The Short Sexual History of Coora - A Slave.

Olga's note of hand :

Stephenie Meyer, author of the Twilight novels, wrote a brusk level retold from the viewpoint of a minor part, mortal who walks into the scene of one of her novels and is almost immediately killed.

In my history, at least the ones so far, the first-person viewpoints of characters in my Aghara-Penthay shave all been woman on special mission, or women captured to fiat, which means they've been missing out on the experience of a more regular slave - person unlucky caught as part of a raid, an insignificant victim among many other cleaning woman, someone processed, and sold.

In my story ‘ Queen of the Sex hard worker ’, during the camarilla drawing card's council meeting, Ajeedie briefly witnesses an foreigner female being raped and then strangled by monas. We never learnt her name, but she had one, and she had a animation. Her name was Coora, and this is her story.

1 - alarm clock

I'm not certain if the unexpected deep booming noise wakes me even before the sudden warning signal claim of the ship's claxon begins. But somehow I instantly pass from being benumbed to being awake, my heart immediately racing with the adrenaline obsession to flight. Trindii, in the other meaninglessness, has woken just as suddenly as I have, and she is already sitting up rubbing her eye. We hear another boom. It is a deeply sound, a racket like thunder that reverberates right through the hull, and then we hear a distance crackling. Our layer shake as though there's an seism. There are Thomas More preindication that something is wrong. I realize the ship's engines are straining with effort, instead of making their common relaxed shush.

"Coora,"says Trindii,"What was that noise ?"

"That second one sounded almost like a blaster cannon,"I reply, puzzled, and seeing her eyes widen with panic, I try to throw a calmness I don't feel."But I'm indisputable I'm wrong."And yet, I wonder, if I'm incorrect why is the emergency claxon is still sounding, it's hike and fall repeating over and over ?

"Coora !"Trindii squeaker, when there's another bass thumping sound. She has one of the high soprano voices I've ever known, and when she's anxious, it pushes her pitch up to even high registers. Trindii has been my best champion since the first days of us studying together, and I love her like a baby, but I have to admit she's hopeless in a crisis.

"Get dressed, now,"I purchase order, and I swing my foresighted legs out my guff. The floor is cold on my bare feet.

But Trindii continues to sit there, with her bed bed sheet clutched to her pectus, as though that will help if there is a raid.

"What are we supposed to do after that ?"she wails.

I fight down my frustration at her. I have no better thought than she does, but just dithering will make me get scared too. Like most traveler I paid scant attention to the refuge briefing when we boarded this transport. How should I know where to assemble ? But there are over two thousand soulfulness on this ship. Judging by the additional stochasticity I'm tuning into, nigh of those are streaming by our room access, so the result is easy.

"Let's get dressed,"I say, trying to take a tone of firm reassurance."We'll follow the crowd."

Trindii looks hesitant, but finally, thank the divinity, she begins to move.

The floor is cold, but our cabin, one of the cheaper 1 close to the engine deck of cards, is hot from its propinquity to the gravity drives, so we both slept only in underwear.

Trindii, a human, has the physical structure flesh that would be described as voluptuous. She's no dubiousness destined to ferment to fat in afterward sprightliness, but for now, her pleasingly rounded image is at its nubile well - big appealing eyes, and some of the largest boob I've seen on a young fair sex. She's at the peak of her life's appealingness to men. Her cutis is mean with youth, a deep Brown University people of colour, and it's unloosen from the least blemish.

In our cramped cabin a heavy proportion of one wall is filled with the mirror, and in it, I can not avoid glancing at my own image, and considering the import of what I see.

The reflection shows somebody much like a human female in her figure, only my tegument has a bluish green iridescent shimmer. My eyes are completely pitch-dark - our species never evolved iris and sclera. And the most striking deviation between myself and someone like Trindii, is that instead of possessing tomentum like a human or many other humanoid species, protruding from my scalp are duncical vacuum tube of flesh, a bit like giant star dreadlocks coated in my like shimmering cutis.

They're known as ‘ scorns'in the speech of my humanity. Women of my species cover their scorns on our homeworld, for they are as clear a sexual characteristic as titty. Males do not recrudesce them. youth young lady have small stubs, and then as we mature their scorn grow rapidly, reaching their longest - down to our second joint - in our former twenties at the peak of our fertility. As a woman progresses through her adulthood they gradually shorten, but still rest for life - only withdrawing back to shoulder-length in the sometime women in society.

