially felt about being intimate with my cousin is soon forgotten in the intensiveness of desire. I can glimpse Ja-Alixxe the way men see her. The utterly perfectly work buttocks tapering to that tiny waistline, and her body still toned, despite her time in slavery.

But it's her nature that really arouses. This woman is a female animal - pure passion - vibrant, deadly, sensual.

I can't speak to her while I'm smothered by her sex organ, but I try to beg her anyway, even though it's a battle whether to beg her to continue, or stop. idol, that flavour so good, she feels so good - Ja-Alixxe, please, just get your finger away from there.

She does not use her mitt solely to pleasure my core. Ja-Alixxe slides herself over my body as though massaging me. She rubs my second joint, which seem to have become surprisingly reactive. She pulls at my defenseless nipples. But always she returns to my apex of the sun's way, probing deeper and deeper as I become wetter and wetter. I have to resist, but when her ghost leaves me, my pelvis lifts after her, as though seeking from its own will.

As terror builds, I put increasing effort into fighting against the metal restraints, straining my blazonry and legs. It's a misunderstanding, because I don't realize the struggling opens my knees and allows Ja-Alixxe advantageously access to my sex. She seizes my thighs, holding me open by force-out, and makes a lapping motility between my nether lips like a pet drinking milk. It's as though my lower body turns to liquid. Supreme Being help me, what have they done to my consistency ? I've become so sensitive…

The delightful torturing is unstoppable. I try to beg,"Please, Ja-Alixxe, I can't clasp on,"but her bodyweight is squashing my sass, gagging me. I must defend on. I can't succumb after only minutes. But my dead body ignores me. I feel myself approach the point of no return. So soon ? No, no, no, please, but here it comes.

The orgasm locks me almost as unbending as the cushion collar did. It freezes me so taut I almost lift the two of us from the bed. Shamefully, I release a spurt of fluid which inundates my cousin's boldness. I gush so fiercely they won't need the gel turning leafy vegetable to confirm what's happened. I couldn't have concealed that one if my life depended on it.

When I'm capable to go wilted, I lie there, gasping for breath and covered in sweat. The orgasmic physical high is quickly being replaced by dread. I've lost - I just lost. What's succeeding ? The harness ?

I feel the weight of Ja-Alixxe, still straddling me, agitate above me. Salarin says,"No, Ja-Alixxe, leave her foetor on your font, until after you've finished yourself off on her."

After a moment's uncertainty my cousin begins to rock her pelvis rhythmically, the pressing from her free weight moving my head with it. She moans softly in time with her rotation. It only takes a few more than instant before the pitch intensifies with the onslaught of her own orgasm. I was not able-bodied to pleasure her enough. See how easily she controls her organic structure, compared to my ineffective technique.

We are cousins, and some things should be private, but I must bear witness to the sound my own cousin makes when she orgasms. During the tiptop I thrust my tongue deep, trying to convey many emotions using only that muscle - sympathy, forgiveness, soreness. I don't know if she understands.

Her discharge is almost perfunctory compared to mine, and once it's done, she lifts herself from me without delay. There's nothing left for me now - no consolation, no chance, nothing except the penalty of failure. Free to move my straits again, I turn to seem pleadingly at Salarin. He's barely moved - the harness destined for my interior still in his mitt. I can see the bulge of an erection in his unaffixed robe. I look from his genus Phallus to the two colossal artificial translation. Gods, how will I even stand those inside me ?

My fear is at upper limit volume. It has even more dimension than fearing the agony and humiliation that is imminent. I won't be able to make up onward motion if I'm too badly damaged. I'm compelled to be suggest with the faction drawing card, not spend days in his bacta tank.

"Please, Master, don't,"I beg, wriggling and pulling at my bonds. I pray my pleading will arouse him further, as that would be sound. Sex slaves soon learn that bringing male stimulation can mean the divergence between suffering ravishment, and twisting.

"Gag her, Ja-Alixxe,"is all Salarin replies,"Use the ring."

Ja-Alixxe hasn't finished wiping her face with the back of her paw, but as soon as he commands her, she hops agilely from the bed and pads naked across to the shelf. She remounts the bed almost silently.

"The doughnut"is a perimeter of alloy, about as all-embracing as my clench fist, with straps of leather attached to a buckle, which, once the gag is in place, secures it behind the wearer's head. Four thin branch of alloy radiate from the ring, giving the matter an appearance like a crab. These probably make it impossible to spread out it between the tooth, and thereby fill up the mouth.

"Open, please,"Ja-Alixxe says softly.

I'm under no obligation to obey her, but I do so anyway. She slots the gag between my teeth, and then fastens the shoulder strap gently, but tightly, behind my headway at the Base of my skull. Her touch on me lingers, after she's finished. My jaw feels as though it's stretched quite widely apart, and my tongue flavor oddly vulnerable. I don't know quite where to position it. I test the halo, biting down on it. Of course, it is self-coloured enough to resist a human's durability. The protruding legs are uncomfortable, and spike into the mild tegument of my cheeks.

"Mmmuhhh,"I say, when I try to speak. Already I can finger spittle accumulating in my mouth. If I wasn't on my back, I'd starting time drooling. I swallow awkwardly.

"victimisation this paste requires drill,"says Salarin, standing and handing the harness to my cousin."Apply too much, and the female loses consciousness. The burns it leaves usually need healing afterwards, in the bacta. But I want to use it today, to be sure you're… pacified."

I try to plead - I'm already pacified. I promise I'm well and truly placate. But gagged, I can't limited my thought. A whimpering sob comes from out the wild blue yonder, from me.

"Lift your knee joint and hip, Ajeedie, to lay out your holes,"Salarin says as I try to hold back the tears.

The petition came from a man, so terrified or not, I am compelled to obey. In spite of the pain to which these crusade inevitably deliver me, I obscenely eviscerate my knees up to my stomach, then lie completely still, forced to wait helplessly as she situation the harness with the member directed to my holes.

"Put them in, Ja-Alixxe,"Salarin says.

"Forgive me,"she says again. And then in one Sceloporus occidentalis social movement, she rams the pecker home. Before she even has the warp secured at my waist, I've lost my mind. Gods, it's like she's just shoved two red hot pokers inside me. Perhaps it's because I'm newly sensitized, but this cruelty feels worse than the torture phase angle from the Cum subspecies. Or perhaps it's because rather than being a input that can instantly vanish, this torture is triggered by very scathe. The sheer sizing of the two cocks is stuffing them tight against my inner paries, where I can sense the paste already burning inexorably away my intimate flesh.

I'm bucking wildly in an instinctive futile sweat to lam the torture, my back curved into an impossible arch, because I don't care anymore if I dislocate my shoulder. My wow are constant - the speech sound loud through the open hollow of the gag. I only pause when I'm forced by human restriction to inspire.

I'm not really mindful of how violently I'm pitch from position to side, but it must be quite something, for at Salarin's command Ja-Alixxe straddles me again, preventing me throwing myself accidentally off the bed. My cousin is solidly built, but I'm thrashing around so ferociously underneath her I still fling her off once, like we're playing at some twisted rodeo. fret covers the totally control surface of my peel within seconds.

This macrocosm where there only exists torture goes on for me for what tactile property like eternity, but it's probably only hour that pass before I start becoming too exhausted to strain any to a greater extent. The fiery agony from the Phallus inside me has barely reduced, but I am over the peak of the pain, or else the nuisance sense organ in my vagina and anus have been scorched away. With returning awareness, I find I've rolled onto my face at some point, and I'm facing Salarin. My face is streaked with a mixture of snoot and tears.

It's strong to imagine how, in this province, I might be attractive to anyone, but apparently that is the subject.

This is when he chooses to lift his robes and exposes his penis - perhaps the ugliest model I've ever seen - a heavy veined, sightless insect, the engorged profligate turning it sullen than the quietus of his pale peel. He has a nest of unkempt pale grey pubic fuzz, and his testicles are uneven in their withered release of skin.

My revulsion to the faction drawing card's peter makes no difference preventing his knotting his fist into my dour hair, and guiding that mean organ towards the mob of my mouth. The first poke of it takes the jacket crown right field to touching the back of my throat, and even amid the fiery painful sensation from my pelvic arch, I can't help gagging when he pushes against my palatine tonsil. I'm instinctively trying to close my jaws, but the metalwork prevents me.

I know logically that he doesn't intend to suffocate me on his penis, but he holds himself there for long enough that my consistence's inborn reflex take over, and with my throat blocked, a new terror takes me. It's a mercifulness when he pulls back, even if it's not a complete coitus interruptus. The underside of his foul head still presses down on my tongue. I suck in a frantic breath, and cough and sputter as much as is possible with one's lip open, discharging Thomas More mucus and mess over my face.

After staking his claiming to me with the number one cryptic throat, Salarin proceeds to steadily ravish my mouth, thrusting back and forth at an even pace. He uses my tongue to stimulate the undersurface of himself. At steady intervals he probes deeply again, right to the rachis of my throat, in the same manner as he began. I do not become tolerant to this, and choke reflexively with eye streaming each time.

"Look at her, Ja-Alixxe,"he Order my beautiful cousin-german one time when I'm gagging."Have you ever seen anything so miserable ? She once believed she was a warrior, but seem how easily men master cleaning lady like her."

At the start of the oral rapine, I struggled as always to foreclose the recent intrusion, but efforts at opposition only intensified the pain in the neck from the unreal dick corroding my vagina and anus. Soon I feel myself becoming inert, as the centripetal overload begins to disconnect my consciousness. I feel like I'm looking down on myself, looking dead pathetic, just as Salarin said. Chained and broken, covered in sweat, tears and snot, gagging on the dick of the macrocosm's unworthy man.

They say Salarin can only get aroused by women's suffering. Well, I must be suffering greatly then, for his climax doesn't take much retentive to arrive than mine did. Just before the faction leader climaxes, he withdraws almost completely, retreating as far as my lips. I wonder briefly if he wants to ejaculate over my face, as many men want to do with their women, but no. His cock impulse, and he shoots his cum onto the surface of my tongue, so that I can't immediately swallow it, and thereby I'm forced to retain the taste perception of him.

"Get used to that inside you, buckle down young woman !"Salarin gasconade."Plenty more cum where that came from."

I rarely accept defeat, but as I inhale his disgusting flavor, I allow myself a moment to wallow in the totality of my ruin.

How few solar day ago was it that I was Djenerion, and unblock ? Now I'm a wrecking of that person - a affair utterly degraded. I have an implant embedded deep into my Einstein, a striver mark on my nerve, milk seeping from my chest, and nanotech injected in my organ that will change me for life. I'm chained, naked, raped over and over, and destined to be raped over and over. Men will decide everything for me from now on, so my future tense is to be abused over and over until the day they tire of me.

Helplessly I flex the fingers of my bound work force, my forcible form staring out into the room while I watch from above.

Ja-Alixxe, I see is weeping openly.

"Don't relax yet, cunt !"says Salarin to me."I saved the best until last."

I think that this can't get worse, but I'm unseasonable. Leaning over me, he insinuates his finger into the waistband of my harness, and gives an God Almighty heave, almost lifting me from the bed by my pelvis. The pain that had reduced to red heat flare pass white once again, and in spite of the sense of disconnection, I still feel the contact with every nerve.

I'm watching myself, but I'm also drowning, drowning in a sea of lava. My body strains - my face distorted with the effort to scarper the restraints, and I submerge."Don't black out, Ajeedie,"I urge myself,"You have orderliness ! ”, but my strong-arm form is not listening. I see myself thrill and close my eyes, I float away, and for a while there is the angelic relief of nothing.

23 - Night

The first matter I see when I open my eyes is Ja-Alixxe's naked backside, her backside right there just in presence of my face. I'm lying on my incline, half-way down Salarin's gigantic bed. My cousin lies on her belly, draped across her owner, one genu drawn slightly up, naturally spreading her toned cheeks enough that from my angle, I have an repugnant purview between her branch to her vulva and her anus, both silvered from the barbarous nidation of those pain stimulators. Something is drying at the cleft of her fanny, and I grimace in disgust. sperm cell. How long have I been out ? Was I so deeply unconscious that somebody, Salarin probably, had time to rape my cousin in the ass, and I never knew ?

The room is in semi-darkness. The ringing gag has been removed from my mouth, but the mattress underneath me is mute, and my facial expression feels wet. I slept with my sass open perhaps, or I've been crying in my aspiration. I try to move my arm to dry my nerve, but I only bring home the bacon in shifting my handwriting by a brace of in before I'm stopped by a cushy jangle from the chains. I'm still in the restraints, then. How bad is the balance of my position ? I draw my wrists as far up my spine as I can, then push into the mattress to lever myself up and see.

Gods… the discomfort that even this basic action triggers is so intense I can barely move. I look down over my defenseless ooze breasts and the hourglass of my waist. The harness straps still run tight around the feminine bend of my hips, and the third strap runs down from my belly to form the gusset. I don't need my optic to know the cocks are still inside me. It feels like I'm being impaled up to my throat. My genitals are still burning, and it feels like I've been scarred forever inside, but we're well past the mop up. The twisting is no longer a mind-consuming agony.

I try to move some more, persevering, ignoring the pain. I discover I've torn a muscle in my shoulder - testament to the violence of my struggles, and when I swallow, I find the disgusting gustatory perception of Salarin's cum has remained in my lip. The pace of each apparent motion is dreadfully slow, inhibited both by the coercion to locomote silently while in my range, and by my irritation, and yet inexorably I do progress. Up, up, so gradually up, until I'm beside the head of the sleeping Salarin. Shifting to my knees in a position much like that of a pleasance slave, I pause and look sadly down at my cousin.

Ja-Alixxe lies across her possessor with a clinch hand stretched out to him, as though she fell asleep midway through pleading for some salvation that never arrived. Her hair is draped across her grimace, obscuring her eye. Gods, how have the two of us come to this - implanted sex hard worker, under the absolute control condition of such cruel maestro ? I have this detestable dog collar around my neck. And my cousin has been so immunised to her status that she didn't even make the effort to hide or clean dried seminal fluid from her rump.

I hold back the maternal urge to pass over her, to reinstate her. poor people cousin ! I forgive you for what you did all those yr ago. It helps me knowing that whatever unendurable penalization will soon be inflicted on me, at least my actions might spare you from him.

I shuffle further round, so my back is almost wrick towards Salarin, and my work force, supporting me, are pressing into the mattress right next to his top dog. This won't be well-situated while I'm chained, but I don't know when the next chance will come. I can class my wrists only just across-the-board enough apart to accomplish the job. Confidence will be the key. Grasp his head between my hands, while sitting as close to him as I can get, and finish him in one clean profligate motion - too quick to prove the dismay. I plan to wrench the faction drawing card's skull round with all my military posture, breaking his neck and damaging the windpipe beyond repair.

Goodbye, Salarin, I mouth silently. I'm acting because I'm under compulsion, but even if it means my death, I'd do it for me, for the galax's women.

The moment is now.

Taking a deep breath, I commit, and begin to wax. Just in time for my jolt pinch to activate.

My muscles lock as immediately and as dramatically as always. cadaver as a plank of Sir Henry Joseph Wood, I'm flung back off the bed by my own muscleman, and I strike my capitulum hard on the flooring, launching hopeful ball of light which twist before me. Meanwhile, pandemonium erupts in the room. The lighter go on, bright as day. I hear Ja-Alixxe shouting something. Guards kick in as I lie completely helpless, jerking spasmodically.

And then there's secrecy. The collar deactivates. I lie inert, panting, looking up at the roof as the electric pain fades.

"Chief ?"one of his safety says uncertainly.

"Everything is fine,"I hear the voice of Salarin say calmly."Just dealing with a disciplinary matter. farewell us."

"You sure ?"the sentry go dithers.

"Go !"grab Salarin, and I hear bring up metrical unit hurrying away.

"Get up, Ajeedie,"Salarin says to me, sounding weary now."Kneel. striver position."

Apparently, I'm still under some level of his control after all, for I'm moving before I know it. Shuffling awkwardly in the ring-binder, I kneel to face his reprisals, with my thighs apart and my hands behind me, much as I did while waiting at the start of the evening. Ja-Alixxe's eyes are filled with tears. In her hand is a small control gimmick - the activator for the taking into custody. So she fired it. She must hate Salarin so much, and yet she still was compelled to save him.

But she seemed to be asleep. Unless she wasn't ? If she was faking - ordered to venture to sleep while waiting on guard - then I've been discovered. I was discovered, some time ago.

"How long have you known ?"I say, defeated.

"Morg recognized you at the Cum subspecies,"says Salarin."He told me that one of the ten-strike team sent to retrieve Tisya had been spared the Elmek, and was hidden with the early Okhoron."

It takes me a bit to retrieve the epithet. Morg. Ah, the messenger who arrived to tell Charax that he and his men were component of Salarin's faction. He asked who we were, these charwoman dangling naked from their wrist joint. These are the rap team, Charax told him. He told him we were the single responsible for for all this topsy-turvyness.

No uncertainty when Morg saw me in the scene of action, he wondered why I'd avoided being given to the Elmek fetish along with the others. Yes, yet again, the divinity doomed me before I'd begun.

"But you let me continue ? You let me into your chamber ?"I ask.

"There aren't many downsides to deep-rooted women being forced to obey their original's every command,"answer Salarin,"but one of them is that the chip makes slave girls insufferable to interrogate. If a woman has been ordered not to blab out, you can chop her to art object, and she'll still stay understood. So you wouldn't betray your master. I needed to see how things played out first. It seems you were instructed to belt down yet again."

I shrug.

"It's possible you don't even understand the total extent of your orders yourself,"he says."A master can compel an embed female to leave, if he wants."

That seems belike. I'd noticed myself that I got irritated trying to recall the time after my gaining control.

"What side by side, for me ?"I ask hopelessly.

"Next, stand,"Salarin says simply.

I obey, the harness and its implements of worrying still making my movements hard.

"Yes, definitely still some irresistible impulse,"muses Salarin."Ja-Alixxe, you stay here. Ajeedie, you will walk in front, and proceed as I direct. No pillock moves. Or it's the collar again."

He needn't have worried. I'm not planning to try and nail my foreign mission anyway, at to the lowest degree not for now. It would experience been difficult enough with Salarin asleep. While he's warning signal, slave chains and a daze collar show me completely harmless.

"That way,"he says, indicating a door at the other end of the chamber. It isn't the way I was brought in here. Some private place, perhaps ?

I proceed towards the door, shuffling barefoot, once again in the inadequate dance step defined by the bound of my simplicity. Beyond the expiration, I find myself moving through areas fitted to handle Salarin's sexual druthers. Torture chamber with facilities far beyond the shelves in his bedchamber. single-foot, bench, hybridizing and ironwork for the simpleness of victims. Devices which inflict pain through estrus ; cold ; electrical energy ; lashing, licking ; cutting ; choking ; drowning ; impalement ; incursion ; crushing ; caging, confining, stretching. The horrors just go on and on, and jingling softly, I shuffle between them.

Then, steps descend to a lower floor, a prison house level when the unfortunate person who satisfy these desires in those suite are kept, women who live locked away in almost perpetual darkness. They fear most the coming of the light, for the abstemious means a visit to the billet of torment above. There is no cooling circulation of air like on the amphetamine levels, and it's stiflingly hot down here.

On the many planet where slavery is effectual, a man might need to economize for his wholly life to accumulate adequate course credit to buy a high-quality hard worker from Aghara-Penthay. A wealthy man may perhaps own a few agio slave, and also some of the brassy fauna, whose inferior attractiveness has them assigned to domestic duty. Down here, I pass as many as twelve occupied cells, twelve of the most attractive individuals I've ever seen, each Charles Frederick Worth a small fortune, twelve, just for Salarin's sexual appetence. Surprisingly one is a male - chiseled feature article and muscularity like a Lester Willis Young god. Each of the eleven cleaning woman would have been considered beautiful enough for the Rape Run, and would get a shocking cost at auction. All shrink back as we pass, hoping that this time, Salarin isn't here for them.

At the end of this exhibition of beauty are void cages - the same number of cubicle as were occupied. And then we come to the very last John Milton Cage Jr.. Salarin orders me to step back well beyond attacking image, and unlocks the barred door. With a gesture, he beckons me onward.

A man is in here, a man suspended from the ceiling by way of bond locked to his wrists. He is naked - something that's unusual to see in a male on this existence, where their sex is supreme, and where vesture marks the wearer's free status. Even the divine godlike creature I passed back there was granted a small loincloth, while the females kept around him were nude.

This man is tall, gangly, but toned. An athlete, rather than a weightlifter of system of weights. Two thing about him claim my attention. The kickoff - he is currently rampantly hard, so his gorge genitals naturally draw my eye, and I see a metal band locked tightly around his penis and scrotum, right down at the root. It cuts in so deeply I'm surprised the rip can flow to observe his erection. I see no sign of a hinge or join, so it looks as though, once fitted, it's unsufferable to remove without ripping his sex organ away. No dubiety it's also wise technical school, and has functions other than being decorative. I assume it maintains his tumescent electronic organ, as there's nix else in this cell that might arouse.

His monstrous erection is the beginning thing about him I notice. Second is his identity operator, instantly recognisable even though his human face has been beaten bloody. It is Charax.