I reach for my wearing apparel, a garment which hugs my figure flatteringly, but still covers me from neck to ankle. As well-nigh of the galaxy is unaware of the signification of despite, I quickly abandoned the head covering once I was offworld. I felt priggish compared to the human females merrily flaunting their heads, and even after a duo of years out in the universe, it still gives me a private thrill to behave so scandalously, when no-one around me knows I'm walking round in a state that's our culture's equivalent of half-naked.

Another concussion reverberates through the ship - the worst yet. For an exigent the stilted gravitation fails, muteness falls, and the visible radiation flicker as I'm weightless. Then normality is restored, including the ageless vociferation of the claxon.

The glitch ramps Trindii's anxiety up further.

"This flight should be safe, Coora,"she says."Who could round something this size ? And we're deep in democracy space."

Neither of us want to recognise the answer.

I can hear a man's spokesperson getting louder as he moves nearer along the corridor, ordering rider like a practice serjeant-at-law. He pounds on each threshold he passes.

"Everyone out their cabins ! All passenger must assemble in the entertainment student residence. Captains guild. Everyone out ! All passenger assemble in the entertainment hall."The volume reaches is tip as he passes us, and gradually fades as he moves away.

I fasten my dress around me while Trindii forces her short legs into tight black shorts. My garment opens at my forget position, the fabric just wide enough to wrap around me, and once it's in plaza, it is meant to be secured with a serial of buckle. I start with the warp under my arm, and body of work downwards. It's tight about my flop - I too have a full chest for a young woman, although I'll never compete with Trindii's twin balloons.

"Maybe we're in an chartless asteroid field ?"I say while I secure the fastener over the feminine flare of my hip. There's another concussion. Again, the luminosity flicker, and the gravity fails for a present moment. Neither of us believe my optimistic words. If we were being damaged by asteroids we'd slow down, and they'd muster us as the lifepods. But the entertainment Charles Martin Hall is in the meat of the ship, and the engines are firing fit to burst. No. We're trying to outrun something.

Trindii pulls a rigorous shirt over her head word, the cut richly enough that it bares the peel of her belly. Not just her belly - it barely fits around her dresser. She doesn't mind flaunting what she's got, that little girl. My multitude, the Dystyr, are rather more conservative. register our figures, yes. Skin, no. However, although I've fastened my apparel as far as mid-thigh, I leave the remaining buckles flashing my shin bone, to provide better freedom of drift. I pull on some soft ankle iron heel, ones with only a low heel. Footwear designed for comfort rather than beauty.

"Ready, Trindii ?"I ask when she's pulled on some pumps, and with a nod from her we activate the door and emerge into the corridor.

Outside it's crowded with people, all of them headed in the same direction, and we can only march on at the speed of the slowest. A diverse interbreeding section of the wandflower is represented, spread by age, sex, and metal money. I see two extraterrestrial who must amount from a methane humanity, and need respirators.

Trindii takes my manus in hers so we don't lose each other. Her flesh spirit warm.

It's loud in here - everyone is talking nervously.

"Is it pirates ?"an old char in presence says to her companion in a scratching voice."Supreme Being, don't let it be pirates from Aghara-Penthay."

"I survived a sea rover raid near Coboron 6, once,"a man says."You never forget that sound. I tell you - those are raider blaster cannons."

Another jolt comes without warning, and the ship shakes like we're in an temblor. I'm thrown against the English of the corridor, hurting my shoulder. I hear the locomotive stutter for a moment.

The crowd moves a footling faster.

Once we reach the amusement hall, there's adequate elbow room for us all to spread out and piece up our step. dustup of place face a level. It's configured for a much fully grown gang than the current ship's compliment. I'm expecting to see crowd on the stage already prepared to excuse what's going on, but there's no-one here yet.

I recognize a few appendage of our social class and we move towards them. There are nearly two hundred of us on this slip - terminal twelvemonth university educatee of galactic politics, all of us being taken to democracy blossom to see the senate in action. With the elision of a few mature student, most of us are in our early twenties, by the standard galactic reckoning. Studying at Capital University on Iniver Four is, for about of us, our first time living away from our homeworlds.

"Coora,"a male voice calls my name. I know who it is before I turn around.

Jurong. I made the misunderstanding in my freshman year of being ardent to him. As an alien arriving at a largely human innovation, I wasn't sure I'd fit in, and I was dying to pee friends. I needed someone to talk to. But he hoped my sake in him was of a different variety, and by the time I told him that was never going to happen, the damage had been done.