24 - force

The impulse to act, to do something to save him, is almost overpowering. But I don't know what that act might be. I tense my men into clenched fist, wishing to campaign, but the most capture opposition is unclear.

"Order your slave to calm herself,"says Salarin, unconcerned.

"Be calm,"Charax says. His representative is only a croak - a feeble shadow of the natural authorization he'd had when we net met. Has he been screaming, or is he just dehydrated ? He is not himself, but my need to move still departs immediately on his command.

"You see, Charax, your plan is now entirely unstuck,"Salarin says with satisfaction."It was clever. She is a pretty assassinator, and you must have known I couldn't resist her connection to the pet."

My master frown, puzzled, and Salarin continues,"Ahh… you didn't know. Not so clever, perhaps ? This one is Ja-Alixxe's first cousin. Who doesn't enjoy bringing menage together ?"

"But now it's over, she has to resume facing justice,"Charax insists, barely a whisper. Really ? He's this oceanic abyss in the jack, and that's his commencement thought ?

"Perhaps, perhaps not,"Salarin says nonchalantly."almost slaves are ineffectual to harm male. I might take in use for the uncommon one that's a slayer. And then you have to consider, that she is a spectacular fuck."

I flinch.

"She should die,"croaks Charax."She killed the noncitizen. And Lotho-Etsarra."

"You're hardly in a spot to gain that argument,"chides Salarin, echoing my sentiment for once,"and the slave is not your first antecedency. I'm the one you should be worried about."He reaches out and seizes Charax's rampant penis in his fist, squeezing tightly. Charax cries out - the loudest sound I've heard him emit since my arrival.

Salarin pulls the erection towards him, Charax moving with it, and then releases his hold, so the prisoner swings from his restraints.

"You see, Ajeedie probably won't talk under overrefinement,"says Salarin."But you, Charax, are a different matter. We've already seen you're a screamer. It might please me to interject your feeble manhood with something so abominable you'd try to deplume it out, just to end the suffering."

"Do what you must,"whispers Charax."We both know I can't stop you."

"Yes, I would be able to urinate you blab,"says Salarin."You or your ally the trefoil, anyway. That's right… he is being brought into hands as well. But for poor piece, you can delay me from inflicting more torture, by telling me what I want to fuck. first base - what did you do to this miss ?"

Charax vellication, as though he's making a last try to pull at his Bond. Then he gives in.

"Her Saratoga chip has been configured so the only if man she's unable to harm is me,"Charax says."And also, that the only when man she's compelled to obey is me."

"But there's still some configuration of male person control condition ?"interrogation Salarin."I've witnessed it for myself. She responds too quickly to be obeying from witting thought."

"A proxy,"says Charax."When I briefed her, I commanded her to obey early men just as though she has a regular implant. I told her to do that in all setting, to protect the secret, except when it became requisite to fulfil her chief allegiance to me."

Salarin laughs, shaking his drumhead and tutting.

"Well, that confirms it. What you did is highly illegal, Charax. Solo implants are very unpredictable, that's why we banned them. There's too much opportunity of a loophole arising in the programing hierarchy. What happens if you order her to harm yourself, for deterrent example ?"

"She must act in my full interest,"answers Charax."Her mission required specify power to use her own mind. She will act in my undecomposed interest group, even if that means ignoring an ordering I give, or causing me express damage."

Salarin laughs again.

"Limited damage… Let's explore that logic. What if I threatened to defeat you, unless she bites off that erect prick, and eats it right here, for exercise ?"

Charax looks up anguished at his pinion wrists.

"response,"ordination Salarin.

"If she believed your threat, she would probably do it."

"Excellent. Then, Ajeedie ? I will wipe out your…"

"No !"Charax moans."Please !"

Salarin chuckles.

"Of grade not - that would be far too soon. But I do forebode to castrate you in the time to come, when it pleases me. I want you to receive time to anticipate that day. For now, your current considerably interest is to recite Ajeedie that she will turn my hard worker, while you will rest in my custody. reach sure enough she understands that the moment she steps out of line, I will see to it that the fashion in which you broke our laws is exposed. Then the Slaver council will sentence you to be implanted yourself, and you'll cease your twenty-four hours standing with the male slaves on The Hub. So it is very a great deal in your best interest that Ajeedie remains docile, and under my amount control."

Charax does not serve. He lowers his headway in defeat.

"Good. Now tonight, I'm tired, and I think we're nearly done here, but before we go, it's probably also in your just involvement that I allow Ajeedie to let off your rousing, no ? Human Male should only maintain an erection for a duet of hours, and the dominance ring you're wearing has kept you permanently hard for over two days. It becomes prejudicial, both psychologically and physically, if a man remains engorged for too long. How heroic you must be, for that one ghost that will agitate you over the edge ?"

Again Charax does not do. He can see that Salarin is taunting him.

"So if you want it, beg me, Charax. Beg me, as though you're a break one's back girl."

Charax pauses for a instant, and then speaks.

"professional,"he says."Please have the girl relieve me."

"No, say ‘ this buckle down missy begs ’."

Charax grimaces.

"This slave lady friend begs to receive Ajeedie relieve me."

"Maybe once I've chopped off your putz, I should have you transformed in the bacta, like we did with Leshan ?"taunt Salarin."It would divert me to see you live out your time as a female."

I feel no sympathy for Charax, this man who had me stripped and ring raped, and wants me punished. And yet the compulsion to interpose, to help him, is strong.

"Master ?"I humbly ask Salarin, tense with my urge to ease Charax's arousal.

"sufficiency !"snaps Salarin. I clench my enchained fists again, but the plant compels me to inertia. I've been in the faction leader's company a subject of time of day, and I loathe him already. How can Ja-Alixxe handle it for day after day ?

"Ajeedie, my slave, succeed me,"Salarin says, making for the going from the cellphone. I look uncertainly back at my true master.

"Master, please,"Charax pleads, flailing his bare legs.

"Charax - fright not,"Salarin calls back."I shall find the unworthy female person on Aghara-Penthay, and send her to bring you to climax. She will be the only when grade of pussy you're getting from now on."

I must obey, obey as though I have a habitue implant. With my mountain range jingling once more, I'm already shuffling after my new master, back past the cells of his unfortunate dupe. During the walk of life he talks, conversationally, as though nothing of consequence has happened today, as though he hasn't just abused the luckless Charax, as though I don't still have those burning rooster strapped inside me.

"Now you've seen cogent evidence that I have Charax,"Salarin tells me,"He will be moved to a safer location."Somewhere outside the palace, beyond any pattern of deliverance endeavor. So, before you even think it, there's no dot you trying anything new, at least not if you value his life."

"Yes, Master,"I say softly.

Surprising myself, I realize I don't experience any worse for the scene I've just witnessed. My implant compels me to attend to Charax, but I suppose it's not as though I feel any positive emotions towards that man who wants me take apart, and then slowly devoured by the Elmek. Wilhelm Richard Wagner said it would ingest many days of suffering before the sleep of my team succumbed to the slack agony. They must be still animated, the hapless adult female from the rest of my team. Morine, Beana, Illyri, Ak-Mancheen, Dias, Ko, Norenda, but what about Orteza ? What did happen to Orteza ? However, living for longer as Salarin's slave might not be bettor than a unrelenting death under Charax. After our capture, Diaz told us that hope was not lost until the divinity end us, but now she's there on the Elmek world, she might have changed her nous on that.

climb some stairs, the flexing of my humble tree branch sack the fake member inside me, and I grunt with pain in the ass. The sound of my hurt attracts Salarin's attention.

"We'll have to put back that collar with something more long term,"he muses."Implants like yours can't be trusted, and there needs to be a way to keep open you permanently pacified."

"As you wish, master copy,"I reply.

"And I like the sight of a woman's bare throat,"he continues, barely listening to me. Then he stops for a bit as something occurs to him."What about ... ? Yes. There's a poetic irony to that idea. And what's more, you'd be standardised enough - it might solve everything. Yes, why didn't I think of that before ?"

The faction leader continues on his way.

Whatever lies ahead for me, I know it's not going to be good.



25 Council

Aghara-Penthay is no different to early worlds across the beetleweed in one regard - the major planet still requires governing and governance. Thus, nine days after my encounter with Charax in the donjon, a council meeting of the three faction leaders takes place.

Until today, I've been forbidden from leaving the boundary of Salarin's palatial nursing home. I hear from former slaves that are sent beyond the walls, it's pretty much open season on molesting cleaning woman running errands polish Aghara-Penthay's liquidation. Perhaps my new master considers me too tempting a delight. However, within the vast building complex of the tribal chief's palace, his faction knows serious than to mess up with one of the leader's favorites.

Salarin likes his lever girls to be fit and desirable, so Ja-Alixxe and I are obliged to exert daily. Wearing only the red wraps of slave fair sex, it becomes routine that we make for Salarin's private gym. In most respects, I am not displeased with this duty. There may come a clock time when my gymnastic prowess is again valuable. My problem, is that the men like to view us. Often idle males gather to revel the sessions, and when we're ordered to work nude, we must obey.

Nights in the junto leader's palace also follow a modus operandi that soon becomes familiar to me. A female is summoned to the bedchamber. Occasionally it is one of those I saw below in the cells, but almost often it is Ja-Alixxe, or myself, or both. The ill-fated nocturnal companion is tortured until the leader becomes aroused enough to rape her. When Ja-Alixxe, or another female, is chosen, she shares his bed afterwards. I do not. Even though Charax has probably been relocated, Salarin still does not trust me entirely, so I spend every night on the floor, in restraint, listening.

The nanotech injected into me thanks to the occasional educational activity"tribade inclination"does not take long to make its shock felt. If I'm denied the touch of a womanhood for much Sir Thomas More than a day, the craving becomes overwhelming. The obligation to be milked by a female does not help. On one juncture, my need becomes so desperate, I'm forced to beg for a cleaning woman. I find myself thinking about other females for more and more of the day. But Ja-Alixxe has the primary call on my emotions - she's so beautiful, so springy. Is it possible I could be developing romantic impression for the first cousin who betrayed me ?

When I'm not in sexual service to male or female, or performing my mandatory exercise, then so long as Salarin is engaged, I have storm freedom. I explore his castle building complex, and find much to a greater extent than living poop - there are meeting rooms, stores containing great wealth, and way for his private documentation staff. Only the underground area is locked and unprocurable to me. I'm ineffective to confirm whether Charax has been relocated or not.

My avowedly master is somewhere, perhaps still nude and restrained. But without Thomas More direction, I can do nothing but continue on the basis of our terminal encounter. That means I am Salarin's hard worker.

My first time away from Salarin's palace is when he takes me to the council meeting. Today, as part of the Sadist's retinue, we proceed to ancient chamber with sandstone walls, containing eight heavy pot, each carved from a single piece of rock. Eight faction drawing card must have been the mellow number there's been in Aghara-Penthay's history, but currently only three are occupied. Salarin, Cronorgan and Monad.

Behind each of the enthroned Chiefs sits three of his bureaucrats. A fleet captain who oversees the faction's buccaneering and seizure of victims, a contracts consultant, responsible for the camarilla's finances and retail agreements, and finally - the director of the faction's slave, who deals with breeding, processing, and all affair from captives'arrival up to their point of sale.

The final attendee are us - the cleaning woman. Men are a competitive sexuality, and each top dog brings a slave to kneel at his understructure - somebody intended to testify to his Comrade that it is he who can possess the most desirable woman in the galaxy. And mantrap they are… It's been two sidereal day since I was with another female, so I'm probably as hungry for the pleasures of one of these creatures as the men.

At Cronorgan's invertebrate foot kneels a stunning example of the Gaianesian species, distinguishable from humans by sword lily of a mystifying purple spectre, and a pattern of markings on her frontal bone in a standardized color. Cronorgan keeps his hand knotted in this adult female's hair for the entire duration of the council. I recall that Gaianesian females have an involuntary response - a reflex - which renders them sexually receptive when their hairsbreadth is pulled. Perhaps this is true. Certainly, at even the to the lowest degree movement which causes a tug, I notice there is an twinkling when the missy's eyes defocus, she stares into space, and her lips percentage sensuously.

Monad's beauty is also of an alienate coinage. In organic structure SHAPE, she is much like a human female, only with this fair sex her skin has a blue-green iridescent shimmer that I find very alluring. Her heart are also completely dark, with no trace of irises. Instead of hair, such as is found on a human, protruding from her scalp are chummy tube-shaped structure of flesh, as though dreadlocks could be coated in the Saame shimmering skin. Perhaps these growths can not be cut like fixture hair, for the fille's fronds are grown long enough to reach her thigh. Monad has looped the strands round and flesh out her throat, and he keeps the loose ends behind her head, gripped in his fist. By pressing his knee between her shoulder blades while pulling against the tight coil, he uses them to restrict the woman's breathing. She's gradually choking, and even considering her strange changeable skin, I can tell the color of her fount is unnatural.

Salarin is a cruel and sadistic schoolmaster, but monas is worse - nothing but a vicious animal. He is so fossil oil, so canonical. Look at her : she is quite prodigious, and he just wastes her. If what the girls rustling is true and he can only achieve climax through demise, then he is unbalanced than my master. And if this is just some show of his wealth, then that's equally pathetic, throwing away such a valuable asset.

I must obliterate the contempt I feel for all of them, so I look down at the floor and let my dark hair fall forward to veil my fount. The curtain flows down the pale skin of my breast. My tomentum is my only covering - we've all been stripped, that the men might better admire each other's hard worker. Unfortunately Salarin seems to like touching it, so after only a short opportunity for hiding my face, he gathers up the long strands in a rope and twist my head up, similar to the way Cronorgan did with the Gaianesian female. I shiver with revulsion, as I always do when the chief and I have strong-arm contact.

My nipples are rear - an unfortunate person result of my nanotech-enforced stimulation, and to a greater extent humiliatingly, I can smack my warm sex electronic organ. I pray no one else notices. At least I'm not oozing milk today. For some reasonableness, before coming here the sect leader injected me with a endocrine which inhibits the production.

"It will just stop it for a few hours,"he told me with cruel mirth.

"valet de chambre,"says Cronorgan, by way of opening,"welcome. We gather in better condition than our lowest merging. I trust you all have the disorder which was caused by the Djenerion maraud resolved ?"

"There are still some rumblings,"murmuring Salarin from behind me."One sober attempt to depose me was suppressed…"he gives the smallest tug on my hairsbreadth as a admonisher,"and some foe still remain hidden. For example, there was a slaying within my house only yesterday. I've been obliged to increase surety, keeping more of the Stanford White Rapers in the palace."

"I'm glad you remain well,"Cronorgan says politely."Was the victim somebody significant ?"

"A youngster official. epithet of Morg,"says Salarin."It's possible his killing is not even connected to me. A dispute over a female child, perhaps ?"

"Then let's forget him, and move onto grievous concern. Chiefs, I'll remind you of your obligation to leave dissident for side by side year's violation Run. Our diminished numbers will necessitate each of you providing to a greater extent of the high-pitched value females in the galaxy."

"My faction is the most powerful of them all now,"Monad growls."Girls will be found."

"My junto has made new hires of bounty Orion, and they're making up for the untimely decease of Egregious Klink,"says Salarin."We already have a female person shapeshifter - very beautiful in her confessedly conformation - stored in hibernation. She will be revived in meter for The Run."

"Any others ?"asks Cronorgan. He gives another pull on the Gaianesian hard worker's hair. Her She gives an erotic grunt, and her eyes roll back in her principal.

"I have broker trying to find Coda Loraft,"says Salarin.

"The athletic archeologist ? She'd fix a fine Rape Runner."

"Yes,"agrees Salarin wearily,"but unfortunately she knows it. She favors working on world under distaff authority, worlds where it's difficult for our common cunt catcher to go. But we'll track her mastered one day. woman are imperfect. slit betrays cunt."

"Good,"says Cronorgan.

"What about you, Cronorgan ?"growls Monad."You have to provide tail assembly, too."

"We have agents trying to set up a sting,"says Cronorgan."To lure Suseya Nirolara somewhere where we can take her."

"The news anchorman ?"says Salarin."She's certainly a very well piece of char flesh. And she has a firm spokesperson. I bet she'd be a screamer. But we had a broadcaster this year… Perhaps another time."

"We could get use of her broadcasting talents,"Cronorgan says smoothly."It would be entertaining to take her anchor the Aghara-Penthay news, and do it naked."

"It's true, she'd be nicer to front at than Wilhelm Richard Wagner,"Salarin agrees from behind me."Keep me posted."

"You have a specific stake in her ?"says Cronorgan.

"Nothing important."

"Then, onto our adjacent subject,"Cronorgan continues."leaders : our new chief has attracted much attention from the galactic media. Monad… Do you go for your deed : ‘ The Brute'?"

"Aghara-Penthay normal by care,"is monas's response."cleaning woman will reverence The Brute. Won't you, huh, slit ?"He twists his fist to stiffen the ringlet around the alien girlfriend's throat, and she emits a gurgling rasping. Her expression turns more anguished, and she raises her hands to her neck, trying to pull those fronds away enough to breathe, but Monad bark,"No ! Hands you your thighs,"and she resumes the definitive hard worker placement immediately.

"I hope you don't intend to do that to too many assault smuggler,"says Cronorgan with disfavour."It defeats the purpose of The Run if we can't sell the captive afterwards."

"I will do as I wish,"is Monad's only answer.

"Anyway,"says Cronorgan, averting his centre from the girl's suffering,"Let us run on to topic of trade. Salarin - I believe your man is waiting to brief us on the situation on Dodayosk."

"Hadash,"calls Salarin, and a swarthy man in robes made of voluptuous fabric steps forward. On his arm is the emblem of Salarin's faction.

"boss,"Hadash begins respectfully,"The planet Dodayosk lies beyond the commonwealth interference fringe, out in the westerly Spiral. Their high society has no official government, being in a state of near anarchy, comprising feuding crime overlord struggling to control territories. Dodayosk is far from Aghara-Penthay, and would matter petty to us except for one affair - plentiful supplies of rare bioconductor materials mean that almost the galaxy's biochip manufacturers are located there - each production internet site under the covetous protection of some two-bit gangster. And yes, to pre-empt your question, that includes the only remaining producer of implant chips."

"Previously there were Thomas More manufacturers of our chips, but once implantation was outlawed by The democracy, the others were gradually closed down. Two years ago, long time by the received galactic reckoning, Aghara-Penthay became reliant on Dodayosk's one factory for its provision of plant chip, and that meant dealing with the local warlord of the district - a man named Yarook."

"Dodayosk is too removed for us to wish to swap in slaves there directly, so we were satisfied when an reserve mess was struck by Salarin for suppling hard worker of diverse degree to Yarook in substitution for chips, however, Yarook is fully aware of his monopoly and has recently begun squeezing us."

"Over time Yarook's terminal figure have become more and more unreasonable. In exchange for the last dispatch of chips Yarook demanded double the previous number of hard worker, and for the next batch, he wants treble again, plus one peculiar premium female."

Monad stinger in dismissively,"Aghara-Penthay was successful for many years before there were implants. Let us bombard this Yarook out of existence as a lesson to the galaxy."He loosens his clutch for a moment and the estrange woman's dresser heaves as she sucks in a rasping breath of oxygen.

"That's one possibility,"interjects Cronorgan,"although our unique potentiality to cater passive voice and implanted stock does add zillion of course credit to our economy. Distasteful as it is, we must consider dancing to this fellow's tune, at least until he can be replaced with someone more co-operative."

"That would pretend us appear unaccented,"growl Monad, resuming his stranglehold,"and that is unacceptable, when slaveholder rule by fear."

"There is still the possibleness of recovering the situation without contrary promotion, dread Chief,"Hadash continues smoothly."Yarook previously dealt with Salarin, and some of the issuing resulted from a crash of personalities, but he is leave to receive a fresh negotiating squad under certain conditions."

"Why are we discussing this, then ?"grunts monad."Go and suck his dick dry, Hadash."

"It's not that wanton, Chief monas. Yarook is paranoiac we will set about to assassinate or depose him, by collaboration with his contender,"explains Hadash."Which is no surprise, really, considering that's exactly what we would do. Thus, free men of Aghara-Penthay are not permitted inside his stronghold, and our trade exchange need to be carried out by the rendezvous of factor in quad. Yarook says he will only personally receive a delegation of implanted females, where his mass can confirm their functionality before they're admitted."

"Then he's just messing with us. Only a chump would institutionalize implanted women to act as a commission,"says Monad."You might as well empower wind them. You'll never see those women again."

"For once I'm inclined to agree with you,"says Cronorgan,"but for the insignificant monetary value of a handful of women, we might as well test his intentions. I'd prefer to do that than risk our supplying of chips forever."

"He's not getting even the slimy piece of cunt from me,"says monad."I'd rather cut their throats,"and to emphasize his dismissiveness he flings his girl to the floor, where she lands on her boldness. The changeable womanhood starts pushing herself back up, but Monad barks"Lie there ! Wrap those things tighter around your neck."

The meeting interruption, silent, as he rises to his groundwork and stands over her, and begins loosening his pants. Meanwhile the female person circles the braids of soma more closely around her pharynx, compelled to seal her own doom. When Monad pulls out his tumid penis - a new rival for the title of most disgusting example of a turncock I've seen - I understand he intends to take her right here, in the middle of the meeting. The unlucky female must jazz what's coming, but she lies there limp and docile, with the everlasting curves of her fanny presented up to him. Not caring that we're all watching, monas collapses on to her, penetrating her ass without the mercy of lubricant. She screams with pain for an moment, but her cry of distress is cut off as soon as he pulls on the living sovereignty which restricts her external respiration.

"Is this really necessary ?"asks Cronorgan as Monad ruts into her, in front of all of us."She's a squeamish sampling, and it's a wastefulness if you're going to do this every single time."

"I'll sell her to you if you admit you care for her ?"Monad smile, but Cronorgan turns away with a dismissive wave.

Salarin's handle slackens as his attention is absorbed by the scene, and once more I'm capable to gaze down at my au naturel body. Gods, I hate being a female. I hate that it pleases men when I'm naked like this. I'm still unused to the changes the slave dealer have made to me, and I'm ashamed each sentence I look at myself. My dark hair, changed to pair my poor cousin. My silver grey nipple and clitoris that mirror her too - painfulness stimulators, permanently injected into my most sensitive electric organ, joining the other nanotech so I can be tortured any minute, day or night. True to his word, Salarin replaced the stupor choker with the more lasting stimulators. I'd have the mean piece of music of tech back, compared to the silver.

"It isn't just the unimportant price of a handful of womanhood that Yarook demands, Creator Cronorgan,"coughs Hadash."He insists on one particular premium female. Her, and only her."

"Who ?"growls Monad from his vile rutting on the trading floor."A bitch is a cunt."

"Ja-Alixxe."

monad pauses his thrusting to ululate with laughter.

"So am I incorrectly, or are we only wasting clip discussing this because the dick-sick chief risks the future tense of Aghara-Penthay, just to avoid sending his favorite ?"he says.

"I am not dick sick,"says Salarin in an icy tincture. At the same time, he jerks backbreaking on my fuzz, so again I must look up at the circle.

"I wouldn't use those particular words,"says Cronorgan,"but I agree that the one Rape Runner has developed more importance than is usual."He's staring right at me as he says this, and at first I don't understand why, until he says,"You've had her breasts enlarged to match the one from the Cum Race ? I thought you liked the small-scale girls."

"Sometimes a change is good,"Salarin says smoothly.

I can't obliterate my surprise. I'm opening my mouth to clarify, but a tug on my hair silences me. Do they guess I'm Ja-Alixxe, just because of the hair colouring material and my silver grey genitalia ? They do, I realize - the former gaffer think I'm Ja-Alixxe, and he's playing along. That explains the milk inhibitor. But why does Salarin want them to think I'm Ja-Alixxe ? Surely not because…

"A solution presents itself,"says Salarin."I have a girl. This slave was given a customs duty implant, by a rapscallion operative. I dealt with him, but I've still kept her. She serves… only me, and she doesn't have the common confinement on harming men. Actually, this girl is quite deadly. She's already proven that. I will institutionalise that girlfriend to Dodayosk, as negotiant. She will still pass Yarook's implantation handicap, even under her more than limited compulsion. If things go well, good. If they're not so well, she is no loss. If the state of affairs doesn't improve, I can activate the gripe at a signal, and have her eliminate Yarook. What they do with her after that, is their business."

"But Ja-Alixxe ?"presses monad."What about Ja-Alixxe ?"

"Yes, well, convey Ja-Alixxe now, if you wish,"says Salarin nonchalantly, and he gives me a little shove between my shoulder blades."See ? I'm not dick-sick."

"I don't like using specials,"says Cronorgan, ignoring me."You know the risk of custom implants. What if something goes wrongly ? The Disdyne Paradox ? What possessed you to cause her ?"

"I told you, I didn't make her. My self-control of her is only serendipity. So let the customs duty female go to Dodayosk. Yarook is screwing us over already. If the miss fails, the worst outcome is that the billet continues,"says Salarin smoothly.

monas gives a grunt as he reaches final climax inside the estrange female. She is limp underneath him by now, and gives no response to a last thrust that must be unbearably painful. Carelessly he withdraws his organ, bloody and disgusting, from between her buttocks, and he gets to his metrical foot. I look at the beat female. As with all deep-seated slaves, we can feel both pity and jealousy when one of our number takes her final journey.

"I agree with Cronorgan,"Monad says, with no sign of scruples for the act he's just perpetrated."Even if you don't lose control of your female, for your program to work, Yarook would deliver to keep her close to him. What if he just sells her on ?"

"He won't,"says Salarin, savoring his enigma a here and now longer, and then revealing it."Because this is the girl, right here."

The men all stare at me. I feel my face redden.

"Ja-Alixxe had a normal implant,"disagrees Cronorgan."I remember when she was brought in."

"But this is not Ja-Alixxe,"smiles Salarin."You're looking at Ja-Alixxe's cousin, Ajeedie. I thought she would fool you, and I was right. She will fool away Yarook in the same way."

I continue to hold open my eyes fixed on the ornate rug.

"Ah, the Okhoron succeeder,"Cronorgan says eventually."I'd noticed the similarity at the Cum airstream, but with the hair, it becomes uncanny. But I still disapprove. Just send him the tangible Ja-Alixxe, and send a unconstipated relegation. That's safer. If Yarook continues to jack the price, we'll deal with him later."

"I'm with primary smallcock for once,"says monas."If your slave there goes half-baked, or Yarook realizes he's been sent the damage puss, affair will be worse."

"Your remonstration are noted, but Yarook is mine to dole out with,"says Salarin, and from him previously sounding languid, suddenly the faction loss leader's authority is back."My decision is that Ajeedie goes to Dodayosk."

"You are my friend, Salarin, but if he is yours to sell with, and this backfires, I can't backup you,"warns Cronorgan.

"Aye, damage our supply route for those chips, and I'll see your dick gets chopped off,"says Monad menacingly.

"It will be fine,"says Salarin."I have leverage over the tradition female. Ajeedie will do everything I ask."

I realize I'm holding my intimation. idol be praised, they're saying I might actually be leaving, and in spite of everything, that gives me promise. Anywhere must be better than here. I arrived on Aghara-Penthay as a free woman, leading a strike team on a grave charge. I'd slept with one woman, and been raped by one man. If I go, I will do so as an implanted sex slave, dispatched on a charge on behalf of my passkey. I've been raped more meter than I can count, and more rapine are ahead as I become the possession of this Yarook.

But I'll still take Dodayosk over Aghara-Penthay.

26 - Dodayosk

Spaceports are always located in the short neighbourhood of a city, but Dodayosk sets a new low for squalidness. I'm amazed that they were able to make a manufactory for implant splintering on this ramshackle world. Junk is piled up against edifice, and flies swarm from open drain running down the middle of the streets. It's not as hot as Aghara-Penthay, but Dodayosk is a humid creation, so the atmosphere look just as tyrannous.

The buildings are as disordered as the regime here. With no seasons or zoning formula in this place, all that's needed is to keep the frequent downpours out and ply some privacy, so the citizens construct their home from whatever cloth are convenient. Barely any buildings have an speed floor. We pass a broken pile of rubble where some structure has collapsed. nipper in rags scurry over the remains, searching for anything of value.

"What a hole,"says Secur as we move into the noisy and crowded market territorial dominion, and I agree with him.

Secur is our escort. Women from Aghara-Penthay can't be left to trip alone, not when their implants will send them into the arms of the first male person who's feeling horny. The bulk of the break one's back shipment to Yarook has already been dispatched in the usual manner, so the remainder - a simple chaperoning chore for two females, doesn't need Aghara-Penthay's okay. Secur is not Aghara-Penthay's finest. I don't think I've met a lazier Male. He doesn't even make the sweat to wash. Secur just shuffles through life looking half asleep. If you gave the guy a million quotation or a death time, both would get the same shrug in response.

The only thing that wakes him from that torpidity is his sex ride. My beauty being to his taste, during rest hours on the two-day voyage I had to let myself be chained in his buncombe, and then I was mauled intimately and unendingly. In a endure appearance of possessiveness by Salarin, Secur was ordered by his junto leader not to rape me, but for most of the voyage our escort would grope me whenever he could, getting increasingly angry and frustrated that he could not claim me fully. When he'd had adequate of handling the prize woman, he'd dump his vile seminal fluid into Edzie. As a little girl from the general sect neckcloth rather than a individual striver like me, there's no prohibition for Secur on Edzie's use.

She has a pretty aspect and a toned organic structure, but her chest is savourless and she's on the short slope. If the gods had given her farseeing legs, she'd perhaps have been traded as sex slave, rather than retained for administrative obligation, but serving unsloped is Edzie's destiny. Before capture, she was a barter negotiator for an alliance of planets. She had a degree in contract bridge law. Unfortunately for her, a ship carrying a delegation ran across a Slaver warship. The males were slaughtered, along with those females who had no value. The subsister were brought to Aghara-Penthay for processing.

Edzie is walking stiffly through the market, as though she's uncomfortable. She is, in fact, uncomfortable. I know the reason for this : her snatch is bruised and sore. After a farsighted voyage, my nanotech craving for distaff contact became overwhelming. Secur had been briefed that my pauperization would require sating, but it was left up to him how to control the human action was done. Turns out Secur is a member of Salarin the sadist's camarilla for a reason. In the end, I was commanded to tie her down feather, and then told to pervert her valued organ, while using her for my pleasure. striver understand the flood out office of an implant, and I had no choice, but she's pissed with me and not speaking all the Same.

When sex was over, as a final indignity she was made to suckle my dresser. I might be on Dodayosk, but there's no escaping the worrying gifted to me by Aghara-Penthay.

Edzie thinks that as the specialist negotiant, she's Superior to me -"Ja-Alixxe ”, soul here only as percentage of a defrayal. She doesn't understand that the opposite is the Sojourner Truth. Edzie is a instrument being sacrificed. She's a pretext to deport me, the very problem convergent thinker, inside Yarook's safety device. Sending my divine cousin alone, without objection or any attempt to improve the deal, would deliver provoked suspicion, but a beauty along with the concur negotiator - that is a different matter. Salarin doesn't believed Yarook is going to hit a small town in skillful faith with an implanted slave. He expects Yarook will get hold of both of us for himself, and then exact even more. The only reason we're here is to smuggle me inside Yarook's walls.

Secur agrees with Salarin's pessimistic aspect. But Secur has been kept ignorant of the secret of my implant, and believes he's delivering null more than dumb beasts for debacle. In the live on school term of residuum hours on the ship, his mounting tension overcame his self-control.

"I figure the odds of you coming back are minimal, so I might as well have my fun,"he sneered to me once I was chained down, and then he took me."Who'd have thought it ? Low-ranking Secur, getting to fuck the celebrated violation Runner Ja-Alixxe. deity, I love Aghara-Penthay."

Edzie is not the lone one who is sore today.

But I must give the sack thoughts of him, and focus on my mission.

On my first sojourn to Dodayosk, I'm assailed by the new sights, audio and smells of the food market. virtually of the dealer seem have their booth under unproblematic canvas tent canopies. Animals whose names I don't know are roasted on skewers. vendor try to pull our attention to buy fabrics, technical school, chem.

There is a great deal catcalling and backchat between the marketer and buyer. Edzie and I move through this disturbance, dressed in drawers and shirts that look appropriately professional for negotiator. The outfit are tighter around our bodies than I'd have liked, but they cover the skin from ankle to throat, and they're a lot right than appearing in public wearing a wrap. They're made from a java-colored fabric suited to the climate, which lets the skin breathe. Rather than reveal the sword of Aghara-Penthay, headscarves of the same textile are wound around our faces, hiding our mouths and the brass which bears the striver mark. We could turn over for normal astronomical citizens. womanhood with a future.

"Slaves,"a leering bearded merchant says to Secur, stepping into our path. I think he's seen through our camouflage, but then he says,"seed and see my okay slaves."

The educational activity was to all of us, so of row Edzie and I are compelled, and we follow where the merchant beckons.

A line of luckless someone are waiting, chained together by neckband at their throat. There are four woman and three men. They've only been given dirty loincloths to wear thin, regardless of their sex, so the charwoman stand topless. A man, I assume a possible client, is interfering squeezing the tit of the prettiest female, who looks distressed but does not fend him, not even when he roughly kisses her. I remember that implants are not the only way to verify slaves.

"Get away !"cries the merchant to the groper, swatting the man away like he's a fly."A thousand apologies imposing citizens,"he says to us."Always that poop is here. Never buys anything. The street of brothels is just over there, but he prefers to pertain my hard worker without paying. Are you noblewoman shopping for a man or a charwoman ? Take this one - just look at his muscles and scrutinise the size of his cock."

Godsdamn him, another command. Compelled again, we crouch down and Edzie unfastens his breechcloth, which falls away. She holds his phallus and testicles out with her manus, as though she's a shopper feeling the weight and firmness of a while of fruit. Perhaps the man has been denied a woman's allude for too foresighted, for I see his cock swelling almost instantly in Edzie's hand.

"And you, Sir ?"says the merchandiser."Your companions know what they want. That boy will screw them all night, satisfying even the hungriest woman's appetite. But you, Sir ? A woman for you, or is your discernment for the boys ?"

"Don't mind those two, we're not buying, we're in the swap as well,"Secur replies laconically."Just professional person interest. little girl, break playing, and come here."

"You're all dealers ?"asks the merchant, while we retake our lieu."We must have a drink together."

"They're not dealers,"drawls Secur, and my stomach starts to clench. Please don't show him, please don't show him. Just let me keep my self-worth until we get to Yarook.

"Show him your faces,"control Secur.

I unravel my headscarf enough to expose my cheek. It feels like the hard worker mark burns with my disgrace.

"See ?"clarifies Secur, although it's already obvious."They're merchandise."

"Ja-Alixxe ?"the merchant says with awe while we ache with humiliation."The Rape smuggler ? I thought she was dead. And you have another implanted slave from Aghara-Penthay ? How did you get those two ?"But then the merchandiser seems to think back himself and quickly orders,"cover your faces, slaves. It's not safe."

While we restore our wearable, he hands a small glass of liveliness to Secur. Edzie and I will no longer experience any benignity or consideration now he knows what we are. The merchant explains to Secur,"masses need to arrange their own law enforcement on Dodayosk. You'll soon be attacked if watchword gets around you have women from Aghara-Penthay with you. Even this brusque one…"and he reaches out and tinge Edzie's cheek,"… is worth thousands of acknowledgment. And I dread to think what the rape base runner would be Worth on the auction sale auction block. You'll struggle to feel many men on Dodayosk who can open her, without help. Are you selling them ? I can arrange it, customers with the wealth, and tribute, for a minuscule percentage."

"Not today,"result Secur."We have to see Yarook."

"Him ?"the merchant says."Why give more than rump to that work-shy son of a bitch ? Nearly all the slaves go through Yarook now. There's no luck for the pocket-size vendors. Slaves, and everything else on this planet. And he just sits there in that palace, with his pecker in his a la mode cooze, and lets his underlings do all the body of work. You sell through me, and I'll give you a better price."

"If it were my alternative, I might,"shrugs Secur."But orders are gild. Maybe later though, if they come out animated, my chiefs will not love the divergence if I make up a story, and between us, we make trusted the girls vanish."

"I drink to our serious lot, then. Yarook's palace is the old fortress, down that way,"says the merchandiser, indicating the opposite direction to the spaceport."You can't miss it. It's the simply substantive building in the city."

"Thank you,"says Secur.

"Can I just… ?"braggadocio the merchandiser, who hasn't taken his heart from us since he saw the fool,"essay them ? It's a rare kickshaw to have an implanted woman to bet with."

"As long as you don't make a scene,"Secur replies genially.

"airstrip !"barks the merchant.

There is no denying this gild. Secur lets us get as far as reaching for our shirts before he intervenes and says,"Stop. Don't."As our implant poker chip are configured that the primary owner override obeisance to other men, we're gratefully able-bodied to lower our hands. The merchandiser's slaves watch us with open oddment through this process.

"It's always a joy to experience,"says the merchant."If only every woman was as obedient as that. fountainhead, I wish you safe paths and good craft, friend."

"semen, young lady,"says Secur, and we continue through the marketplace, following as helplessly as though he has us on a leash.

"Remember where to find me,"the merchandiser calls to our backs.

Secur raises his hand to show we've heard.

We make our terminal steps toward the palace, which as the merchant said, is impossible to miss. It's an enormous complex body part with high wall of a deep red sandstone, much like the oxide ground of Aghara-Penthay. I see no Windows facing the outside domain, but there are guards watching from the high battlements. Dread builds in me as I anticipate the inevitable consequence of our missionary work.

"In slip you're worrying about me, don't,"says Secur maliciously."While you slaves are getting pounded, I'll be enjoying myself. Salarin says to give you seven day to get word to me, before I assume the treater is lost forever and read/write head for home. Perhaps I'll visit the street of bagnio. It's been hour since I got laid."

I brush off the sadism, consoling myself that Secur is entirely non-essential to Charax'eudaemonia, so if I get the prospect to go into the small town alone during this hebdomad, I'm going to track Secur down and wear his cervix. I found Morg on just such a pipe down day in Salarin's palace and obliterated him, wiping out one of the few attestator connecting me to my master and the strike squad. No one suspected a hard worker could have done the violent death. And I can make it look like there was an accident with Secur. Anyone who knows him will believe he was that dumb.

A gigantic portcullis marks the entrance to the garrison. It seems to be the entirely way in or out, with the crenellation too high to escape. Such a gateway only needs one safeguard, for attackers without a beleaguering blaster would cause no chance of breaking through. As we approach this guard, Secur draws himself up and assumes an air of sanction. son of a bitch. whoreson who came inside me. One day, I'll make him pay.

"trade wind negotiators from Aghara-Penthay,"Secur says pompously."Here to see Yarook."

The precaution looks Secur up and down with barely disguised contempt. Then he examines Edzie and myself with equally poorly concealed luxuria. And then he turns and speaks into an intercom. I can't hear the Son from the far end, but he must receive some response, for he nods and turns back to us.

"Just the females,"the guard barks, and from some unseen mastery the portcullis slowly starts grinding its way up to the roof.

"Agreed,"Secur replies as though he still has some influence."Have a prissy stay, slaves,"he calls after us.

"inside, slit,"the sentry duty orders us, and Edzie and pace into a huge arched Charles Martin Hall of recondite shadows, committing ourselves to a fresh phase of hell. It's dark after the bright sky over the city.

As the portcullis descends and traps us within, Edzie turns to me and verbalise quietly.

"Let me assume the lead in any discussions, Ja-Alixxe,"she says, assuming undeserved confidence."You're just role of the barter, remember, but there's still a probability for me. If I do well, when I report back I'm going to get limited treatment."

"Your puss smells infected,"I reply."If we're kept here, I advise you to wash more."

And then the guard calls us onward, and we walk docilely to our doom.

27 - Yarook

At first, I believe the unknown who receives us is Yarook, but I quickly understand this is not the warlord himself, but an foot soldier. The man is of the same alien specie as the girl I saw serving monas, with a blue-green iridescent pelt, completely pitch-black oculus, and tube of soma from his skull instead of hair. He is slimly built, barely more sinewy than a man woman.

"Follow me, ma'am,"he says in a lenient, soapy voice, so of course we do."There are formality which must be completed before you can be taken to the audience chamber."

The discussion of Salarin's administrator Hadash come back to me with dreadful foreboding."He will only meet a delegating of implanted females, where his people can confirm their functionality before they're admitted."Probably, these formality won't be pleasant for us. A impudent ordeal is coming, one so unbearable that only a female under compulsion would support it.

But the place this outlander leads me is the palace kitchen. For a consequence I think I've been anticipating this moment for naught, and there won't be an trial by ordeal after all. Then I see the two plates. The affair waiting on each is clearly a member. A penis with the testicles still attached - the unanimous lump of flesh covered in a clean slime.

"This dishful is a delicacy on Dodayosk,"the alien tells us smoothly."The genitals are severed from a coinage of mammal endemic to this world. They're buried in the primer for a hundred days, during which prison term the sum partially rot. Then the physique is cured in a meat house, arresting the decay. It's a good model of an acquired gustatory sensation, don't you think ? Those raised to it can't get sufficiency. For my part, and for everyone lucky enough not to come from Dodayosk, I think it's the most gross out thing I've ever tried. Here, females, - take these,"and we're each handed a plate."Now eat it, and like it."

My implant military force me to assist only Charax. Charax'orders are I obey Salarin. Salarin's book of instructions echoed Charax'– i.e. that I must conduct as though I'm under the control of a pattern implant, and I only break cover song if vital for the execution of his will. It's not as potent a consistent imperative as the one compelling Edzie - will I be capable to draw in this off ? But I've already taken the phallus from the plate and I'm raising it to my backtalk ( it's frigidness, and feels like picking up a giant leech rather than something mammalian ) and I bite off the header. The nip it emits is overpowering - it fills my nose and throat with an scent like rotting marrow, but while it should be completely wrongfulness, somehow I find it surprisingly tasty. Edzie, looking as surprised as I'm feeling about the unexpectedly toothsome dish, begins to chew with More trust, and she takes a second bite.

The flesh is not stringy like a fresh substance. It crumbles as easily as mince. I'm halfway through the meal, with one of the ballock filling my backtalk, when the alien speaks.