He's smart enough to go on just on the right slope of becoming a full-blown stalker, so I can't make a charge to anyone without it sounding hysterical :"What's wrong with mortal helping you out ?"- that sort of affair. But he's worked his way relentlessly into membership of my roundabout of friends, and since then, it's been pretty hard to go anywhere without Jurong showing up.

"Jurong - what do you opine is going on ?"Trindii asks him, as a machine gun rale of minuscule thumping vibrate the ship. We have quad to spread out, but she's standing so near me her shoulder printing press on my upper arm. One of the reasons I like Trindii so much is she's always been an agreement friend on the Jurong post. We go to a order, he's there, and even if she's tired or wants to go with a guy, she'll never abandon me to him.

"Everything head to a plagiarist flack,"he says gravely,"Even though we're in Republic territory."He's answering her, but his eye are only on me."Don't be afraid Coora - I'll protect you,"he adds, but when he says it he's looking me up and down with that longing, hungry look that reminds me that pirates aren't the creation's only predators.

I wish I was better at handling this variety of manly attention. I don't want to sound immodest, but for as long as I can call up I've been considered exceptionally attractive. On my homeworld, I even helped pay for my college fees with some modelling employment - an activity which I found very boring, but remunerative. Once I left dwelling and mixed with the humans, I soon found they thought me equally beautiful, but with no one suitable for reciprocating, I've remained inexperienced, and a virgin.

I'm tall for a female person, and my expression is almost perfectly harmonious, with soft feminine features and high cheekbone. My torso shape declares my right femininity as blatantly as my scorns - I have wide childbearing pelvic girdle, and my boob are large in relation to my narrow waist and slim frame. From an era before it was appropriate, I've always drawn the predatory stares of men.

"Yes, I'll protect you, Coora,"Jurong repeats as his regard drop to my chest.

Jurong is a fine-looking guy, for a human. character of the tragedy of our family relationship is that instead of wasting his exertion in a fruitless interest of me, he could take in had his pick of the man female person. Our college course has a lot more fair sex than men. But while some human being males like Jurong might lust for Dystyr females, we don't reciprocate for human men. Dystyr women might be alike enough to homo females that their male person sham our sense of taste are the Lapp, but Dystyr men are a good deal heavy - eight feet tall being an median male person. Furthermore, our men have prominent prominence on their foreheads which the human men lack, and once you're conditioned to like a certain tone, well that's that.

Dystyr do not reproduce by forming brace bail bond, like the humans. male person struggle for dominance, and our fittest are rewarded by mating with many cleaning lady. Thus, our male are highly territorial, and in our pre-history, they evolved to mark their boundary with a pungent smelling pee. The scent conveys the manliness and strength of the male.

Now we're civilized, it's not like our bozo still pee in the corners of our home, but one can't unmake genetics, and for us female person, smell is an authoritative factor. I fully comprehend this concept is sodding to the world who focus on the visual, but to Dystyr fair sex - well, inhaling a high-quality interlingual rendition of that musk is quite a act on. depot discreetly sell bottleful of the stuff as an aid for women masturbating. So for miserable Jurong with his man altitude and tone - no dice.

The hall is getting meddling now. It's so loudly with conversation that it's difficult to find out the continuing hit on the ship, but we can still feel them through the storey. All our class seem to get found each former, attracting more and more than heap like we're a planet forming.

A woman in an officer's undifferentiated steps onto the leg. She must be wearing a microphone, because I hear the sound of her clearing her throat amplified a hundredfold.

"rider,"she greets us as the crowd falls to sudden silence,"I am Oshia Trondo, first off officer of the Moons of Odaron. The sea captain sends his apologies, but he needs to remain on the bridge circuit dealing with the office you've all noticed."

"As you might give surmised, the ship is currently under attack by a pirate vas. But you are in no danger, so we ask…"

"Where are they from ?"interrupts a man at the front of the crowd.

Trondo hesitates, and then she says,"They are pillager from Aghara-Penthay."

Trindii is one of the passengers, mostly women, who immediately scream. I'm silent, but otherwise lilliputian better - little terror hairgrip me also, and for a import I think I'll faint. The slaver ? The Slavers of Aghara-Penthay are attacking this transportation ? Supreme Being help us all if they succeed.

"Silence !"barks the officeholder with as very much self-confidence as she can, but she still has to repeat herself."secretiveness !"

The initial scare subsides slightly, but the gang remain too fearful to be entirely calm.

"A suffering cry has been sent to Republic Prime and the fleet are converging on us even now. Although this rapture has fiddling armament, its shield are very strong. These ships are built to run, and hold out until rescue arrives. All the same, for your prophylactic, I ask you to remain here, as far as potential from the outer hull. And do not attempt to make for the lifepods, unless the ship does light. In a lifepod, you will be easily captured."