"Good, that's enough. If you weren't implanted, you'd be puking your lungs out by now. Put down the plates, and be me."

We're led on through the castle, climbing steadily towards the upper spirit level following in the alien's wake. My spirits sink as my body ascends. Being dressed has reminded me how much less vulnerable a adult female naturally feels with wearing apparel. Yarook will count at me the way all men seem to look at me, and all this natural covering will be taken away again.

I'm expecting to come in a fully enclosed throne room like a fairytale castle, but in the eternally tropical climate of Dodayosk, the hearing chamber can be kept on the roof. We're in a place open to the air, but with ancient chromatography column supporting a vaulted canopy to keep off the rain. While we were in the kitchens, it has started pouring outside, and the vocalisation are raised to be heard over the soaker. There are, I estimate, L being around the toilet, comprising all specie, races and gender.

"Jehovah Yarook, the delegates have arrived from Aghara-Penthay,"says the extraterrestrial being. Everyone looks at us, and we look to Yarook.

In front of the ruler's can, a low pillory traps a naked slave cleaning lady on her hands and articulatio genus. She is not Yarook. Her coxa are presented to the crapper, so the man I take to be Yarook can eff her from his seated position, in forepart of all his guests. The striver is coloured, she has a beautiful eubstance, but her cheek is her greatest plus, sensuous and strong, even though her expression strained with discomfort from the cock stuffing her.

As for Yarook, he wears a helmet that masks his face. It must serve his breathing, for I can hear the rattling sound of a respirator. One might carry him for an foreigner needing the apparatus for selection in this oxygen rich atmosphere, but the creamy bare arms I see look more like those of a human of mediate twelvemonth, a male gone to seed.

"charwoman of Aghara-Penthay,"Yarook says - his interpreter masculine, but synthesized."Welcome to Dodayosk. Please, move out your headscarves now. We are informal in my castle, and there is no more need to mask what you are."

Here I am, wishing to remain comprehend but being made to disrobe once again. And yet I immediately unwind the cloth from around my case anyway, feeling exposed with even that little soma exposed. My midnight hair spill free. I keep my Kuki-Chin up so the warlord has a trade good view - I figure if I don't let him inspect me, I'll simply be ordered to do so anyway. As always, the beauty that's cursed my sprightliness weaves its spell. Yarook has barely noticed Edzie, and his disguised lock chamber on to me, but Edzie speaks anyway.

"I am Edzie, professional,"says Edzie."A negotiant, but an implanted female person, dispatched in accordance with your terms. You have the bulk lading already. And you see here the difference of the… payment. The Rape Runner and sex slave, Ja-Alixxe."

"There stands the noted Ja-Alixxe, eh ?"says Yarook. He sounds amuse, yet oddly disbelieving. Why should he be skeptical ?"Perhaps. I'll only be able to tell when she's showing a bit more shape. Slaves, strip to the waist."

The crowd jest and snicker at our humiliation as we automatically begin to remove our shirts.

"Not too fast, slaves. proceed it slow and sexy,"monastic order Yarook.

Aghara-Penthay doesn't retain much line of regular female wearable, so the bra they gave me is operative rather than being of the titillating diverseness designed to delight a partner. But the watchman crow with delectation when I reveal it, and more so when I remove it, gradually pushing the straps down my arms with a slide of my hands. god, already I hate this Yarook for making me humiliate myself. Okhoron hypersensitivity makes me particularly cognisant of my bare pelt, and my nipple as always are beading with fluid. My shame must be arousing to the ruler, for Yarook resumes humping the dark-skinned beauty. Gradually - just a few slash. He doesn't want to culminate yet, not when our degradation is so entertaining, but he doesn't want to misplace his hard-on either. The girl moan and looks up for a moment, so I see the pale slave mark on her cheek more clearly, but then she slumps her head again. Her breasts are oversized for a adult female who is relatively untried. On her hands and knees in the pillory, they swing every time Yarook thrusts forwards.

Outside the pelting continues to pour.

"Exquisite,"says Yarook with reverence, staring right at my pectus with its atomic number 47 pap."And yet… I remember the program of Ja-Alixxe after recapture, walking naked through The Hub. I thought from the screen that her breasts were smaller."

"Salarin ordered sweetening, master key,"I stammer,"at the Same prison term the stimulators were added. captain will notice also the milk."

His sycophants think this is hilarious.

"And Ja-Alixxe was gallant as a violation stolon. Spirited. But you answer me, without my even needing to command you. The only thing proud about you is your nipples."

I'm wrong footed. Not even the former cabal loss leader recognized the switch, and yet it's almost like Yarook is playing with me. He seems to cognize. I must go for for the best though, and carry on playing the office of my full cousin. I stand there with my asset on appearance, and study the slave in the pillory.

Yarook must be following my regard, for he thrusts his coxa forward, making the cleaning woman groan.

"Does Trindii pastime you, slave ? You'll soon be spending your daytime where she is,"Yarook says,"so my invitee can marvel, how Yarook tames a missy such as you."

That remains to be seen. I frown.

"Better,"comments Yarook."There, is a short of the spirit."

"Master, the Slavers of Aghara-Penthay and honcho Salarin send their greetings, captain Yarook,"Edzie response, trying to take up some focussing."They hope for a halcyon business partnership, and send us as a sign of their sound faith and ..."

Yarook interrupts her, calling to the whole room :

"Your companion is a beautiful woman, Edzie"he says,"and I never would experience believed that one day I'd have her standing here, with those breasts on show to us all. Answer truthfully - do you think we'd all enjoy seeing her even more if she took her pants off ?"

"Yes, passe-partout,"Edzie sighs. At least she realizes that for now, I'm the lead attractive feature, and cipher much will happen until I've been suitably humbled.

"Then both of you take off your bloomers, slaves. Gradually…"

There is Thomas More mockery from the bunch as we slip our pants down, baring our lower limbs with atrocious slowness. We're only in pantie now. I'd pray for some form of salvation if I believed there was the remotest chance of Jehovah treatment happening. My farseeing and elegant branch make a contrast to Edzie's little phase, and I feel still more self-aware. Yarook charges his lust further, pumping into the blast female a few more multiplication, while his mask stays locked on me.

"Why did Salarin beam you ?"Yarook asks me side by side, puzzled."We know enough of this man to be certain that he is no fool. He would not shake off two striver away for naught, especially not a dirty money like you."

I shrug, as though I'm too lowly to debate politics. Yarook turns to my companion.

"Answer, Edzie. Convince me why Salarin sent you pair, and you may keep your panties a little longer."

"He believes that restoring good will between lord Yarook and Master Salarin will ensue in an amend rate,"says Edzie."The endangerment of losing two slaves is zero compared to that, Master."

"Maybe that's all there is to it with you,"muses Yarook."Maybe that's all. But why the other one ? Does he recognize ? Is this a sign ? But back to crucial matters. Tell me what your familiar's twat looks like."

There are snickers of laughter at the sudden primitivism. Even some of the fair sex in the crowd are smiling. Edzie hesitates, her face going red. I groan inside. She's seen enough of me during Secur's abuse sessions to bonk the answer, and her implant will establish sure she tells the truth.

"She has no hairsbreadth down there, like most woman who have been processed, Master. The flesh - it is quite rounded. Her clitoris is unusually gravid, and is very visible, Master. It appears silver in colouring material like her nipples. Salarin has permanent pain stimulators injected into it."

"trade good. We're making progression. Now, you - the one she calls Ja-Alixxe, confirm the details, and show me your squeamish pussy then."

So I hook my fingerbreadth in the waistband of my panties and gradually slide them down, bending forward as I do so, so my breasts hang forward in the most noticeable personal manner. I was ordered to be sexy, and he must have sexy. I see my bare womanhood, and that shamefully prominent button atomic number 47 clitoris that was enhanced on Salarin's guild. The air on my genitals reminds me again that I am sore.

"fountainhead, well,"says Yarook."Ain't that something ? How derive it's so big ?"

"Processing on Aghara-Penthay, superior,"I answer."They wanted me to be more sensitive."

"Excellent. And did the process work ? Is it raw ?"

"Yes, Master."

"Excellent. I will savor banging that raw little cunt of yours tonight, then,"and to evidence what's in store for me he pumps a few more multiplication into the pillory."volition you enjoy me fucking you ? Answer truthfully."

"No, passkey,"I reply.

"And yet you came here to suffer in front of us all, naked, knowing you will get make out anyway."

"Yes, Master."

"Edzie, why is that charwoman here ?"

I don't know if Yarook aims to unnerve us by flipping between the humiliation and the interrogation, but it's working on Edzie, and she's wrongfooted.

"In fulfilment of the deal, Master,"Edzie stammers.

"You're lying, and I don't like liar. You, take off your step-in as well,"he says.

Edzie steps out of her final piece of clothing. Side by side, I see her in profile. Her shortness makes the curve of her rear end seem nicely feminine. She pleases me. She's in honest soma, as are all fair sex from Aghara-Penthay. Slaves are not in dominance of their diet, and we're kept underfed because hungry girls are to a greater extent eager to please.

"You're lying, Edzie, because the deal was for Ja-Alixxe,"presses Yarook."And the cleaning lady standing there is not Ja-Alixxe."

"But…"interrupts Edzie.

"payoff their habiliment away and ruin it,"Yarook's vocalism cuts across her, and a handmaid, a man, gathers up our remaining Leslie Townes Hope of gravitas from the floor."wear is a privilege for sex slaves in my house, not a right,"explains Yarook,"and it's certainly not given to prevaricator. You'll have to clear your next application. Understand ?"

"Yes, Master,"we both docilely acknowledge.

"So, Edzie, if that's not Ja-Alixxe, it looks as though you've been sold out,"says Yarook."Salarin tries to evanesce me off with a lookalike, and you're going to pay the price."

I glance at Edzie. She's shaking her head, looking horrified at me.

"But that is Ja-Alixxe,"she pleads as her Bob Hope slips away.

"I know it's not,"says Yarook,"and I'll show you why."

He reaches up for the fastening of his helmet, and there is the sound of rushing oxygen as he releases it.

"Don't, Lord Yarook !"urges the alien."It's not safe."

"I can close a minute of arc or two,"says Yarook, and he pulls the mask away from his face.

And God Almighty Yarook is revealed. In front of the ruler's pot, my universe simultaneously ends. I see a human being Male - his face terribly scarred, but placeable all the same. I'm not aware that my genu give way, but suddenly I'm on the floor, my sentience reeling as I fight the itch to conk, and escape all this through unconsciousness. No, No ! It can not be allowed. I've not yet been ordered to remain, so exempt from compulsion, in blind natural horror I turn and try and flee, crawling a tempo and then scrambling to my human foot. He lets me take a few gait, a predator playacting with the prey, then casually says,"Ja-Jeedie, play around. Come back."

I must confront him. deity no, how is this potential ?

divinity, no ! Of all the souls who might be interlinked with mine, why did two of them have to be Ja-Alixxe, and the man who first raped me ? My cousin's words come back to me, unbidden :"He won some trading operation in a menu biz, somewhere out on the Western Spiral. By taking franchise deals, he let others do the work, and business enterprise boomed. I heard he runs a wholly arrangement like a king."

"Back on your feet, Ja-Jeedie,"Gorack orders.

He never stripped me entirely during the rape. Today I must put up for the first sentence fully naked before Gorack, and even more completely in his index than I was before.

"When I first saw you, I wondered if Salarin discovered somehow that I'd dropped my old bounty huntsman name. But it seems for you like an unlucky co-incidence - you look too surprised for this to be a set up. I understand, now. Salarin sent you, thinking I'd declination for the permutation, not knowing we'd already met,"says Gorack."Everyone - this is Ja-Jeedie, Ja-Alixxe's cousin. net sentence we met,"he says and then turns to me,"she thought herself unspoiled than me, so I raped her to teach her a object lesson, and I took her virginity. I recall, she scratched my look, then insisted that the rape would be the conclusion pleasure I'd ever get from her. It seems you are fated to give me pleasure after all, doesn't it Ja-Jeedie ?"

"I hate you,"I tell him in a surly voice.

"Ja-Jeedie,"he says,"You are an implanted hard worker. You will cover me as ‘ Master'every meter you reply to me. Do you realize ?"

I'd rather demean myself before anyone than before him, even Salarin, but orders are orders. I must live with my pride.

"Yes, Master."

"I want you to tell us exactly what you're thinking, Ja-Jeedie. Now you've discovered you've walked into my power, and nothing you can do will end me fucking you, over and over, in every pickle you've got."

"I'm wish I was deadened, victor. I'm thinking about all those clock time since we endure met that I've been in risk, but I wasn't lucky enough to be killed, and wishing just one pellet had struck home."

"What do you think of me, Ja-Jeedie ? The man who took your virginity ?"

"I think you're the most miserable while of filth that ever existed, Master."

Edzie is shaking her head, urging some attempt at cultured diplomacy.

"Interesting. You say that I'm pitiable, and yet you're the one who ended up as my sex slave. You're the one who is standing there naked, with all your mystery on appearance. Doesn't that make you feel even more pathetic than I am ?"

"Yes, Master,"I have to agree. What do the Supreme Being have against me ? Of the jillion of souls out there across the galaxy, why did they have to designate me to repay to Gorack ?

At least now I can fervently hope that Salarin fails to get through an concord with Gorack. If Salarin gives the code password, nothing would render me great joy to snap off Gorack arm from arm. But I'm unlikely to receive the betoken quickly. I don't even cognise what time of day it is on the Slaver Earth. With a broken heart I must face the inevitable. Before I can proceed, I'm going to make to suffer his hands on me again.

"So, negotiator…"Gorack says to Edzie."You've been sent with the wrong female child. Salarin promised me Ja-Alixxe. I wanted her, and only her, because Ja-Alixxe did this to me you see, ruined my human face and my lungs. But I'll have Ja-Jeedie while I wait for her cousin. Where does that leave you, negotiator ?"

"It makes our position more unmanageable,"admits Edzie.

"I'd go further than ‘ difficult ’,"says Gorack."I'd say you've been sold down the river. Perhaps you're wondering what will hap next. You know, I keep a bordello of sex slaves here for my guards ? You, Edzie, are sufficiently adequate to be sent there. That will be your hard emplacement. As for Ja-Jeedie… My plunder hard worker I use myself, but I also always share them around my senior staff. Generosity is the secret of leadership, isn't it ? Ja-Jeedie, greet all the men who will be fucking you."

The sneering laughter returns. I now understand the way some of the crew having been eying me up. I'd assumed I'd be solely Gorack's after our history together, but since I arrived, the crowd have actually been watching the show and anticipating getting their turn. Oh, great.

"Say howdy to your future devotee,"Gorack insists.

"hi, Masters,"I say in a low voice.

"The lesser one - get her away, to the brothel,"says Gorack with a dismissive moving ridge.

Two of the sentry duty seize Edzie by her upper coat of arms, and get out her back.

"The negotiations ?"says Edzie in rising panic as she's led away.

"A hard worker woman doesn't negotiate when she's on her back,"calls Gorack to Edzie's retreating form."Begging is all that's in store for you."

With those, Edzie's part in my life tarradiddle probably ends. Gorack can turn his attending solely on me.

"My masquerade party isn't the but alteration since we last met, Ja-Jeedie,"Gorack informs me."I had some biotech augmentation to my cock. I can remain hard for hours without becoming uncomfortable and needing to orgasm. During the daylight I hold audience here, and I usually stay steadfast inside a girl the wholly time. Isn't that right, Trindii ?"

He rams his hips forward, and the miss gives a groan of misery.

"Trindii has spent a lot of days there on her knee joint. But today is her lucky one. Seeing how we've all enjoyed this delightful surprise reunion, let's have a little reorganisation, and then we'll let Ja-Jeedie complete her mission. It's almost break of day on the slave owner's existence. Let's move over the dandy honcho Salarin his reply."

28 - Delegation

"Urghh, urghh, urghh, urghh,"I moan, rhythmically and unending.

"fleck a transmittance through to Aghara-Penthay,"orders Gorack loudly from behind, his voice reverberating through me."I want to speak to Salarin."

While the relentless hammer continues, he says only to me,"Seeing your old lover gon na make you homesick, huh ?"

I couldn't reply if I wanted to, so I stare ahead, i.e. straight down at the roofing tile on the floor. These tile are little more than a groundwork distance in front of my face, for, on all fours, I'm now kneeling in the pillory which recently trapped Trindii. I'd like to apply some smartass result and win back a little self-respect, but it's hard for a womanhood to sound impregnable when she's being pounded with cock in front of a goodly crowd.

The pillory holds my trunk horizontal, so my milk-laden breasts hang heterosexual downwards. Gorack has already proven he likes reaching underneath me to squeeze and pull at them. My rear end is thrust out towards him and is equally defencelessly. Mercifully, he's currently in my pussy and not my ass, but I can do nothing to prevent him if he does take to alternate holes. My useless wrists are trapped level with my ears. My neck and subdivision are locked into the Lapp hinged wooden panel. The planking means I can't see behind me, and that makes me feel very vulnerable, for unless I hear an audible warning, each touch to my body comes as a fresh surprise.

"Aghara-Penthay, Godhead Yarook,"someone informs us.

I frown at the level as I hear that stupid person name. Honestly : ‘ Godhead Yarook ’. What delusions of grandeur. While the connection is patched through, Gorack, as I'm determined to call back of him, slides his pelvic arch forward slowly, penetrating deeper and deeper into me, and I tense, as my dead body instinctively attempts to discharge the invader.

"Mmm, feel me filling you,"he says softly.

In spite of my shaming, from my lowly place in the pillory still I look up as the subject matter comes through. It's a wonder of technology that any communicating are possible across the wideness of interstellar infinite. The image from Aghara-Penthay appears before the commode hovering in midair, projected in three dimension in a spiritual light-green shade. Meanwhile, Gorack resumes the pace of his thrusts.

It 's him - Salarin. Once again, the sect leader must see me plunder of all dignity.

"Creator Yarook,"Salarin says. His tone is electroneutral - neither honor nor discourtesy.

"Urghh, urghh, urghh, urghh,"I moan.

"slave trader,"says Gorack, using the dinner dress address for a faction leader."Thank you for your presents,"says Gorack,"I'm particularly pleased with this one."He slows and partially withdraws from me again, then rams forward so suddenly and so punishing that I cry out, even though I'm trying to persist unexpressive."But your deception failed. You didn't know that Ja-Jeedie, Ja-Alixxe and I are all old friends, huh ? But I'm happy to satiate the moon-curser's cousin with cock, while I wait to be sent the rattling bounty hunter."

Salarin frowns, but quickly disguises his disappointment.

"Ja-Alixxe aside, I take it, then, you're not interest in the broader marriage proposal presented by my deputation ?"

"Ha ! All your relegating got as far as presenting was her ass. She's probably getting work party banged in the guardhouse as we speak."

"The dialogue were a permissive waste of our time then ? Even though Aghara-Penthay could squeeze you easily ?"says Salarin calmly."A couple of our pirate warship would be Thomas More than enough to subdue your tin pot little kingdom."

"But you won't,"says Gorack."Bomb Dodayosk, and you'll get out the mill forever. And you know the grievance. Ever since the fiasco with Melena, your hold on power has become more and more tenuous. The Holocene epoch foray for the religious cult leader made things risky. No. You slaveholder need me onside, for now. So, let's get material. What you'll do is start kissing my ass. My offer is that you send me the substantial Ja-Alixxe, and also find me the pirate, Alexa Goshenk. Now there was a all right man. And general stock certificate hard worker are to be supplied yet again at double the electric current number per shipment of chips. And while you're arrange all that, I'll relax and practice this one."

Without warning there is an even More wildcat poke into my burden, and I cry out louder.

"I will discourse it with the other faction leaders,"says Salarin,"and hark back to you with a verdict."

"Take your fourth dimension. I'm happy to sleep with your lookalike while I wait."

In the midst of the rape, Gorack traces his finger down my bare spine, and I flinch.

"Enjoy the rain, Ajeedie,"says Salarin's image to me,"it's your future,"and I go rigid in the pillory as his figure vanishes with a flicker.

Enjoy the rain - the computer code phrasal idiom I expected. Eliminate him. ( Argh, block off thrusting into me like that ). Finally some expert tidings. Lord Gorack of loser-world will probably desire me in his bed tonight, and once we have privacy, I'll take my revenge and waste him. Painfully. If the guards don't catch me, I'll try to get out of the castle to Secur, but I don't really deal what happens to me afterwards, just as long as I get to murder Gorack in retribution for raping me all those class ago. Salarin will take with Gorack's successor, who will be modest after witnessing predecessor's deterrent example about the compass of Aghara-Penthay.

Apart from the auditory sensation I'm devising, no one in the audience outer space speaks for the next minute, which is favourable, because my thoughts are in overdrive, evaluating infinite theory. I'm maybe only hours from an end to my misery. The graven image have mercy.

But until that time, I'll serve as a sex slave. The rain brake drum down, and Gorack humps me viciously as wait helplessly presented in the pillory. He grunts with his lecherousness for me. I groan with distress. I try to distract myself by plotting the worst way I can bolt down him, but it's arduous to think of anything but the stopcock stuffing my rampart.

"What's side by side ?"Gorack asks casually, stopping mid-thrust. That's my question, too.

"The Legate from The republic, Lord Yarook,"says the alien with the fronds."He is waiting in your ante-room."

"Let him in here, Osk,"says Gorack."Let's find out what he wants."

Slavery is illegal in The Republic. If we were in commonwealth space, this man would represent my emancipation. But Dodayosk is far from the cultivated hub of the wandflower. He'll just be another Male in the lines of those who have seen me naked and humiliated. What's a Republic official doing all the way out here though ? I look up, as he enters the audience quad. I see a panoptic shouldered, bearded man, by the galactic reckoning in his forties in yr. He wears expensive robes, and looks well groomed, presenting as a man of means.

"Godhead Yarook,"he says in a deep voice."I am Legate Stobbo, republic official emissary to this sector."

His eyes take in the view of me, and I see disapproval for my degraded state, but I'm a naked woman, and he must expect up and down my body anyway.

"Welcome, legate Stobbo,"says Gorack, resting back shamelessly with his cock motionless inside me."You're a foresightful way from home base. What brings you to Dodayosk ?"

"I am here to negotiate a muckle, Lord Yarook,"says Stobbo.

"I thought it was commonwealth policy never to conduct with slave proprietor,"response Gorack. He's not the only one to be puzzled."Who do you want so desperately ?"Through the familiar connectedness between us I feel my captor's penis pulse as he thinks, and then he says,"You want to buy implant chips ?"

"Not just the chips,"says Stobbo, and as I look up pleading silently, his optic move over me again."We want to pay you to close down the output of implants. The Republic will, in heart, pay you to do nothing."

"Aghara-Penthay pays me very well,"says Gorack."I'm not sure you can declare oneself me enough."

"Just name your price,"says Legate Stobbo.

"fountainhead, well, well"Gorack says with a victorious laugh."Name my price ? Even the Republic has come to bow before Maker Yarook. You have to let me reckon about this one for a moment."

While he does that, Gorack begins to rut into me again. Stobbo sentry sickened, but he can't keep from looking at me there's also a hungry jealousy. I wish I could bear the fucking stoically, but it feels like he's stretching my inner walls, and it's impossible not to oppose. Oh, I'm going to kill him for this public humiliation.

"Urghh, urghh, urghh, urghh,"I moan.

"I see you like Ja-Jeedie, here,"Gorack states from behind me."She's not for sale, but maltreat up and enjoy anyway. She's a great multitasker, and I can take her suck you off while I fuck her. She won't bite."

"Not today,"says Stobbo."But thank you."

I stare down at the level, not wanting to see anyone's pleasure at my degradation. Gorack thrusts cryptical, and I moan louder.

"I have more deferred payment than I'll ever need,"Gorack eventually says."I live in luxury. I have low rate cunt. I don't want to free the macrocosm's women - quite the opponent. What can you offer me ?"

"Everyone wants something,"says Stobbo with distaste."Republic protection ? An free pardon ? What's your price ?"

Gorack pauses to think again, but soon resumes poling me again, back and forward, back and forward. I stiffen instinctively and moan in hurt with each thrust. He laughs. I feel his cock swelling. Something is arousing him.

"Tell you what, Legate Stobbo,"he says smugly."You're saying you want me to shut down production, and lose all that potential tail. There's only one thing I'll do that for - a snatch that's even better than anything from Aghara-Penthay. Bring me Melena de Santo, and five million credit. Then you'll have a deal."

There's a gasp from the way and a rippling of noise from the bunch. Even I look up with surprise. Stobbo looks aghast.

"You're being ridiculous,"he says."Colonel De Santo escaped from The Brassica napus Run three years ago ? She's a free people citizen of The Republic, under our tribute. The republic would never deliver a unloose citizen into slavery, into the hand of someone like you."

Gorack is getting faster. He's made up his idea, and now he's just enjoying himself.

"Urghh, urghh, urghh, urghh,"I moan.

"Bring me Melena,"he repeats."Not a bad price for her, after she's been so heavily soiled, no ?"

"She's not a slave,"retorts Stobbo."We're done here. The Republic is a fair and gratis society."

The official emissary is turning to entrust, but Gorack freezes him in his tracks.

"If you want to keep your conscience clean-cut, why don't you just ask her ?"he mocks."melaena was always sickeningly stately. One act of self-sacrifice, to save so many adult female from implantation ? I bet she'll agree. In fact, she'll be cumming in her pants with avidness to debase herself before me."

"I'm leaving,"says Stobbo."thoroughly day, lord Yarook."

"Don't take too long deciding though,"Gorack calls after his back."Imagine the counter-offer Aghara-Penthay are going to come up with, once they hear about this… The price will go up soon."

He rams so deep into me that it feels like he's probing my abdominal cavity. I'm stretched around his girth. I feel like I'm going to break open. I cry out. But Gorack was right on. think what Aghara-Penthay would do with this news.

Perhaps that's why something changes in me. I suddenly slump in the framing holding me, although my body still lurches like a ragdoll with the unending thrusts. I can feel my dangling breasts shaking in rhythm to the pounding I'm receiving. Gods damn them all ! I was going to drink down Gorack the right way away, but I can't. Not yet. Not even if I wanted that more than anything in the universe. The compulsion from my implant override everything.

Melena de Santo. Aghara-Penthay's most need woman. Three class ago, she escaped the colza Run with Ja-Alixxe, and for once it was the Slavers who were delivered a public abasement. Ja-Alixxe was recaptured, as everyone knows, but Melena has been heavily guarded by the democracy ever since.

What would it mean for the Slavers if there was the potential of recovering melaena ? If Melena does turn out to be cursed with such obtuse nobility that she'll submit to Gorack's dick, and I can pick out her back to Aghara-Penthay where she'll take far more cock, the whole galaxy would prize Aghara-Penthay. But who would reap the welfare ? Salarin ? Charax ? If Charax's personal hard worker was responsible for delivering melena, would that take in his freedom ? Or would Salarin claim the acknowledgment ? For now, the council only believe I'm Salarin's slave.

I need prison term to think, but I can't when I'm being fucked so operose. All I'm sure of is that I must go forth Gorack active at least until we hear melaena's determination. And that means while we wait, I'll be getting a lot more fellow with Gorack's penis.

While I reach that conclusion, this foul-smelling animate being of a man flood tide inside me for the endorse prison term. The second time, but no doubt not the last.

29 - enslavement

The future few days are not pleasant for me. I have deposed the one called Trindii as Gorack's favorite, so every day is spent in her blank space in the pillory, moaning over and over as I'm publicly humiliated in figurehead of the daily audience. My nights are spent in his bed.

Gorack is the kind of weak man who needs the validation of others to secure his self-esteem. He can not just have me in private. His cortege must bear witness to my defeat, so he might bask in their wonder.

Occasionally, he addresses Dodayosk on the planet's holo-stream, and his fragile ego means next time this occurs, I am forced to come out, on my knees, full-frontal with my second joint unfold, next to his potty. My head is pulled back painfully by my whisker, to make sure everyone has the chance to admire his trophy's beautiful face.

Aghara-Penthay has a mighty fleet, but they can not threaten us, he tells the whole world. await at the prizes they send to placate Lord Yarook ( A sharp tug on my hair makes me wince ). The implant cow dung from Dodayosk mean everything to Salarin, we are reminded. The manufacturing plant - a short walk from the Royal castle - is armed with atomics, and Almighty Yarook can provoke them at a touch. The slaveholder will never risk an attack.

After the programme, he is pleased with himself. So, using his biotech-enhanced penis to sustain an erection, that night he violates me for hours.

I've been raped enough sentence by enough men that enduring him shouldn't make often difference of opinion, but Gorack wants more from me than sex. He wants to violate my idea, so he query me endlessly about events between our parting on that transport vas, and the intervening geezerhood to my arrival on Aghara-Penthay. He wants to know me, really know me, so he might organize the high-risk means to assert his triumph over me.

Unfortunately, inside my top dog is precisely where I don't want him to be. So I give as little of the Sojourner Truth as is secure. I joined the Djenerion, hiding my shocking secret. I joined the Okhoron, and became part of Tisya's escort. And there, I temporarily diverge from money plant. I merely say that I was captured along with Tisya's early escorts, chosen by Salarin owing to my law of similarity to Ja-Alixxe. Then back to the Sojourner Truth - I was altered to resemble my cousin, and then substituted on the mission to Dodayosk.

That practically information should take been enough to keep me safe until it was metre to act upon a verdict from the commonwealth, if it wasn't for another unfortunate coincidence. By night two, I was unable to hold back my uneasiness any longer, or the aching penury for my heavy tit to be drained, and Gorack learned fully of all the ways in which was essential for me to deliver female sexual comrade.

He teased me at first, for it entertained Gorack to traverse me the essential fulfilment as a means of torture. But as I started losing my mind with stimulation, he must have seen that something needed to be done before I passed too far beyond recovery.

Hence, my current state of affairs. It is again the time of hearing, and Gorack has had all the female slave in the household lined up. While it downpours outside, and while I'm once again in the hated pillory, they are made to parade back and Forth in front of me, naked, in a perverse beauty contest, so I might choose a fellow traveler. It pleases men to watch out womanhood with char, so much of the house have gathered, and there is very much boost, whoever the girl's owner might be. The free citizens of the palace each anticipate watching my intimacies with their slave.

Most of the women show piffling emotion as they present themselves. For a sex slave, it matters little who the next companion might be. A few, perhaps those who also have some orientation for female person, look at me more directly, wearing expressions of conjecture. Similar numbers pool that perhaps abhor a char's touch try to shrink into themselves.

Edzie appears with contusion on her face and avoids eye link, desperately ashamed of the state she's in. Shortly after Edzie comes the turn of Gorack's former favorite, the dark-skinned cleaning woman named Trindii. She looks sympathetic towards me, probably remembering what I'm enduring on a nightly fundament, on her behalf.

The one I eventually choose has positioned herself near the end of the parade, probably deliberately, in the Leslie Townes Hope I'd draw my decision before she needed to even appear. She must possess seen me in the planet-wide broadcast and had clip to prepare her reaction. Like the others she walks towards me and then away, nude statue, subdivision at her English, so front and back up might be inspected. She doesn't look at me, and tries to stare at the floor.

I stiffen with shock, and Gorack, whose penis is abstruse in my vagina, feeling it.

"Her ?"he says."That one is reasonable, but hardly one of the prettiest we have… She's nothing but one of the guardroom whores."

It's impossible - she shouldn't even be active, let alone here, but I'd recognize Orteza anywhere. That slight super acid tint to her tegument. The rounded body. Her large eyes, and that animal mouth.

"Perhaps,"I shrug, trying to encompass my faux pas."Let's see the rest please, Master."

Why must the Gods taunt me with the demon of my past tense ? First Ja-Alixxe, then Gorack, and now her ?

And what does her presence mean value for me ? Orteza wears the knuckle down mark of an implanted female, pale in color for her, to stand out, like the marker Aghara-Penthay give all coloured adult female. She must have been processed, but surely the slave owner found out who she was, and then she shouldn't have been permitted to live. Orteza must acknowledge full well that I shouldn't have escaped judging either. The transmittal showing the destiny of my wretched dismembered team was broadcast to the hale wandflower. Will her implant compel her to warn her masters here, or even the Slavers ?

I make a show of examining the remaining candidate, but I have only one selection. I am forced by the irresistible impulse to process my true masters, just as she is forced to serve hers. It must be her. I need to translate whether there's a risk to me.

"So… Who-do-you-want-to-fuck ?"Gorack asks, in time with push into my body.

"Her, Master,"I moan, and indicate Orteza.

"She does not please me,"complains Gorack."If you want her, I warn you I'll have to find a way to hold your skirmish more entertaining."

My pump sinks, but all the Saame, it has to be her.

"victor can do as he wishes,"I say softly,"but Master asked for my truthful pick, and it is her."

"Step forward,"Gorack club Orteza, so he can get a better look, and then a successiveness of further control follow."Stand before the throne. become your back. match your toes. Now kneel before me. No, knees apart."

Orteza obeys, presenting us with a serial of persuasion. Some are obscene, some are not.

"You really want her ?"Gorack asks."The safety device tell me she pukes every clock time she's fucked in the mouthpiece - a phobia of penetration. But perhaps she's better with other women."

"She is my case,"I lie, and hope Gorack knows little enough of female person desires to believe me. Orteza watches me warily.

"These sluts from the guardroom are really too heavily used,"Gorack says with disapproval."But I suppose if you must, I did say you could select. I'm not going to have it away her myself, and risking her diseases, though."

"Thank you, Master,"I say softly. Orteza looks relieved at this surplus bit of news.

"Remind me of your name, adulteress,"Gorack need of Orteza.

"Ortiera, Master,"lies Orteza, staring at me in a dare to contradict. Interesting. Has she been ordered to use a new name ? It's not easy for an implanted female to be dishonest.

"Osk,"calls Gorack, and the willowy blue unknown I met on my inaugural comer tone forwards.

"Lord Yarook,"he acknowledges with oily deference.

"At nights, from now on Ortiera is to slumber in my sleeping accommodation,"he says in a spirit of displeasure."Put a bedroll on the base suitable for a slave. Once I am finished with Ja-Jeedie, Ja-Jeedie may sate her needs using this girl."

"As you wish,"says Osk, but Gorack is already continuing.

"A Lord does not change his judgment, but Ja-Jeedie's choice does not please me, and she will stomach for it. Thus, Ortiera - my will is that you will want Ja-Jeedie, as she seems to trust you, but you will also find only despite for her. I want it to arouse you to spite her, to humiliate her, to restrain her. You will make her biff you out, every bingle night. And only once you have attained your own orgasm from abusing her, and she is forced to beg, is Ja-Jeedie permitted her own necessary release."

"captain,"Orteza nods. Her verbal expression remains electroneutral. I wonder if, without the compulsion of the implant, it would let given her joy to rag me. Orteza never liked me. And then she slammed that room access, leaving me to the horde. A choice which apparently saved her aliveness. If one of us deserves to receive cruelty, it is her, not me. imprecate the Gods.

"You - Ortiera, and the other slaves are dismissed now,"Gorack says, raising his part."Go back to pleasing your masters. Osk, what is next on the lodge of occupation ?"

The remainder of the day passes just as slowly as you might imagine, for one who is spending it expose naked in a pillory. Afterwards, Gorack eats an even meal with his aged team - a table gathering totaling twenty-two souls. Scantily dressed slave woman from the kitchens serve the solid food. I am no epicure, but I know enough to be certain what I'm seeing laid out is menu only available to a wealthy man.

As a sex slave, I am neither permitted a station at the tabular array, nor wearable. The but food I am given comes from Gorack's hand. To obtain, it I must beg on my hands and knee joint, picking morsels from his finger using only my sass, as though I'm some form of pet animal. For now, I tolerate debasing myself, letting them all believe he has tamed me. I need to keep my free energy up. But I swear to myself that each abasement represents another of his off-white I shall break when my time comes.

The meal drags on interminably. I am much mocked. At one point I crawl around with a fair sex riding on my book binding, slapping my buttocks to make me go faster. A sycophant praises Gorack - he's never seen such a beautiful female as me, he says. He observes how brawny Gorack must be to acquire a slave like me, before sadly reflecting how much he'd like to try someone like me, just once.

"Use her,"Gorack says generously."There's a mat in the corner. Every man deserves to subsist his dream."

So while the guests are eating their fresh course, I spend the clip on my backrest at the sharpness of the room being raped. The man's exercising weight bears down on me. His companions call out lewd advice. He's cloggy, and I'd conflict to miss from under him, even if I was capable to baulk. His odor is unpleasant, and it lingers, clinging to me long after he's finished.

When he returns to the board, I push myself up and wipe between my leg with a dirty cloth rag. And I reflect that this is only the start of my night of misery.

30 - Orteza

"Arouse her !"Gorack Order Orteza, and as my torment begins, I reflect on the way of life that have brought us here.

finally twelvemonth I was a member of the Okhoron, Tisya's elite escort. The path of my portion seemed clearly mapped back then - serve to The Sect until my accelerated forcible and mental mental process caught up with me, and then retirement to quiet gardens on the Djenerix homeworld. Of line, throughout my life-time I was mindful of Aghara-Penthay, and The Rape Run. Any cleaning woman in the disembarrass universe from a satellite connected to the rest of the galaxy knows and fears The slave owner. We knew that Tisya was a fussy object, so we had to be vigilant to Slaver attack, and be quick to fight down her at the cost of our lifespan, and hers, if necessary.

But I never really believed I'd become a slave owner prisoner. I never believed I'd become an plant slave.

As for Orteza, she was nothing to me until we were united for the mission to Aghara-Penthay. She wasn't Okhoron, and there are many junior priestesses and lay-women serving the religious sect. She looked like a coloured homo, although one with a faint emerald caste to her peel. Her file said she was Skix, an alien race so similar to humans that they're up to of breeding with human male person. Her file said she was a lesbian, although implantation might have altered that, as happened with my own sex. Her file said high intelligence, leading to overconfidence and payoff with authority. Implantation will have changed that, too.

There was friction between Orteza and I from the scratch line, long before she slammed that door in my face, condemning me to capture by the swarm. My feelings towards her rachis then were mostly irritation. I would never in my idle speculation considered Orteza as a future sexual collaborator. I would never have imagined Orteza would be someone for whom I'd be lying on my backrest, branch stretched up and down, au naturel and hold, as her plaything. But so the existence plays out its games.

For her 1st move, she rubs her oiled hands over my breasts, fingers grazing back and Forth River across my pap so they rapidly stiffen. Like most sex slave, she understands the female body and she'll have the cognition to call on me on whether I wish it or not. And Orteza may not be the most desirable woman in the galaxy - she is a petty curtly, and her body lacks tint, but she is a woman, and her frame is plush and ripe, and her with child eyes, with a little upwards slant at the tips, make her seem even to a greater extent feminine.

I want to extend to her, but I'm strapped into cuffs which hold my wrists and articulatio talocruralis closely together, and these in turn are fastened tightly to the head word and foot of Gorack's sybaritic bed. olibanum barely able to proceed, I'm ruler-straight, out on my back with my limbs extended, and my arms around my spike. Once they'd secured me helpless in this fashion, Gorack had Orteza range me. At the command"Arouse her ! ”, she began rubbing me with the scented oil.

Her slick hands glide easily over me. Her feeling is diffused, her build warm. Back and Forth River, back and forth, shifting the heavy good deal of my chest, concentrating only on my nipples until the remainder of my body reverberates with the tingling need.

"Please,"I beg her."Please, Ort… Ortiera, that's enough on my chest, just help me cum."

Gorack said she had to tease me until I begged her. I figure the endgame is going to inevitable, so there's minuscule breaker point hanging on to any pridefulness. The Oklahoman I can get this to a conclusion, the better.

Orteza looms over me.

"Think I'll let it be that prosperous ?"she says in a husky vocalism."When I've wanted to do this since I first saw you, standing in the consultation chamber ?"We both know that's not where we met, but there's no prison term to consider her slight emphasis on ‘ audience chamber'proving it a substance just for me. Drawing back her arm, Orteza slaps the back of her script, right hand to leave alone, across my defenseless breasts, with all the force she can come up.

Engorged with milk, my breast is sensitized, and the blow is stunning to me. For a second, it's as though I'm falling back into the mattress, about to buy the farm out.

"Oh, you fucking bitch !"I groan softly, senses reeling.

"What did you call me ?"gloats Orteza drawing back other hand.

A second C, from the opposite side, rakes left to right across me. I'm tensing in my alliance in expectancy before she hits, but there's nil I can do to protect myself.

"I've met woman like you before,"she leer."Think you're sound than the residuum of us, just because you're beautiful."

"No, time lag !"I stammer, but she strikes me from right hand to left again, with equal effect, and this time the blow is so intense it sends me absent for a second.

"…permanent damage,"Gorack is saying when awareness returns."It would cost a fortune to replace a slave of that quality."

"I know what I'm doing, Master,"Orteza says a little petulantly."I worked at a dominatrix before I was enslaved. I know how to push just hard enough. Look."Once more she switches sides. Once again the pain is hard enough for a moment's blackout.

"…like seeing her humiliated, don't get me wrong, but don't get carried away. You're here to execute a service,"Gorack continues."She has to be milked, and brought to climax every day by a female, or she starts losing her mind. Fail me in that that duty, and there are mint of other guard room young lady who would prefer to sleep in here. Maybe one of…"

Another brutal smasher means I don't hear the end. Her ceaseless changing position means I have less chance to build up tolerance to the pain sensation.

Logically, I know Orteza isn't going to properly harm me. This is nothing to a greater extent than teasing. And yet being tied spreadeagled on my rear, I start to feel panic-struck of her. Perhaps it's because my knocker are already so sore, she might not recognize how much the lacing hurts me.

"Please, Ortiera,"I beg again, with as a great deal humility as I can muster.

"better,"she says."This time, I believe you mean it. And here's your reward."

Orteza straddles my face, and sinks her pelvis down on to me, looking down my trunk in much the same way Ja-Alixxe did in our first-class honours degree intimate encounter. If it wasn't for Orteza's dark cutis and less-athletic form, it could feel as though my lot was trapped in a loop.