Captured… I look around, as many, many of the woman, are doing. I'm feeling very cognizant that I'm female. We all know what it means to be distaff, and captured by Aghara-Penthay.

"How many women are on this ship ?"a man calls. He sounds hostile.

Trondo consults a government note.

"One thousand, two hundred and forty-seven grownup female person. Nine hundred and 63 grownup males. Non-binary species - two hundred and…"

"That's too many women !"heckles the man angrily, as though he blames Trondo personally for the ratio. She flinches.

arsehole. There's no motivation to be mean - as a woman, she must be scared too. Trondo is approaching her halfway yr, but she still holds a certain graceful peach, and that means she will be thinking about the Saame circumstances every other remotely desirable female person in this lobby is fearing. The strength of the slaver of Aghara-Penthay - the occupation that's made their destiny, is trading their women captive to meet the sexual desires of the galaxy's men. There are no exempt fair sex on Aghara-Penthay - to be female on their macrocosm is to automatically be a striver. Uncaptured char, i.e. those such as I, still free in the balance of the galaxy, are referred to by the Slavers using the vulgar championship"cunts ”. That's all we are in their middle. Cunts. The place between our peg is the but thing that matters. It's us women who have the right to be emotional. Not the jerkoff saying there's too many of us on board.

"What do you expect us to do ?"Trondo retaliates, as pissed off as I am."It's not as though we can just manus over every attractive woman on the ship."

"Why not ?"he calls back."The idea gets my vote."

There's wild muttering, mostly directed at him, but the seeded player of the idea that others might be saved has been planted now. The Slavers take some male hard worker, but not many. The old, and most of the men on this ship, will die if the raiders make it on add-in. Sometimes fallen vessels paw over their women, and then the relaxation are be spared.

"They won't break down the ship's defenses before the commonwealth arrive,"Trondo rebuke."And then you, Sir, will regret making such a suggestion."

But she's barely finished her prison term before there's an even inscrutable boom then, caused by something vast knocking against the Kingston-upon Hull, and the auditory sensation carries even to here. The ship lurches again. At beginning there are a few wow, but then everyone stops to take heed for clues, and so we all hear the engines cut out completely. I hadn't realized how ceaseless the interference of them was until it's gone. In the sudden quiet more women scream, filling the silence.

"Are there any weapon system on this ship ?"another man, more politely, is asking Trondo.

"Not many,"she replies, and the fearfulness is blooming in her vocalism now."A few blasters on the bridge, but that's all. These ships rely on being too big and too fast to assail. We shouldn't need weapons."

"The railway locomotive just relinquish, ma'am. We need weapon system now,"mortal says.

The ship's populace address organization bursts into sprightliness, so sudden and so gimcrack it makes me jump.

"This is the Captain of the lunar month of Odaron. slave dealer from Aghara-Penthay are boarding the ship. We can no longer agree them off, so our counsel has changed. All passengers and crew must make for the lifepods. Evacuate ! Evacuate ! Your god be with you. I wish you all good…"but before he can finish, his interpreter is cut off with a sound like a blast. If there's any more broadcast after that, the announcement is drowned over the deafening shout of the rider.

The Slavers of Aghara-Penthay are raiding the ship.

2 - Flight

Blind terror has taken over. I start screaming. Everyone is screaming. What are we to do ? I couldn't bear being caught alive, but I don't want to die. People begin to flee, and instinctively I start to run with them, but I fly aimlessly, changing direction and then changing again. Our chances of evading the pirate in lifepods are picayune unspoiled than our chances on the ship, but just waiting here to be caught is intolerable. I have to try something.

I'm not half way to the outlet from the hall when a blaster bolt of lightning, a material chargeman bolt, zips over my head, causing panic as it smashes the ceiling and rains debris down on the fleeing masses. I've seen blasters on screen many times, but in all my living I've never actually been in the presence of a weapon discharging before. Only moments later, a hoar cleaning woman next to me falls, and in her torso I see a blackened smoking hole.

I freeze, staring in horror at remans that moments before were a bread and butter, thinking, being. Someone snatch my hand and I'm pulled roughly towards one of the corridors.

"This way,"he says. It's Jurong.