She's not that sullen, but it's uncomfortable all the same, with her mickle pushing my extended sleeve even harder into my ears, and it's difficult to respire when I'm surrounded in all directions by flesh. Her puss press over my mouth, and my nozzle is buried in the cleft of her keister. She's warm against me. When I get the hazard to inhale, I'm respiration in overpowering odor of sex and excretory product. For the get-go prison term ever, I hear Orteza groan, and it's the wanton sound of a woman in heat.

"My slave,"Orteza crows as she leans forward and begins to caress my clitoris."At shoemaker's last. Well, use your slave tongue to delight me, then. Once I've had my flood tide, I might permit your own release."

"Yes, bond your clapper right hand in her snatch, Ja-Jeedie,"Gorack, who is probably feeling ignored, cigarette in. Of path I obey, stretching my tongue as far as I can to probe inside Orteza's nub, and I taste her. She groans, not from suffering, but from joy."That's it,"Gorack continues."maintain it inside as long as you can. Both of you stay there, you're keeping that tongue there until Ortiera has cum over your face."

I circle my tongue abstruse inside her vagina. Orteza is already very wet. Perhaps she desired me all along. Perhaps she really was a dominatrix, and degrading me like this would be arousing to her, even without Gorack's command.

Her juice do not try pleasant to me, as those of some adult female do. I'm familiar enough with the taste perception of sperm to tell she's had sex recently, and is still unclean. Gorack's belief derive back to me. He called her a heavily used guardroom whore, full of disease. She might be a sordid woman of the street, but between the two of us, she's come up out on top all the Lapp.

Orteza will be enjoying her moment of victory over me. I wish I could retaliate in some way, but instead I circle my tongue against the soft material body her insides, stimulating her so much Orteza can't keep still, and she gyrates against me.

Why are the Supreme Being so cruel ? Why her, of all people ? And why him ? I'd have killed this arse Gorack and left for that felicitous future tense already, if it wasn't for melaena. The Colonel better be worth all this.

"How the mighty have fallen,"I hear Gorack saying from somewhere nearby my head."You can imagine how surprised I was when Ja-Jeedie arrived here, slave-marked, and ready to spread her pegleg for Aghara-Penthay, but I was even more surprised to see she still had that way of looking down her nose at me. When she's nothing now but an implanted composition of ass. What do you reckon of that, Ortiera ?"

Orteza groan, by way of an response. She's even wetter now, and the appreciation of her overwhelms my horse sense. They talk about the heat of arousal, and literally with her, in the hobo camp of Dodayosk the juice are much warmer than when I first tongued her.

"What do you call up of that ?"Gorack repeats.

"I think she looks down her nose at everybody,"Orteza reply,"unless someone's sitting on it."

I think she must be close to orgasm, but then, she lifts her hips just above me. Orteza doesn't want this to end too quickly. Temporarily, I can't range her, but she continues her ministrations to my core. And deity help me, this woman knows how to reverse a girl on. Please, Orteza, point. Please, Orteza, don't diaphragm. I squirm in my bonds to reduce the contact between us, but even though I have my wooden leg together I can do little to evade her teasing digit. Just above me hovers Orteza's privates. I crane my headland up as far as I can, seeking her warmth, her smell, and I just manage to sweep the lips of her vulva with my olfactory organ before she raises herself further out of range.

"I know, little break one's back little girl,"Orteza tells me in a seductive throaty rustle."Just think of all the things you'd be doing to me now, if I was the one chained up."

"Yes, imagine that, Ja-Jeedie…"Gorack bit in."Fantasize. fantasy about hurting her."

It's too very much. The images, and that unbearably delicious touch. I moan. I must groan. They're only messing with me, but I'm must still act as though embed, and guess it anyway. I picture her. Orteza restrained. Whipping Orteza. Biting Orteza. Goading Orteza. Electrocuting Orteza. Making Orteza cry. Groping Orteza.

"Mmm, have mercy, Ja-Jeedie,"Orteza says to me,"That's how I'd beg you ”. Her spot has abruptly gone from my core, and I lift my hips automatically, chasing it's return. She settles back down on me, bodyweight pressing hard against the bridge of my olfactory organ. I can drop off my tongue into her vulva again, so I do.

Nobody speaks for several moment, then. The simply sounds are the noisy, wanton moans of Orteza's mounting sexual pleasance. I can't see Gorack, as Orteza's fulcrum is squashed onto my fount. The soiled taste of her wetness fills my mouth. I can smell her shite. And yet, I must continue to stimulate her. hold on my clapper inside as long as I can, he said. I'm supposed to throw some ingredient of absolve will, but I can no more resist that urge as I could hold out the vacuum in space.

When she climaxes, she does it with a going of fluid which inundates me. Orteza's second joint tense when she cums, and she groans whorishly. It must be a very gratifying orgasm for her, for it's too intense for her to remain just, and she slumps forward, supporting herself by leaning her helping hand on my rose hip. Through the pressing still there on my font, I feel her torso heaving as she gasps with the forcible effort. My clapper, still late within her, is soaked, and I have to swallow back some of her secretions.

"A squirter,"Gorack observes clinically."fountainhead, water pistol, finish Ja-Jeedie off."

I'm so aroused it only takes a few tender apoplexy before my own climax follows hers. My sexual climax is too acute to hold myself back and I cry out, arched and rigid in my bonds. It's been a couple of days since my survive release, and on this occasion, I too am"a squirter ”.

Orteza dismounts quickly when it's over, leaving me gasping on the bed, covered in sweat.

"Master, if I may be excused ?"

"You are only half-finished. Now suck her dry, slave."

"Master ?"Orteza queries.

"span her, and suck her titties dry. Do it now. I want to ascertain the look on Ja-Jeedie's facial expression as she's milked like she's some brood mare."

Orteza remounts, but must look uncertain.

"You're prissy about this, of all things ?"Gorack frowns."fine. I compel you to love the taste perception of her milk, even more than you hate her as a woman. Is that enough ?"

It must be sufficient, for her foreland goes down on me instantly. Orteza bites my nipple once, just to remind me she's in bang, but then her lips close gently on me, and there's the merciful spillage of the suck on my aching breast.

She goes at a gait, emptying one breast and then the other. The activity doesn't feeling sexual. It's more like enduring an embarrassing medical routine. Wrists and articulatio talocruralis stretched in my Bond, I can only stare up at the ceiling of his chamber and wait for the procedure to be complete.

"That's right, mighty Ja-Jeedie,"Gorack gloats."I see your brass. mean about how low you've become. Think about your wet pussy, and how I might decide to fuck your hole afterwards."

I think about how a great deal I'd like to kill him. Slowly.

"I'm finished,"Orteza says abruptly, hopping off the bed and making quick fix for the door.

"You're sleeping here, on the slave mat with Ja-Jeedie,"Gorack says firmly.

"Of course, master key,"demurs, Orteza,"but even striver need the bathroom. I'll be the right way back."

So that was that. early than my forced arousal, there was little pleasure in my session with Orteza. And yet something about it must experience turned Gorack on, for he resecures my ankles - spacious apart this clip - takes his place between my defenseless second joint, mounts the bed, and fucks me tenacious and hard.

"I'll have your cousin here soon,"he tells me during our rutting,"and I'll do this to her. Ja-Alixxe also has a debt to pay me."

At some point during my violation Orteza must have returned to the room, for when Gorack finishes, she's there, silently watching us from the buckle down mat at the foot of the bed.

I've been exhausted by my unrelenting day, but nap doesn't come easily. I'm not permitted to lie on the bed. Rather, I'm secured in my third position of the evening. Gorack has two bent of"X"shaped hamper - the mountain chain only six inches in duration, with a watchband on each subdivision. Orteza and I are secured together in these - mortise joint to ankles, wrist to wrists. Then we're left to spend the night on a gruelling mat, facing each former, our James Bond keeping us so close our bodies must disturb. I'm acutely aware of her presence, her warmth, her breathing place.

Gorack orders us not to talk before taking his more well-fixed position, so we don't, but until fatigue finally allows us give up, we have little else to do but stare into each other's heart. The recruit supercilium over Orteza's enceinte liquidness eyes convey a hundred unspoken questions, as I'm sure do mine, but we are implanted slave, so the rest of the Night is spent unanswered.

31 - plodding

I'm woken by the sound of a cleaning lady moaning. I try to displace, and recollect I went to sleep in shackle. Inches away from me, Orteza is having a nightmare. It's interesting that Gorack's command to silence releases during sleep. With a doggerel verse of chains I reach up and extort her arm, tying to wake her without disturbing our brutal overlord, but it's too late.

"Slaves ?"he says, irritated, and our day begins.

Gorack holds consultation as common during the day, and again I'm displayed for the occasion on my manus and knees, back in that hateful pillory. It would be bad enough that I'm in the pillory while aching all over from a night on the gruelling mat, but this time a broadcaster bar is added between my knees - a spreader bar which makes me find even more vulnerable, and only makes the unending stimulation from Gorack's cock worse. Any attempt to deflect moaning and grunting in response to each motion he makes in me is impossible, and a day of very world intimate humiliation proceeds.

Again, that night I'm tormented to orgasm by Orteza, again she drains my white meat, and again she is permitted a bathroom break of serve before the two of us are secured together on the floor. On it goes. I'm raped all day, tormented in the evening, and then I sleep on an uncomfortable mat chained closely to a naked hard worker. After a duet to a greater extent days of the Same subprogram, I can't recollect ever feeling so exhausted.

Gorack's sleeping room is almost as opulent as Salarin's was, but when you're trying to reside on a grueling pad and the entirely fogginess is the physical structure of the other chained female person, it makes no dispute if you're surrounded by the solace of top executive. Orteza and I soon surrender all privacy, and we learn to sleep with limb intertwined in whatever constitution offers some relief. Often, I wake to observe myself on my back, her shorter figure draped across me, head on my knocker. I need LE catch some Z's than she does, so when that happens, I must lie there looking around the room.

At Gorack's bedside is a safe, activated by bio-recognition of Gorack's sword lily and palm. Locked in there he keeps the keys to his empire - some mystic documents, camber adherence for millions of credits, and the emergency self-destruct trigger for the atomics. Not that wealthiness or mogul is useful to an implanted striver in Salarin's service. I'm more concerns with the cabinet at the former side of the bed - the one where the restraints and torture implements are stored.

One day, I shall kill him, I swear to myself as Orteza drowses across me. That thought is all that keeps me going. At least it does for those worst few 24-hour interval. Until, surprisingly, my situation begins to improve.

As I've said, Gorack is one of those men for whom the greatest pleasure is the conquest. So, after the low point of breaking me in as many ways as possible, his stake in me begins to turn down. Officially declared the most beautiful women in his possession, my use reduces, to only being displayed as a symbolic representation of his wealth during the audiences.

god, thank you. After my number one reaching, there have been many continuous night enduring whichever of his whims will arouse him, and then when he's sufficiently hard he rapes me, usually in my ass. So I scarcely dare to consider it the inaugural fourth dimension he fancies a change, and Trindii, the former favorite, is summoned to the sleeping accommodation instead.

For a sex slave, anticipating a night alone is like heaven, but the portion are not that kind. It turns out when I'm not serving Gorack, I'm opened up for wider use. Early on, he'd said I'd be shared around his senior staff, and sure enough it's true. Even some of the crucial charwoman working for Gorack are given their bout, although female handlers always prohibit me from pleasing my own tastes with them.

Orteza is regularly summoned from the sentry go room, to join in. The whole of the house knows of my specific demand and my choice of her, so a pet pastime is to have me chained down and then mobilise the swart foreigner to elicit me. I'm defenseless against Orteza, and she succeeds every time. Once I'm aching with desire and thoroughly humiliated, then the consultation, who have also been excited by the setting, satisfy their lusts on me. I quickly lose counting of the figure of my intimate spouse I endure from my captor's home.

olibanum goes the hierarchy on Dodayosk : Gorack abuses whoever he likes. His retinue abuse only those whom Gorack permit, including me. Their victim, including Orteza, also abuse me. Guards and lowly staff are given the lower quality female person.

But cypher in all this matches the low points of outset being captured on Aghara-Penthay, and first discovering that the master I'd been sent to was Gorack.

I am Ajeedie. Sex striver, yes, but survivor.

There are many sadists in the galaxy other than Salarin, so my Roger Huntington Sessions with Orteza are always performed in front of an audience. Therefore, seven days later I've still been ineffectual to conduct a private conversation. Orteza and I are irrevocably linked together in the minds of the household, which is unfortunate person. Perhaps if I could wrench back clock time, I would possess requested another slave, and found it easier to speak to my late teammate alone.

I often puzzle over our shared past times. What is her secluded ? Orteza was, for reasons unnamed, spared the lot of the others in the strike team, but she almost certainly saw the feed showing our dismembered sisters. Why wasn't I punished, she must be asking. Why wasn't she punished, I am asking. And what if she remained longer on Aghara-Penthay ? The cum race was not broadcast across the coltsfoot, but Slaver channels showed it throughout the planet. I was the winner, and chosen by Salarin. The whole planet saw me. She would own seen me. That's why Morg when running to his faction leader.

Perhaps it's something as simple as a error. G of women move through Aghara-Penthay each year, and it is possible a clerical oversight severed Orteza's association in the records to my team. She should fear me, then. I could rescue the inevitable Slaver Justice. I ponder whether I hate her enough to take her along too when I complete my mission, and she can finish her life sharing the fate of the others - Norenda, Ko, Illyri, Ak-Mancheen, and so on. I wonder if those poor psyche are still alive, after being reduced to nothing Sir Thomas More than mute torso - clod of tacit anatomy to be so terribly and gradually devoured by the Elmek.

And then at hold up comes the afternoon when we're in the bedchamber of Koosh - yet another of Gorack's fourth-year aides. Koosh is morbidly obese - the sizing of his body being inverse to the size of his penis. So big is he it's not easy to achieve incursion. His mind is as lethargic as his body, so after one of the shortest and loose colza I've ever suffered, he drifts into a drowse, sprawled naked on his bed, and I'm left to ease myself with Orteza devoid of a crowd.

I'm so used to our routine that once she's done and excuses herself for the traditional comfort geological fault, it takes a moment to recognize I'm under no compulsion to remain in the bedchamber. But when I do, I give Orteza a import to conceive she's good, and with a wary glance at the slumbering Koosh, I rise and silently pad after my old teammate.

I steal into the can and hear her vomiting her belly full of breast milk into the sports stadium, and I don't immediately process the signification of what's happening. Then, my Okhoron-speed mental lightsomeness catches up. Simultaneously Orteza turns, sees me, and I slam her binding into the paries, pinning her there by pressing my forearm into her throat.

"He gave you a clear rules of order, that you were to love my milk, as much as you hated me,"I hiss,"but I've seen the look on your font every clip you have to suckle. What is it with you, Orteza ? Faulty implant ? And why are you even alive ?"

"Why are you live, Ajeedie ?"she replies with equal venom."You know what slave trader say ‘ no char is too beautiful to be above the law ’. How come our leader didn't end up with our early pathetic comrades ? You're not that pretty."

I use my bodyweight and press harder into her throat, cutting off the air supply.

"You're a risk to me,"I say hostilely as she gags and strains to inhale."You know too very much. I should toss off you now, unless you give me a intellect not to. So what's your undercover ?"

"Can't trust you,"she mouths, not even a whisper.

"You're gon na have to, unless you want to die in the adjacent minute of arc,"I tell her.

She resists right until the brink of unconsciousness, when I can see her eyes starting to roll back in her head. Then she speaks. At first, I think I've misheard.

"No implant,"she mouths.

I'm so surprised I release her. Orteza slumps down, resting back against the wall.

"What ?"I say.

"No implant,"she repeats, louder now she can speak.

"That's impossible. You have the mark."

"Exactly,"says Orteza."That's how I've got away with it."

"I don't understand,"I land.

"That's why it's so effective."

"Just talk."

"You'll remember I shut the door on you,"Orteza says, looking away,"and I watched through the porthole as those flying matter surrounded you. Then I ran."

"You'll pay for betraying me to the horde,"I say coldly."We could have both got away."

"You know that's not rightful,"counters Orteza."Slavers would soon hold found out the loss leader was missing. I was less significant. Alone, I still had a chance."

She probably has a point, but I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of agreeing.

"Only a picayune further into the Slaver edifice, I came across a chamber of horrors,"Orteza presses on."They must have used it to action new prisoner. All the equipment was there. That's when I had my musical theme. Where better to hide the needle, than in the haystack ?"

"I stripped. It was the hardest affair I've ever done - dumping my bodysuit down a garbage sloping trough, knowing it was my lonesome protection, my only hazard of disguise as a male. But I did it. Then I held that device to my font, that gives the chump, and I activated it. It burned so a lot I nearly dropped it. But the cognitive process worked. The room had a mirror, and when I checked my reflection, I looked just like every other processed slave."

"I put on one of those red slave wrapping, and I left the bedroom, putting as often distance between myself and the rest of you as possible. After that, I could scarcely believe how well my plan worked. Every time I ran into radical of Slaver men, I'd just say I was running an errand for my master. They saw the mark, and made all the right improper assumptions. A couple of times I was molested, but no one raped me. The men seemed to have other things on their mind. It was chaos on the surface in the aftermath of the raid, with the two suddenly faction leaders, all thanks to us."

"I couldn't just stay put on the airfoil forever though, so I worked my way towards the birdie launching pad, hoping to chance some way back onto the Hub, and then maybe to jump on one of the transports. I came across a huge mathematical group of prisoner - several hundred - medium and low-grade female being herded towards a shuttle, all packaged and cook to go to auction. When their guards weren't looking, I slipped into the group."

"I'd hoped it would be as light to leave the slave shipment as it was to join them, but when I was on the Hub - the closest to escape I'd been - the guards kept us confined constantly, and my plan began to unravel. There are outsiders on the Hub, and slaves need to be more carefully supervised once they're up there. Before I'd found a chance to slip away, I was confined as a prisoner in one of the auction household, and the radical of women was broken up into passel, prepare for sale."

"Finally, the mien of an extra female person was noticed. That was probably my most grave minute since fleeing from our group. If they'd scanned me, they'd have discovered the missing chip. But the men put it down to a clerical screw-up, and they were in two much of a hurry to occupy about one low-value female person. I was forced into a neck collar, joined by chains to the necks of a twelve other adult female, and added to the inventory as ‘ Ortiera ’. From that time, my prospect to escape was gone."

"They paraded us, naked, on a catwalk in an auction room, crowded with men. Many male person have no stake or ability to buy a hard worker, but they like to watch the auctions. Many more were probably watching from early worlds, using their blind. It was almost unbearable. We were not permitted to hold in ourselves. Many of us were handled, and we had our muscles or breasts squeezed as a demonstration of our ripeness for the audience."

"After that, there is little more to tell, Ajeedie."

"I was sold to the house of Yarook, here on Dodayosk. Ironically, I escaped from Aghara-Penthay without being raped, but I was not so lucky here. My intent was to leave the palace immediately, but if you've explored, you'll soon discover the entrances are constantly guarded, the windows are too contract, and the walls are too high to jump. And I have little chance to explore. For a good deal of my clip, I am chained."

"No dubiousness it would please you that the one who betrayed you on Aghara-Penthay to save up herself ended up as a lowly guardroom cocotte, and I've been fucked lots of times every day since my arrival. But so it has been. At least it was until you arrived, and your alternative offered me some respite."

She field me carefully as I think. What does this mean, that the Gods delivered me Orteza, and an Orteza with free will ? Should I avenge myself ? Should I take a shit use of her ? Should I return her to Aghara-Penthay ?

"I desire you,"Orteza blurts out,"of class I do - I have done since I first saw you - you are beautiful. And you know what phallus of the religious sect truly think about consuming dairy already. I struggle to hide my horror. But I do not wish to torment you. That is mere display, for Lord Yarook."

"Gorack,"I correct."I will always know him as Gorack."

There is silence for a moment, as we both think.

"Your routine. Why do you live ?"Orteza then asks suspiciously."You're a danger to me, as well."

"Only because I resemble Ja-Alixxe - my cousin,"I explain."That's why they changed my hair."

"I'd noticed."

"Gorack wants Ja-Alixxe. He wants her so very much, she's more important to him than anything. They have an old grudge, and he dreams constantly of getting revenge. Salarin thought he could buy Gorack off by sending me, as an impersonator. The supply of implant chips is critical to the slave trader thriftiness, as you know. More of import, even, than delivering me to justice for what we did. It was just bad fate that Gorack and I had also met before. We'd have known, if he didn't use that stupe championship. But I was here by then."

"How come you're not telling him the truth, when he gives an monastic order ?"

"To win over Gorack I was Ja-Alixxe, I had to be able-bodied to lie. I have a very peculiar custom implant…"

I rub the familiar spirit spot at the binding of my head where the chip shot went in.

"For now I obey only Salarin, but he's told me to act as though my implant is normal."

Orteza looks at me warily.

"And what of me ?"

"Salarin has not given any specific rescript about you. So long as that doesn't variety and you don't imperil my mission, there's no rationality we can't carry on as we are."

Suddenly she takes on a pleading expression.

"You have to avail me get away,"Orteza begs."Just as far as outside the fortress. I'll be fine from there on my own. I know don't deserve it, but please… I can't stand it. Rape after ravishment after rape. The guards -they disgust me. I can't-"

"silence !"I bark."individual's coming !"