I don't have it away how he's managing to stay so tranquillise when most are barely managing to control the delirium. The fallen are suddenly lying around us everywhere. Where minutes ago there was lodge, I now have to step over clay to hit the corridors. How can so many be gone already ? But although the devastation presents superficially as pandemonium, I have adequate card remaining to confirm there is a method acting in the butchery. Younger adult female and the impregnable and most handsome young men are the only ones being spared. They're lying stunned - frozen there as inert as wax figure. Those of us with value as striver. Everyone else is being killed.

I hurry after Jurong. I'm willing to go with anyone with a coherent plan to save me. The prospect of rape at the hands of the Slavers would be devastating. I'm a Dystyr. I left my homeworld before conjugation, and like about of us who go offworld, I've remained a virgin. I can't be a sex hard worker. I can't be a sex slave.

And there's something as horrific as the rape awaiting captives. Decades ago, the slave dealer would crush their captives with sheer brutality. But now they do something far more pernicious. It's called nidation. A biochip is injected into the brain root word at the basis of the skull. The chip grows tendrils into the tissue, which emit sign interfering with the neuron relating to disengage will. The victim of an implant is ineffective to resist a command, so long as it's delivered by a male. Order the victim to make love - they will do it. Death is not even an escape. The implant has many communications protocol besides respect, including one which prevents a slave ending her life.

woman freshly captured by the slave owner are always taken first to the open of Aghara-Penthay. There they're implanted and often given further barbaric augmentations, and then they're branded with the slave mark. It's a swirling mug on the cheek to signify she is a serve woman. A quality control sign for the emptor. A lifelong badge of shame for the wearer.

Please no - this can not bump to me.

"Where's Trindii ?"I moan to Jurong. I realize for the foremost time she is not with us. We're being swept along with panicked rider making for one of the lifepod bays. Civilization is beginning to break down. An old man has collapsed face down on the storey, clutching his dresser, alive but fallen, and no one helps him. Including us.

"Trindii is on her own now,"Jurong says harshly."This way."

Instead of following the herd, he pulls me roughly into a deserted corridor of cabins. These suite are better class than the shared accommodation purchased on a student budget, which offered us little more than twin nonsense. Through the loose door I see large double beds, loungers, viewing screens.

"This way,"Jurong repeats, hurrying."Here,"and choosing one apparently at random, he pushes me inside.

"What are we doing ?"I ask him, confused."We can't pelt for long. They will have life scanners. They'll search the ship."

Maybe his programme is we try to hold in ourselves long enough for the democracy to come. Maybe he intends to shift from cabin to cabin and try to slip past the searchers. hide and prompt, hide and motility.

Jurong hits the pad to close the cabin door.

"Wait ! We should go to the escape bays, Jurong. The ship has fallen. If the lifepods all launch together, at to the lowest degree we have opportunity,"I tell him, turning to leave, but he pushes me with all his strength, so I almost fly back onto the bed, and his unfeigned purport dawns on me. Immediately I start to lever myself up, but he quickly throws himself on top of me, and I scream. I can experience it pressing against me. That's his erection that I can palpate. That's Jurong's penis.

"No !"I plead, trying to push him away."Jurong - No !"

Sometimes, I just hate men. We should be fleeing for our life history, and Jurong choses now to get an erection.

"We're lost anyway, Coora,"he grunts in my ear, his vocalism heavy with lust."Hear those men ? If you're gon na get roll in the hay anyway, I'm going to get you first."

I do hear them. Amidst the screams from outside are the unmistakable audio of blaster weapons, and the shouting of hostile male voices.

"No !"I protest again - louder, more urgent. I'm continuing to fight him, but he's stronger than me, and he has the advantage of his weight bearing down on my soundbox. His script first seeks my breast, and I'm ineffectual to prevent him squeezing me. So it's add up to this. He's won his wish. Finally, he's got to tinct what he's imagined for so long.

"Gods Coora, you're perfective,"Jurong tells me, and he buries his face in my neck. His human stubble is alien to me, and I hate the scratching and his hot breathing space. I struggle with all my strength to take to the woods from under him, but it's not enough to recrudesce loose.

"assistance !"I scream. As though in the middle of a pirate attack, anyone is going to take care to one cleaning lady's cries.

Jurong releases my breast, but only so he can start up hitching up the fabric of my garb. I wish I'd fastened it all the way down now. I'm lucky I closed enough that most of the fabric is close, and the task requires both workforce. This means he only gains slacken progress with our flux system of weights inhibiting him, and I'm resisting every inch of exposure, but gradually he wins, and I end up with cloth rumpled like a concertina around my hips. My legs are now bared completely to him - skin he's never seen before - and he pauses a moment to caress my thigh.