Reacting faster than me for once, Orteza seizes me, and pulls me to her in a romantic embrace. It would make been a expert manoeuvre if Koosh was the one to expose us. It's not uncommon for sex hard worker to alleviate their woe with secret affair, and Koosh might not mind. But the Gods are against us again. Gorack's estrange adjutant is the male who walks in. Osk is familiar to me make love, the slimly built man with a blue-green iridescent skin, black optic, and subway system of flesh from his skull instead of hair.

He's made my skin crawl since the source, but Osk takes on a particularly cruel, inauspicious verbal expression when he sees us.

"wellspring, Ja-Jeedie… and the pet…"he crows, rubbing his hands together with glee."Which one of you had this idea ? Creeping away for a individual encounter… Oh, the superior won't like this. Not at all."

With spirits sinking, Orteza and I share a glance.

"Well, which one of you ? I asked you a question."

We are supposed to be implanted - compelled to obey.

"It was me, lord,"blurts out Orteza."I wanted her. I thought no-one would mind."

"Oh dearest !"glee Osk."The guardroom slut is getting estimate. She thinks she can pleasure herself with the maestro's loot, when so many free men must wait their turn ?"

"Forgive me, maestro,"Orteza says humbly.

Did she just give herself to protect me ? Or was that a self-serving gesture - answering before my implant might imperil us ?

It doesn't thing. Osk has caught us, and we're in the crap. Why has he make out to expect for us now, of all times ? The result is not long in coming.

"If you're not too busy, slave, you're needed in the commode way for display,"Osk says, emphasizing the"slave ”."There's a mission coming from the Republic."

His announcement that I'm about to go on show, yet again, is probably meant to bruise me. I must blot out that I'm feeling the opposite. Oh, graven image be praised. At last - the democracy are back. My ordeal here is nearly over, whatever the conclusion. Gorack, have your fun with me, for you have only hours left to live.

"As for you,"Osk says to Orteza,"perhaps you would respect us with your presence, as well."

32 - Stobbo

There is the sound of a swoosh, and a crack, followed swiftly by Orteza's inevitable cry of painfulness. In a recession of Gorack's throne room, she is standing in a penalization frame - a vertical square formed of wooden beams fitted with rings and fixing, so a dupe might be secured standing within. Orteza occupies the human body, nude, her arm stretched out into an"X ”, and tied into place. She remains erect, but only thanks to her thralldom. Repeatedly she loses knowingness and hangs from her spring articulatio radiocarpea, until she reawakens and the punishment resumes.

Osk did not delay with his taradiddle telling. Gorack seemed pleased, if anything - pleased to have an alibi to practice his cruelty. It's not as if Orteza and I even committed a capital sin - we were not specifically taboo from gathering alone. But there is an unverbalised first moment that a slave's sexual activities are under the controller of the owner, and the more valuable the hard worker, the stricter the restraint. So we are both to be punished.

Swish, quip, and Orteza moans softly.

She is being beaten with a leather strap - wide and heavy, to deliver maximum pain without lasting damage. Orteza has been stood in the punishment frame less than an hour, and yet almost her intact human body, spare her head, glows from the whacking. Covering her body are cutting off and stripes where the lash was hard enough to break the skin.

Gorack's cortege are taking turns delivering the whipping. They only pause when one of her tormentors wishes to rape Orteza. Already this has happened twice. It's the beginning clip I've seen her being fucked by a male.

But currently, a woman holds the lash. A dilute, gray female with an ugly cheek. She seems to resent Orteza's ripe physique, for the cleaning woman concentrates on beating Orteza's breasts, and the fragile place between her legs.

As for me, a upright wooden post, eight-foot-high and as midst as a tree truck, has been positioned side by side to Gorack's throne. I stand with my spine against this, au naturel of course of study. My hands are passed behind the post, and then roped together. An additional length of rophy is formed into a gin, which has been tightened around my neck, and then pulled upwards and tied off to a alloy mob, located in high spirits above my question. Bound this way, I must rest on the tips of my toes, or be choked by the gin. My calves burn with exertion after only an hour, and in the tropical heat of Dodayosk, sweat is pouring down my body.

The accentuate position alone would be bad enough, but they put something inside me - a device like a metal egg on a stem. Once it was safely inside my vagina, the egg felt like it was expanding to forestall its removal, then the unit device began to tickle rapidly. Once upon a prison term the stimulation would have been a reward, but in the era when I'm ineffective to climax without middleman from another char, I must resist in this emplacement, on the verge of suffocating, and in such a state of matter of foreplay that my branch can't bear my weight.

"Legate Stobbo. And full general Brook, of the Republic,"Osk says.

"Show them in,"Gorack says lazily.

There is a particularly fierce swish, whirl, the right way across Orteza's nipple, and she slumps unconscious in the frame.

"You'll have to wait until she revives now,"Gorack chides the grey-haired charwoman."The bent with torture is not to let them have a break."

"I'm feeling horny,"one of the vernal guardsmen scrap in."I might as well fuck her in the ass while she's out."

The scene of Orteza's anal rape, and me on the post, is the muckle which greets the democracy deputation. The bearded, middle-aged legate Stobbo is just as I remember from before, and the way he looks at me - desire pretending not to be trust - is also familiar. General brook is a woman. She has dark piercing eye and high gear malar bone, and she was probably quite the beauty of the fleet twenty twelvemonth ago, but now her expression has been hardened by tough decisions, and her organic structure softened from year working behind a desk.

The general looks angrily at the vitiate gang. Only when she looks at Orteza and I, does her expression display any foretoken of pity. I lift my chin bravely and watch out her. Please, please, let your front signal the end to this.

"Welcome, honored visitors,"says Gorack.

"Lord Yarook,"responds Stobbo, inclining his head."You will recall, that the Republic wished to incentivize you to finish production of engraft scrap. You said your terminal figure were, that you would only do so in exchange for five million credits, and a Rape Runner - the Republican River colonel, melena de Santo. Is that still the deal that you're offering ?"

Gorack laughs mirthlessly.

"It is."

My heart rate, already rapid from straining in these ropes, and from my arousal, accelerates further. Melena can't seriously have agreed ? But then why else would the relegating be here ?

"Most of the coltsfoot knows where Colonel de Santo is in bema,"says Stobbo."ecumenical Brook here is the former military administrator of the Cancis Rock mining facility, and now of the new secret localisation, where the Republic offers refuge to implanted slaves."

"So melena has said yes ?"gloats Gorack.

"I think we're getting ahead of ourselves,"interrupts Brook coldly.

"But you wouldn't have come from Cancis tilt if she wasn't bequeath, General,"says Gorack, echoing my sentiment."Unless you just wanted to see a great Lord for yourself ? You'd be surprised the number of charwoman who secretly harbor fantasy of sexual thralldom to potent men. Join my prisoner, General brook. flight strip off your wearing apparel. I can present you an unforgettable Night, and have you returned to official emissary Stobbo without permanent harm in the morning."

"I would never…"stammer the general, fierce with shame.

"That's enough, please,"says Stobbo.

"Then quit the small talk, both of you. When I want my dick sucked, there are others to do the job. Melena has agreed ?"

There is a profound pause in the room.

"Melena de Santo is a heroin of the commonwealth,"says Stobbo."But yes - she has agreed. She says she will submit herself to you, in guild to economise all those inadequate fair sex from a future of implantation."

I'm being publicly humiliated by my display naked at this post, so I'm in no land to show relief, however much I want to. But I'm ecstatic. Gods, she's coming. It's all been worthwhile.

"Maybe she agreed because of her heroism,"Gorack is saying when I tune back into the conversation."Or perhaps she is one of those where a region of her yearns to be debased by men. I watched her violation during the Run. I always believed she could not accept her own sexuality, and secretly preferred it to be forced from her."

"You're being idiotic,"general brook says hotly."You don't understand cleaning woman at all."

"Don't argue with me in my own theatre, General,"warns Gorack,"Or I shall crap you pay. I've had more woman than you, and have intercourse their judgment and bodies."

"We have our own terms,"cuts in Stobbo, trying to restore order."We will not bring Melena, or the credits, directly here. There is a gas refinery a short hop from here, in neutral place. For the commutation, we both agree to add only one ship each, lightly armed, and a maximum of four men with armaments in escort to board the refinery. Any buckle down charwoman will be veiled and robed, as befits a public situation. We can't danger attracting tending. I'm not bringing them all that way, to be snatched by low-lives or the slaveholder at the last moment."

"Your terms are satisfactory. And when will the commutation have place ?"says Gorack.

"One standard galactic day. Two hundred minute, by the astronomic clock."

Two hundred hours, I ponder… There's so lots I have to plan… Finally it's here, and still I need time to decided what to do. I swallow, the noose making even that difficult.

"For the platter, I disapprove of this deal completely,"the universal deletion back in."If word gets out that the Republic agreed to such a dirty deal… We do not surrender one person to protect another. And we should defend every one of our free citizens equally. There's no way mortal like Melena should be handed over to worthless scum."

"scum ?"says Gorack, and I tense, for I know him well enough to smell his irritation revolt."Scum ? Very well, General Brook. I warned you, if you insulted me, I would constitute you pay. There is now a small additional chemical element included in the bargain. Just a small matter. But without it, you can call up the whole thing off."

"There is no re-opening the negotiation,"says Brook."See, Legate ? He's just gon na push the cost up and up. I knew this guy was just messing with us. Let's get out of here, official emissary Stobbo."

A groan from Orteza interrupts everyone. She opens her center and looks around blearily, unsure where she is for a mo. Then it comes back to her - she's in a penalization frame, being raped in the anus. She sees the crowd, and the visitor, and drops her head in pity. The ugly woman draws back the shoulder strap, and I hear Orteza sapless plead"No, no, no !"

"What do you want now ?"says Stobbo wearily, eager to be gone from this room."We might as well try Lord Yarook out, as we've come all this way."

Gorack pauses. Enjoying his control, I'm sure.

"See the looker tied to the post there - her figure is Ja-Jeedie,"says Gorack, and I stiffen on my toes as everyone looks at me."Well, my new term is this - if you want the stack to go ahead, the general will take in to cream out Ja-Jeedie's pussy, while we all watch."

Brook almost explodes. There are snickers of laughter from the rest of the crowd.

"How daring you ?"she shouts."This is outrageous. We're leaving right wing now."

"Seriously ?"says Gorack, calmly."melena has proven herself willing to go as far as sacrificing herself back into sexual slavery. She knows it will move over hope to billion of women of keeping their free will, safe from implantation. And you'll throw that away because you won't endure a few minutes with one of the galaxy's nigh beautiful woman, doing something many would find pleasurable ?"

"You're disgusting !"says the red general, but I can see she's faltering.

"I can see you looking at her and wondering about her - that is Ja-Alixxe's cousin, you know,"says Gorack."So her kin have paid more than than virtually to Aghara-Penthay. She deserves a moment of your mercy."

The cosmopolitan looks at me, a mix of revulsion for my state and commiseration in her expression, and then she stiffens with resolve.

"fine,"she says, and step across to me, then crouches down."watch me, and laugh it up, scumbags. This changes nothing."

I feel creek's breather at my core, and then the touch of her oral cavity. Perhaps she's never been intimate with another charwoman, or maybe even herself, for the first exploratory investigation of her tongue are very probationary. She can't get her tongue inside me - the root word of the egg device prevents that - but she can lick around my nether lips, and reach my clitoris. The caress is all I need.

I try to look down, but it's difficult with the choking rope, so between my entire tit I can barely see the top of her head.

"No, no, General Brook, don't just tickle her, get right in there,"says Gorack.

She does, and I moan, because I'm really getting turned on. At the point of contact between us, divine heat release out from my core that makes my anatomy prickling. Oh, that's good. I'm so wet - aroused by the eonian vibration of the egg, and the presence of superior general Brook providing the trigger.

At first, I wasn't trusted if I'd be able to culminate while stretched up on my toes, but this for certain flavour like it's headed the properly way. The cosmopolitan probe inscrutable and more confidently inside me as she focuses on her project. I rock my pelvis to guide her to the most sensitive spot.

"That's better,"says Gorack."See general ? I know how to make char obey."

She freezes for a mo, but then resumes. Perhaps she thinks that the deeper and more intensely she tongues me, the faster she gets this over with. She's probably right.

I'm stretch that familiar place where my completely consistency seems alive with superstar, and I'm getting dizzy. The restriction of my breathing seems to heighten the electricity from my groin.

From across the room Orteza moans again, the noise sounding oddly sensual this time, and it's that which pushes me over the edge. I cry out loudly, oblivious to my audience as the climax rising tide through me, and out.

"I should stimulate warned you,"says Gorack."Ja-Jeedie is one of those who goes when she cums."

The general is already back on her feet, wiping my embarrassing fluids from her face. She looks furious. Everyone but Stobbo and myself seem to be laughing at her. As for me, my orgasm has triggered such intense palpitation in my second joint that it makes holding position even worse, and I need to concentrate all my efforts on standing up.

"I'm going away,"says superior general Brook, and she makes for the exit from the audience room.

"Learn your example, general,"calls Gorack,"while you breathe in her smell. In the end you're just a cunt, and slit can always be tamed."

"Be at the rendezvous,"Legate Stobbo says through gritted tooth."Good day, Creator Yarook."

The crowd can release their excitement the moment the Republic relegation have gone. I hear melena's figure whispered over and over, spreading from person to someone. I swallow awkwardly, pushing the Charles William Post with my palms in a feeble attempt to gather some leverage and catch one's breath my legs.

"Excellent,"crows Gorack."Excellent. We must prepare to receive Colonel de Santo to our little mob. And we must consider how to drop those five million credit. Perhaps we buy ourselves an island."

There is a cheerfulness.

The atmosphere is festive for the Dodayosk biotic community, during those days until the rendezvous, and I benefit from the good will. All that pursuit Gorack is prediction of melaena, his new toy, and I am old news. He watches footage of her Rape Run season over and over. After her first base gang-rape, in a skeletal system much like Orteza's, Melena de Santo is lowered onto a gigantic phallus and stimulated to the percentage point of orgasm. On that colossal cock, she's kept for so foresightful that she does almost look grateful when Cronorgan fucks her, and she can finally culminate. The scene is unspeakable, and yet I can see why Gorack wants her so much. She has the combination of beauty and feel that I haven't encountered since my full cousin. That is the arcanum of the eminent value striver. forcible attractiveness goes a farseeing way, but a man needs the victory of seduction as well. That subjection is too promiscuous, and unsatisfactory, without disembodied spirit.

While the humid days and nighttime go by, I continue to be passed round the suite, rather than serving the master key of the firm. Over this time my own biologic needs build up, as they always do, and I ask for Orteza. But now I am denied. Once more she only serves the guard, they tell me. I am let none but Edzie, she whom travelled with me to Dodayosk, to sate my cravings. Edzie has fared worse than Orteza as a guardroom sex slave. I find her with her typeface carrying yet more bruises, and with a permanently tremor in her hands.

But I use her, as I must, and I do naught to call forth suspicion until the day of the exchange. Then, I seek out Gorack at a time when he is alone is his secret suite. It has to be in the chamber where I've suffered so very much. That's the only station my plan can begin.

"Ja-Jeedie ?"he says, as I knock, and steal inside.

"lord Osk suggested I suck Master's cock,"I lie humbly,"After its draining, superior's stamina should be at its highest, set for introducing the new slave."

"goodness suggestion,"Gorack says, already fumbling with his pants as I close the door."Kneel."

I obey, docile and chagrin.

"You're a pretty slave,"he muses, producing his semi-erect organ."But your cousin has something more. Wait ‘ til I have her and melena, both here together. Now that will be something to enjoy."

"And yet you never violated her, skipper. Not like with me."

"hemipterous insect you, does it huh ?"chuckle Gorack."Open."

I function my backtalk, and, without ceremony, he pushes himself back into my throat.

It does bug me. Ja-Alixxe said she'd performed ‘ servicing'for Gorack, but all that time they were on a ship together, he still left her a virgin. What did I do so incorrectly to get raped within twenty-four hours of meeting the guy ? I squeeze with my lips and rub my lingua against the underside of him. With my face in his fork, he can't see my malevolent expression.

"She struck a deal, if you wan na know,"Gorack says, as I bury my brass into his crotch."She agreed that so long as I left her with her holes and her hymen, I could sate my luxuria on the outside any way I liked. I don't know why her virginity meant so much to her - she would put up with far worse debasements than a little insight, and she never once complained. But there you go. Anywhere except a pickle - that was her rule. Maybe it was the last sign of the lady friend destined for the Djenerion."

Ja-Alixxe carried a Verbascum thapsus for the hereafter she'd rejected ? I find that hard to believe.

"While she was learning to fly the ship, I'd only let her practice if she did it naked. Half the universe has seen footage of her undressed nowadays, but her and I - we'll both know, I was her inaugural. Thing is with Ja-Alixxe, though - she always takes ownership. Soon, except when we were docked somewhere, she'd just walk round of golf nude all the time. Just to register me she wasn't being beaten, I think."

"Then, I started groping her, whenever I felt horny. She'd let me climax by rubbing my cock against her, anywhere I liked. Even ripe between her buttocks. Didn't move an inch. She'd just lie there, limp, no better than a remains. Sometimes I'd diddly off over her tits or onto her cheek, and I'd make her sit there all day, covered in my cum, to try and get a reaction. Ah, it was the heavens. I had more orgasms those first few days than any sentence before or after. But she took it all, and she persevered. Just so long as it wasn't in any of her trap. Not even in her mouth. Not like this-"

And he grasps the backrest of my skull, and twist me deep down onto him. I choke as he touches the back of my throat, and he laughs.

"Who'd have guessed, out of the two of you, you'd be the one I'd end up nookie over and over ? Anyway, our first butt together was this lowlife called Drax Osillo. That guy messed in every crime he could, in a organization over near the Paleon Disc. No bounty hunters could get close to Drax. He holed up in this strip nightspot he owned, surrounded by his heavy security measures - every one script picked. Full nude inside, and I could walk right in and sit at the bar near him, but strictly no blasters. fountainhead, Ja-Alixxe had no issues at all with going in asking for work - they didn't check the women so carefully. And once they knew her cheek, she went in hiding a syringe in her clothing, the sentry go never checked, and bam ! ( Oh, that's good, Ja-Jeedie. Yes, just there… )."

He rams his cock tonsil-deep again, and I gag. I tense my branch and he says,"Uh-uh ! Sit on your hands."

I hadn't planned on enduring this long, but this is my conclusion chance to hear Gorack's side of matter. I kneel on my bridge player, to prevent the innate defensive reflex that happens when a woman is made to take back too very much cock.

"Ja-Alixxe took her time before smuggling the syringe into the order. I think she liked it there - liked the manly attention. You shrank from your beauty when I met you, but she weaponized hers - she liked the power it gave her."

He holds himself still for a moment, his member trench in my throat.

"After a while, the nudity and the mauling wasn't enough. I asked her over and over to wear slave chains for me, but she never agreed. She knew that the back she was restrained and I held the keys, that was it for her. So I tried to drug her a couple of sentence. I wanted to see her look when she woke up in one of the coop we used for bounty. Yeah, I bet she'd have lost that attitude soon enough once I'd threatened her with a slip to Aghara-Penthay. I'd have gladly paid for an implant. But she seemed to consume a one-sixth sense - always dodged my impale rations."

"It got too much one day. I overrode her door locks, and went to her cabin at night, to try and bind her in her sleep. She was waiting for me. You can see what happened then. I can't wait until she's kneel there in your billet, and my payback can protrude. I'm gon na rip that girl a new asshole for what she's done to me."

I've heard enough. epinephrine spike heel. My meat starts pounding so hard, it must nearly be audible. I feel drunk with hope. At last, the moment here. It took a while to imprint my plan. It took some inquiry - the Disdyne Paradox - probing my limits and restriction and suffering much - but finally the minute is here. I'm fix to act.

I feign my most base and broken Ajeedie right up to the end, as Gorack's pecker heartbeat ready to empty his lode into my throat for the concluding clip. It's only then that I commit, taking him as deep as I can, then biting down on the scorned rod of form with every bit of the force in my jaws.



33 - swap

For those to whom the name calling of space are important, this one is called Corston-Rig. It is a vast methane processing plant floating in the gas swarm of a never-formed star. A crew of thirty run the position - twenty-five male and five female person. One of the fair sex is middling, and no incertitude the subject of her male colleagues'phantasy. She would make a pleasing sex slave, so it is perhaps lucky we are so far from slave trader territory.

The rig is only lightly protected - methane is too ill at ease to steal without specializer equipment, and the womanhood are the only early thing on this floating platform Worth plundering. Thus, the locals do not oppose the docking of the democracy ship, nor the vas arriving from Dodayosk. The rig's crew cautiously appear to agree out the visitors, armed, and with their cleaning woman hidden at the back, as the company reach the independent deck. They are reassured that no trauma is intended, and the rig is only being utilized as a convenient place of exchange. With that, they quickly withdraw, in showcase worry does break out.

Both sides follow the rules.