"Jurong,"I say,"Please don't. Don't speck me."

Jurong freezes, but not because my plea produced any positive effect.

"Wait. Quiet, Coora. Listen !"he says in a harsh whisper.

I hear more screaming, from somewhere very close. A voice cries out then is suddenly cut off. A man laughs without mirth.

"We don't have long,"he says, and grasp for me again.

There's a painfully sharp tug at my pelvis, as side by side, my panties are ripped forcefully away. I'm left in a state of intolerable openness without them. My newly naked genitals are pressing against his erection. Only the level of his pants are between us now. Jurong reaches down, fumbling for the holdfast to justify himself.

I scream as loud as I can this metre. Perhaps the fear of uncovering by the slaveholder will stop him.

"Be quiet, you fool !"he snaps.

Please, why won't someone come ? I have only seconds remaining to do something, and it's going to be down to me to keep myself. Looking round for any form of aid, I stretch desperately for the only matter in range. It's a glass ornament - the form something alien and unknown region to me. It's heavy, but I can lift it with one hand.

Jurong releases himself from his pants and gods assist me, I can sense him - exposed man pressing exposed female. The material body of his dick is warm. There's no womanishness to his Hammond organ at all. It's as though a rod of branding iron is probing against my pudenda. In moments he'll back up his pelvic girdle to where he can orient the loathsome matter at me, and the rape will begin. I have to do something. I'm not normally savage, but I'm not normally desperate. With no other choice left, I swing the ornament into the incline of his skull. It strikes with a sickening crunch. Jurong's eyes roll back in his head, and at death I'm capable to push him off me.

I'm on my feet as quickly as I can get up. In spite of the importunity I still pause to push my clothes back into its correct place around my peg. The coverage is a blissful relief.

I look down at Jurong. For a moment he's so still I think I've killed him, but then like a jump-started speeder, he jolts and groan. His dick is still out his drawers. The erection is beginning to shrink. Gods it's disgusting. How could anyone want that inside their consistency ?

I spit down on him, venting my venom.

"bunghole,"I say.

The irresistible impulse to fly the coop Jurong is so firm I've hit the door waiver and I'm in the corridor before thinking of my prophylactic. There's a eubstance on the trading floor right outside - one that wasn't there before. An older male, face down, with a blaster hole the size of a dinner party plate burnt out the back. There's no to a greater extent time to consider the dead. Which way are the lifepods ?

My heart buffeting, I choose a counseling at random. But it's the wrong one. After merely seconds, at the junction ahead of me, two Slaver troops walk right on around the corner. They're mooching - not even looking for prisoner. Simultaneously we see each other.

The bombastic of the two men, a dark skinned, unshaven fellow, grins.

"hi, pretty."

Without waver, I turn the former way, and I run for my life story. The adrenaline spike of concern makes it sense like everything happens in slow motion.

Behind me, the men murmur something to each other.

Perhaps they let me desire for a second, perhaps, because I almost manage to get to the colligation. Then something hits me in the spine like the punch from a giant fist. I find myself sprawled face first on the base before I know it. I try to move, but my musculus don't seem to respond to bidding. I can't even move my centre. I must just stare at the model laminate covering the storey until a slaver boot fills my view. There is a red dust on it. The ground from Aghara-Penthay. My instinctive urge to get up and run is overwhelming, but I can't budge an inch.

"well ain't you a catch ?"a man says to me."How did you slip past the others ?"

I know what's happened. chargeman weapon, of the eccentric which have just struck me, total with stun and kill settings. highjack grouping long ago found that it was too easy to make mistakes switching between mount, so they adopted a maneuver of having raiders work in twos. One man with the killing setting eliminates scourge, and those who have no value. The other, with stun, aims at experience captures.

I've just been stunned. I'm lost now. I'm beautiful, I'm woman, and they called me pretty, so they want me alive.

I feel a manus invade between my legs and my dress sliding up for the endorse prison term. I can't turn to see who's doing it, but his hand traces his path up my skin with dreaded slowness.

"Got ta check into her hidden for arm,"the Slaver says to his associate, and then, to my disgrace he calls,"supposition what, Tren ? No pantie on. We have ourselves a slut."

No, Jurong tore them from me. I try to explain, but only manage to emit a soft moan.

The touch becomes intimate, as he reaches my fulcrum. I blink.

The Dystyr are relatively bourgeois and like most of our females I'd been saving myself, intending to be one of the adult female yielding myself to a worthy alpha. But destiny had other intentions for me. The beginning man whose phallus touched me was Jurong. And the get-go man who intimately gropes my sex organ is some Slaver lowlife, a human being male person whom I'd only set optic on import before. All my deeply held romantic dreams are torn to nothing in a matter of bit.

His handwriting sacking my core then, but only to embrace my breasts, much as Jurong recently did. Although is sake has moved to groping my thorax, he leaves my dress hitched up, and the presence of candid air on my naked, exposed derriere is unbearably humiliating.

"Nice !"my assailant voices approval of the flesh he's squeezing.

"No !"I'm finally able-bodied to vocalize a plea, and gradually, I draw up my arm to try and advertize him away. A bedaze attack doesn't handicap the victim for long, and I find I can now displace a little, but still too slowly to offer any hard-nosed defense.

Abruptly there's a explosion of sound from one of the men's communicators. The hands leave me, but after they're gone, I can still feel where I was touched.

"We'd bettor get back,"says one man.

I'm too late to defend my tit, but with my muscle control improving by the second, I reach tentatively behind me, and start pushing my attire back over my rear.

"Put one of the shock pinch on her,"the former guy speaks."We don't want a prize of this form running away."

I don't know what a jolt collar is, but avoiding it sounds more crucial than protecting my dignity. I look up fearfully, switching my efforts to raising my torso up from the floor. But I'm not yet fast enough.

The unshaven one is already leaning over me, holding a bit of admixture technical school in his paw. It looks like a band, a circle of similar circuit to a cleaning woman's throat. The device in his digit hang opened by the hinge, but at the free end I see the dentition of a locking mechanism.

I moan, trying to contend the thing away with my half-numb arm. This can not be allowed. Whatever a shock pinch is, I do not tolerate them putting one on me.

"What do you figure her sarcoid things are ?"unshaven-one says to his friend, brushing my scorns away to fully expose my neck opening, unaware that to a Dystyr, he's doing something that's a dandy amour."Ah, no matter. welcome to Aghara-Penthay, cunt."

And the collar gingersnap into office around my unprotected throat. The admixture feels cool compared to my skin.

I've made it into a half-sitting status by this clock time. I tug at the stria around my pharynx, aiming to commit it back off, but it's locked itself, and I don't have a key.

"Now, slit, if you don't come along, docile-like, this is what will happen."And before he gives me a chance to cooperate there's an intense jolt of pain from my neck. It makes the musculus in my body go rigid and I'm properly back on the trading floor again, my sticker arched with suffering. Abruptly as the pain came, it then goes, but I can still feel a tingling after-memory in my muscle.

Horrified, I look up at him from the floor. I see clearly how he delivered the painfulness - there's a small comptroller twist in his laurel wreath - nothing Sir Thomas More than a pushbutton and a dial. I reach out a throw off bridge player. If I'm going to get out I need to overcome him and get hold of that thing.

"Oh no, sweet-tits,"he laughs as he sees the counseling of my gaze."Do you think you're the first cunt to try and do that ?"

The adjacent blast of hurting he inflicts lasts longer. I cry out, clawing at my cervix a minute time to try to rip the source of the hot torture away, but my arms lock and I'm paralyzed with the pain.

When the twisting stops, any possible action of resistance goes with it. Violence is almost unheard of among the Dystyr, except for equal male person fighting for alpha position. I've never experienced someone trying to stimulate me ail purely for its own rice beer before.

"Do you need another demonstration ?"he asks, holding up the control.

"No !"I say fearfully, and I mean it. I'd rather endure him squeezing my breasts again than have another dose of the collar.

"Then on your feet, pussy,"he says."And issue forth with us."

I struggle to stick out, but I've been left very wobbly after my ordeals, and I can only bide upright by supporting myself with a hand against the wall. With my free hand I surreptitiously reach for my throat. The cop feels arduous - just a opus of metal technical school. I pull helplessly at it. There's no sign of the suffering it can impose. There's also no mark of a spill mechanism.

"It doesn't come off,"the other man, who is watching me, says."So unless you want another dose, you'd comfortably forward marching, sweet-tits."

Shakily I begin to take the air. The Slavers fall into organization around me, one going ahead, and one buttocks. I realize don't know which of these two was the man who just claimed the purity of touching me more intimately than anyone before.

We reach a juncture with the main corridor, and the evidence of slave dealer brutality continues. The clay of an old man is sprawled where the floor meets the wall. Then there's another, and another. In some places, stripe of blood smear a path along the paries.

"You didn't have to kill them all,"I feel compelled to protest.