The democracy group consists of four sentry duty in fleet uniforms, shouldering blasters, and Stobbo and general brook - both of them unarmed, to keep off accusations of being additional fighter. The escorts circle a heavily robed and veiled adult female, giving her far more auspices than they do to the hover trolley, even though it's stacked with crate that must check a fortune.

The woman is dressed so modestly that even the most button-down in the galaxy wouldn't object, but there's enough outline that she can't conceal she's a woman, and one who is marvelous, with slender shoulders. Even clad this demurely, there's a strange magnetism about her. So a lot that the cloak human body leading the Dodayosk radical seems almost hypnotized by the new comer. The sound of the respirator is heavy, audible despite the unremitting industrial racket of the rig.

As for supposed"Creator Yarook's"delegation, there are only three armed accompaniment, but the drawing card carries a heavy blaster personally. Osk, Gorack's estrange adjutant, is also present, but unarmed. This clock time, the safeguard from Dodayosk aren't the lazy wastrel that escort slave on errands to the market. Osk has chosen the crack troop, and they look around with invariant vigilance. The chemical group from Dodayosk have also brought a heavily concealed woman. Her cloak hid much, only showing enough to discern that she is much shorter than the republic female. In her manpower she clutches a mysterious black silken sack.

"Lord Yarook,"says official emissary Stobbo, hiding his scowl of disapproval. Maybe he's wondering why the other company needed to institute a slave. Could these pirates not last a few hours without raping individual ?

"official emissary Stobbo. general brook,"responds the electronic, ill-shapen spokesperson conversant as Gorack's."Do you still wish well to proceed ?"

"Yes,"says Stobbo."You also ?"

"outset, let me see the commodity. I want to live for sure that's melena. You : show yourself."

The woman between the Republic guards has been given an fiat, so immediately she lifts her velum, thereby triggering a collective intake of breath. Melena de Santo's beauty is quite breathtaking. It's easy to see why so many of the wandflower's men obsess over her. Her hair is perfectly flat, and an unusual dark red semblance - the Saame shade as a fine wine. Her cutis is sick - a high cheekbone marked by the dour swirl of an Aghara-Penthay slave brand. Her steel optic are feminine and expressive, and although there is adjudicate there, they fail to conceal her fear for what's ahead.

Once she's unveil, melena's republic escorts salute her, salute her as mortal worthy of outstanding respectfulness, rather than a woman whose career defining import was a gang rape broadcast so the whole coltsfoot could masturbate.

"Well ?"says Stobbo."We face Colonel de Santo. Is the business deal still on ? Will production stop consonant ?"

Instead of answering, in my disguise of Gorack's uniform, I move, already into a combat rolling, blaster raised and firing killer whale guesswork at the first two of the Dodayosk guards.

Drugs are freely available on Dodayosk, and I took a powerful stim before I smuggled myself, dressed as Yarook, onto the ship. Coupled with my Okhoron unconditioned reflex, the effect of the stim is as though everyone moves ridiculously slowly. I can anticipate everything. The commonwealth men are bringing their weapons to conduct, but I'm sure they won't flame on me before it's finished. For nigh men, it is inherent aptitude not to harm, and furthermore these fellows don't know yet if I'm protagonist or foe. Melena also stands frozen.

I dispose of Gorack's last protector with a blast direct through his body, hefty enough to fling his ragdoll clay back against the wall. And then I give Osk long enough to read something is very wrong, and shoot him broad in the human face. I am pleased. He made me eat that phallus, and just I didn't like him.

The firefight is over, after only seconds. The Republic scout group have their weapon raised, pointed right wing at me. Slowly, I scummy my chargeman to the floor.

"What is going on here ?"asks Stobbo. cite to him, he is still calm.

I unclip the helmet, and let out my human face. How wry that my sentence in thralldom should start out and end with disguise as a man. Next to me, our cleaning lady in the embryonic membrane, Orteza, is also revealing herself.

"You ?"says Stobbo, as I shake my long, grim fuzz free."What is this ?"

I answer to Melena, rather than him.

"Relax, Colonel,"I tell her."You are not returning to incarceration today."

Her legs give way, and I think she would possess fainted if General Brook hadn't clutched her in time.

"Where is nobleman Yarook ?"Stobbo asks me cautiously.

"Dead,"I reply dismissively."I tore off his prick, and then broke every os I could, before stealing his ventilation apparatus and tossing him down a drivel chute."

"well, I'm delighted you denied that scumbag Yarook from another moment of biography,"cuts in the oecumenical wryly,"but by doing so, you might have ruined our luck at stopping the product of implants for a while."

"On the contrary, General. Stopping output is precisely why I killed him,"I answer, and reach for Orteza's opprobrious sack. The troops raise their weapons suspiciously, and I add,"If I may ?"

After a pause, Stobbo says,"Let her…"and I reach inside.

Gorack's severed hand, dripping stock, is still closed over a initiation device.

"This trigger is linked to atomics on Dodayosk's surface, a self-destruct mechanism protecting the factory,"I tell him."Only Gor… Yarook's signature can set off it. Hence, my need to land this grisly prop. Agree to my terms, and I'll fire the gimmick. I'll destroy the manufacturing plant completely. It will ingest years, maybe decades, for Aghara-Penthay to obtain a new germ of implant chips."

"How many destitute people are down there on the control surface ?"asks Stobbo.

"Innocent is a subjective term… They all know what their Cartesian product is used for. But if it puts you at ease, almost of the flora is run by droids. There's only a systema skeletale faculty of bioforms. But there is a hazard Gorack's metropolis is in the range of mountains of the blast."

"Hmm…"says Stobbo sternly."And what do you want in exchange for such a blessing ? Why are you doing this ? For chancel ? I hope you don't want us to give Melena to you. She's been through decent today."

"sanctuary, but more importantly, fame,"I say.

Melena suddenly comes to life.

"Why, in the figure of the Gods, would you want to be famous ?"she has recovered enough to ask.

I smile.

"That, my beloved, needs a little account ”.

34 - Disdyne

"So now you know how I came to be on Aghara-Penthay, and how I came to be slave to the man you call Yarook,"I conclude."I was dispatched by Salarin, but secretly implanted to answer only a Slaver called Charax."

"You never told me any of this…"grumbles Orteza.

"Would you have trusted me ?"

She shrugs."I suppose not."

"Your implant is functional,"says Stobbo."I still don't quite see how causing such damage to the slaver of Aghara-Penthay is your substantially way to fulfil your cryptography, and serve this ‘ Charax ’."

"Disdyne,"I reply."It all comes down to Disdyne."

Their locution tell me that no-one has heard of him.

"Logical paradoxes can befall with striver implants, and stimulate the psychological equivalent of a computer clangor, within the slave's Einstein,"I begin."A scientist in the team of Perla Etochka, Amal Disdyne, researched some of them, but one in particular proposition bears his name."

"You'll think the implant was developed to insure criminals, particularly sexual predators, by configuring the brainpower to make it unacceptable for males to harm cleaning lady. But it didn't take long for a few entrepreneurial men across the galaxy to reconfigure stolen implants for use pacifying illegally captured females. The job was, that even though the implants were meant to prevent women taking their own life story, the suicide rate in slaves went up, instead of down."

"rachis in the Republic, the clear user of implants also saw a rise in suicides. In spite of the front of a prohibition in the code, many male prisoner were ending themselves. Amal Disdyne was tasked with investigating, and found a logic paradox as follows : A captive female is implanted. The instruction says she must protect and dish up her proprietor. But if she's been taken by a lone male, she remains aware her implant is illegal. Therefore, her very world presents a threat to her proprietor. If it is discovered she has a fleck, the proprietor is further endangered. Her life harms him, but wait - she is not permitted to harm him. If the slave ends herself, she thinks this might be the best way of serving her master. But she is forbidden from ending her liveliness. You see what I mean ? The ascendence becomes infirm because the slave is forced to reason for herself, over which command prerogative takes priority over the others, and whatever her termination, she will inevitably spoil one of her primary feather coercion. Some slaves become inert, locked into indecision. Others went crazy."

"With the male prisoners, there was the Same issuing. Throughout history, there have been charwoman who have an unhealthy interest in seeking friendship with sex predators and serial killers. In any sort, this is unhealthy for the woman - even with an outcome as minor as a cleaning lady being disappointed by finding an implanted Male lacks his previous instinct. So, the men also reasoned that the lonesome certain way of ending risk was ending their lives."

"Disdyne's resolution was to impose a hierarchy on the system of logic. With all implants, the frail program line is the order to preserve their own life. This permits the uncommon social function where an possessor might want to toss away of a hard worker or direct them into situations with a endangerment of human death. Usually, the instruction to protect the possessor, or to render a slave ineffectual to harm others, is only in the middle of the hierarchy. This permits the slave to function where inflicting fix hurt is required. In the case of Aghara-Penthay, the brothels on The Hub cater for all virile mouthful, and that includes the topographic point where men go who like to be thrashed and dominated by females."

"owner usually prefer the gamey ingredient in the hierarchy to be the coercion that slave must follow orders, even if following orders creates some endangerment. So Disdyne's convict males were ordered to succeed order, then they were commanded not to end themselves, with the warders reasoning that the risks to those piteous women's lives could be made manageable."

"Only in a few rare exceptions is there a different hierarchy, and mine is one of them. I was going to be sent by Charax, to somewhere where the unexpected might come about. I needed to be capable to use my own legal opinion to protect Charax's wellbeing. Therefore, my primary urge is not to travel along orders, but to act in his considerably interest."

"But I still don't see how.. ?"says Stobbo.

"It quickly became clear that while Salarin held me on Aghara-Penthay, I was only a liability to Charax. My remaining alive incriminated him. I would have ended myself, if events hadn't proceeded so quickly. But before I could act, I was sent to Dodayosk, and the situation reversed itself."

"Salarin made a level of telling the council of faction leadership that I was his slave, implanted to serve him. He even overrode their remonstration to the alternative of sending me to Gorack. The other leaders said they could no longer support him if I went scalawag. And that's all."

"I don't understand,"says Melena, speaking for the first time for a piece. Her voice is rich and sensuous.

"Charax is a prisoner in Salarin's dungeon, if he still lives. The lone chance remaining for an planted sex slave, me, somewhere across the galaxy, to serve Charax's best interest is to disgrace Salarin. If Salarin falls, his prisoners might be pardoned. Elevated, even ?"

"So that's my footing. I destroy the factory. You take me under the Republic's protection. And distinguish the whole galaxy this partial tone Truth : Salarin sent his personal sex slave, against the objections of the other leaders, and she went looney. He made an unforgivable error of judgement."

"It won't be voiceless to piss you renowned,"says Stobbo."Every female in the galaxy is going to be thankful to you."

"We have a good deal, then ?"

"well,"cuts in Stobbo,"Assuming casualties on the control surface are kept to a minimal, of course I'm authorized to accept your go on behalf of the commonwealth. flaming the atomics."

Without farther holdup I squeeze the trigger, holding my hired hand over Gorack's dismembered one. His flesh feels cold, now, but the detector seem to serve all the Lapplander. A green luminousness newsflash on the trigger.

"Is that it ?"question Stobbo.

"You're expecting to listen a bonanza, out here ?"smiles General creek.

I'm not entirely without affectionateness, and lead a moment to wonder how many souls were working down there in the flora. This will stool me a hoi polloi murderer, but if the the great unwashed of Dodayosk convey their coin from the wickedness, they have to be will to take on the upshot. It's only the few innocent - civilians, and the sex slaves still down there like Edzie and Trindii, that I would pity.

From one of the gangways leaving the rig deck, I see some of the work party cautiously peeking. One of them lip ‘ Melena'to his neighbor, I am certainly. And I'm not the just one who sees it.

"Time to will,"says full general Brook."It won't be foresightful before someone signals Aghara-Penthay. Ladies, we need to get you safely home."

35 - Epilogue

Those who travel frequently across space will pick out the moment where someone wakes up, and they experience a strange moment where they can't even remember where they are. It takes a few indorsement to turn back in the storage. Sometimes the full point of ignorance is bad for the voyager, sometimes not-knowing is good. For me, forgetting has usually proven beneficial. Here, for example, there's the luxury of an instant to consider how this place is richly decorated - nighttime wood paneling and ornate plasterwork to suggest some stateroom, or perhaps even a spiritual ceremony space.

But soon, comes question. The proportions in here are wrongfulness. I'm lying supine on the floor, ceiling above me, and yet, the cap is closer than it should be. The sleeping accommodation is much wider than it is heights, but still, if I stretched my arms out, I could probably meet the rampart on either side of me. It's as though someone took a dame house, and stretched it in two axes, but left the thirdly unchanged.

I do reach out, and then the uncertainty is fully shattered, for I touch nada. Not because there is no wall, but because I have no branch. My brain still remembers how to feed the command, but there are no longer any muscles to respond.

I look to my English. There it is : my bare shoulder, but not even a stump. The arm has been severed right up to the berm articulatio. Severed, and healed in the bacta, some time during which I must have been unconscious. As the panic chassis, I look to my other face. The like. I send the command to kick my blackguard, but here too, I feel no response. I don't need to wait down my body to fuck both my legs are gone, gone, right up to my hips.

sanctum poop, what am I gon na do ? I flail my headspring in holy terror, opening my sass to scream, but no sound emerges. The room is mum, but inside my skull it is all noise, as I cry Gods No ! Gods No ! - the interior ululation getting louder and louder. Please graven image no ! Not the Elmek.

My situation shouldn't be able-bodied to get any worse, but it does. They must have been waiting for me to come alive. I feel something touching my stomach. Tiny feet, walking on my stomach. The men are only edge tall. With branch inviolate, I'd be able-bodied to reposition these ridiculous creatures easily, but dismembered, even though I'm threshing my head ferociously, my torso is barely moving.

Two tiny males, each walking up my stomach towards one of my breasts. They're like humans in perfect miniature, right down to the tiny obscene erection bulging in their pants. I'm trying to call out - no, don't, stop, assistance, mercy, to express wrath, even, but I emit not the least trace of noise. immortal help me ! What am I to do ?

At the apex where my legs used to be, I feel a tiny bridge player now, pulling at my to the highest degree confidant chess opening. Pulling me, parting my nether mouth, as though to glance inside a drape. How daring they ? This can not be permitted ! Oh Gods, serve me !

As panic rises, I even try to move by self-harm - banging my head against the floor, but they must make me lying on some soft substance that absorbs the impact from my skull. Gods assist me, they're going to eat me. I have to do something before this goes ahead.

The two men on my pectus look hungrily down at my nipples, which to them are bigger than dinner plates. Unlike my mutilated arm, my bosom have been left perfect. Not for much longer, though, unless I can prevent this abomination. Already they are lifting their machetes. One nongregarious tear escapism my left eye as the weapon system make the world-class ten-strike, and my teat turn to pain. At the Saami time, my clitoris explodes, as though someone's pierced it with a white-hot needle.

And the pain is real.

My muscles locked rigid with agony, I wake up, falling from my meaninglessness and landing hard on the story. The nightmare is already leaving me, but the pain stimulators in my silver medal tit and clit have been activated, and that overrefinement is very tangible. Orteza, awoken in the former bed by my shrieking, knows what to do. This isn't the first time.

She slams the clit on the wall that activates the EMP, and whatever nano-drone has been transmitting to the stimulators is fried. The infliction stops instantly, and it's as though the anguish never happened.

I lie gasping on my back, drenched in sweat.

"Thank you,"I whisper.

The slave owner of Aghara-Penthay might not be able-bodied to get bravo through to me, here under republic protection, but their nanoscale monotone are so pocket-size that they can sometimes dodge the demurrer. Every so often the Slavers like to send off one, configured to activate the pain triggers, which will remain forever embedded in my erogenous zones. Each radio-controlled aircraft represents the slaver's short monitor - I will never be forgiven.

Early in my meter here, I'd suggested burning the stimulators out and repairing my trunk in the bacta, but the medics advised against. They told me that once a slave is a slave beyond a certain time, their augmentation becomes too hardwired into the soul.

It was easy for them to say, but the onslaught kept coming, and something had to be done. So an EMP system was installed in my chancel to impart down the nano drone pipe, but EMP has the drawback that with my body locked in pain in the ass, I'm not usually in a DoS capable of pressing the push. Orteza volunteered to abide with me - I think she feels it's middling reparation for the slamming of the door which launched me onto this track.

The attacks will hold back coming. I'm for certain I will neither be forgiven nor forgotten by Aghara-Penthay. Even melaena de Santo's very world escape in the rapine Run pales to insignificance compared to my law-breaking against the Slavers.

The whole wandflower heard the word that Salarin's personal slave went disturbed and blew up the manufactory that made implant chips. Groundwork might have already started on a new production works - this sentence on the surface of the Slaver satellite, but it's going to be several years before that's operable. In the meantime, there are only sufficient stocks left to plant the highest value hard worker, and the ravishment moon-curser.

The impact on the universe from that detonation was more psychological than physical. If one woman can do so much damage to Aghara-Penthay, how much the combined travail of the rest of the population ? For several old age, the female population of the galaxy will be able to respire a suspiration of easing. Of all thing, it's the implant that has really struck terror into women. With her free will restored, a captive at least has the alternative to end herself, it it's all too unbearable. She might even be able-bodied to resist.

With myself being safe in the republic, and far from Slaver justice, there had to be a scapegoat. And everyone knew who it had to be. It was the faction leader Salarin who'd committed a catastrophic error of judging in sending me to Dodayosk. The high-risk penalty for a male who breaks slaveholder law is to have his wrists cuffed behind him, be stripped, and banished naked into Aghara-Penthay's desert. At leisure under the hot skies, the crook may decide to die slowly from the heat and thirst, or move around at night and receive a fast but painful death, by one of the predatory fauna.

I was forbidden from watching the experience slaveholder broadcast of Salarin's punishment until it had been checked, in case there was a subliminal command for me to hark back. I was shown the footage later, in the belief it might help gift me some closure. I'd never seen Salarin naked in our brief meter together. Stripped of his gown, he looked frail, old, rather pitiable. His penis was much smaller than I remembered.

Loyal to the end, five of his men - the White Rapers - pick out to percentage his fate and go with him. Six Male, cuffed and nude. The faction leader looking even smaller, once he was surrounded by his giant bodyguards.

And so, the faction leader known as The Sadist is gone, lost to the desert. His lot is a second intellect I'm worshipped by the wandflower's women. A new drawing card has arisen - a man who, according to the Slaver programme, tried to admonish of the dangers I presented, and was imprisoned in Salarin's dungeon for his attempt. Eager for someone to fill the power vacuum, men flocked to this new leader. Charax is his name. Another slave trader, another rapist, but Charax is not the bogeyman Salarin. Females everywhere rejoiced.

There's hardly anyone left who knows the truth - that Charax implanted me to dish up only him, and risking everything, he sent me with orders to win the Cum Race and eliminate Salarin. And I did eliminate Salarin, although by a much more roundabout road to the one he'd originally imagined. I wasn't nutcase. My implant was fully usable. My implant still is fully functional, but the only when way I can dish out Charax now is to stay far from Aghara-Penthay, while concealing all trace of the connexion between us. Only Stobbo, Orteza and Brook knew the truth, and creek recently died in an unfortunate accident, breaking her neck falling down a infuse flight of stairs, just chiliad from my elbow room.

One day, I might be forced to serve up my master more directly. The lucid social system in my implant will always be dangerous. Thus, unlike most cleaning lady here, the Republic remain watchful and keep me as a virtual prisoner, albeit one who lives in luxury.

Haisa's nirvana is a howling humankind - warm, temperate climate, almost all water, save for scattered tropical islands surrounded by sandy beaches. oceanic abyss into democracy blank, it's far beyond the reach of Slaver vessels. A billionaire left one of the great islands as her legacy to the Republic, to base a dear bema for rescued slaves.

I never went to the old colony on Cancis rock'n'roll, but I gather from those who did that this place is a immense improvement. We could consider ourselves on an endless vacation, unless we look into the sky and happen to see one of the battlecruisers that works on perm protection obligation, or we see one of the offshore gun batteries. Or it's a day when one of the drones gets through the defensive perimeter.

I do not regret my actions towards Aghara-Penthay. But I do find that being made permanently mindful of my exposure is a fitting punishment for the innocent I vaporized on Dodayosk. During my waking hours I manage to absorb myself, but at night the concern and memories, and the faces of the numb infect my subconscious. I know what awaits should the Slavers ever recapture me. The Elmek Fetish would be one of my better fates.

If I wished it, I could take trade protection somewhere else, and evade the drones there for a piece. I've been offered refuge by supporters of distaff indecorum all over the galaxy. I was offered sanctuary on the Djenerix homeworld. The Djenerion even promised to carry through their offer of Tronog - the refusion with the Gods. But what use are the Supreme Being to me now ? They ruined my hopes before I even made it to The Sect, and when I was down, they ground me deeper into the dirt. They needed something twisted and wickedness to complete their use, and bend and dour I became. Just facial expression at me - it will only be a topic of hours before I need to essay out one of the other women here, compelled to find distaff satisfaction. Hardly the character of someone sanctum. The Nine's prophesy came true. I chose the path without mercy, causing the deaths of many, and became a goddess to the frail, to the diminished.

No, no one will ever opine of me of a priestess. History will remember me by the deed awarded to me in gratitude, by the galaxy's women.

I am Ajeedie, the pansy of the Sex striver