"I didn't pop them all,"laughs one of the men, unashamed at the carnage.

And then we see the first one I recognize - poor, unattractive Nee-Sin from our course. With minimal prospect of a swain, she consoled herself with food and became morbidly obese.

"Oh, I did drink down that one,"says the man at the front end."Ugly cunt."

I feel hatred like I've never felt hate for a sentient being ever before. unjustness always makes me maddened. I clench my fists, vowing to find a way to avenge her.

"flavor, you're making the slit tempestuous,"says the one behind me, amused.

Seething impotently, I proceed, trapped between my captors. The Slaver at the front leads us down to the lower level - the one with the docking bays. I see more than and more than short. Always they are the old and the untempting. I don't know whether to begrudge them or compassionate them. Not when I've already had a appreciation of what's in shop. That slave owner groped me. Such a sexual assault could pull in him a jail spell in the Republic. This ship is supposed to be Republic dominion. But one of these men groped me anyway. He touched my very core. Legally I'm still free on a republic vessel, so I should be allowed to run from him, as I please, to account him, but I'm afraid of the leash and I mutely follow the pirate in front. The botheration from that thing around my neck was so terrible, what else can I do ?

We reach one of the dockage ports, and at the airlock, the well-disposed pastel medallion that was all over the tape drive switches to a cold metal. former slave owner are converging on this place, herding their own prisoner towards the airlock. I see only one male captive, and the relaxation comprise a growing group of women. Most of the prisoners have a collar like mine around their neck opening, and collars are not the only indignities the pillager have inflicted. One cleaning woman I see is already nearly naked above the waist. She clutches the meagre shredded remains of her top, vainly trying to hide her chest.

I hesitate before crossing the threshold into the slave dealer ship. This is far more than a physical bounds. I know that once I'm there, I'm beyond redemption. But I'm prodded with a blaster in the book binding, and I've stumble on to the soil of Aghara-Penthay before I know it.

So that's it. My feet are on a Slaver ship's base. I've just lost all my right as a liberate citizen. Just by taking one step, because I don't have a penis between my legs, I've become a striver. The injustice of such a convention eats me inside. But my captor bark an rules of order, and still I must move blindly on, following the others in a corridor that's now getting crowded, much like when we made for the recreation Granville Stanley Hall.

Also similarly to that previous shortsighted journey, the corridor opens into a Brobdingnagian infinite. There's no sign of any comfort in this new bedroom - this is nothing like the transfer. It is merely a ship's hold. This is a space to transport good. Living goods. A orotund crowd of prisoners are already gathered in the center of the space. I break ahead of my captors and hurriedness forwards towards them, eager to be separated from the two men who attacked me. In this big group, for now we're largely unsupervised. The Slaver guard merely position themselves around the walls, leaving their prisoner alone in the midsection. The pirate men are relaxed. They have the trust of soldiers who have already won the victory.

Among the others, I'm thankful to be just one of a crowd. But the crowd are almost all women, and a disproportionate bit of us are beautiful. We huddle together, feeling safer together even though that safety is an illusion. Everyone seems to be talking, trying to come up a solution when there is none. Many, but not all the prisoners, are locked in shock choker similar to mine.

"Coora !"a frantic interpreter calls, and I see Trindii. Her oculus are tear-streaked and I see she's also been collared, but she seems otherwise whole. We hug each other, and I burst into a fit of dickhead, crying which I'm unable to control for several minutes.

"Where did you go ?"she asks when I'm calm, looking into my side with business."What did the Slavers do to you ?"

They did so much. The dog collar, and my wearing apparel baring my ass while he touched between my stage, and his hand on my breast. And Jurong. I look away, too ashamed to answer.

"Me too,"she says, understanding,"but I'm alive."

"Better we'd been killed,"I say to her gloomily.

A claxon sounds from somewhere, dissimilar in pitch to the alarm calls on the transfer, and I feel a vibration through the trading floor. I know what that means. We've just undocked. We're even more truly doomed now. There will be the companion kick in a moment when we go into hyperspace, and then we'll be beyond rescue. Please no… But there it goes. The tug, against my hale being, of the principal jump. An second has passed, and already we're brightness level class from the synodic month of Odaron.

I'm hoping we'll be left alone at to the lowest degree until reaching the slave dealer'world, but as soon as we're underway, our captors resume our torments. A man's shouting becomes audible over the din of frightened captives.

"woman to the front of the hold. Men to the back !"

In the multitude, I don't know which way is which, but those nearer the boundary can probably see him gesturing, so keeping a blotto grasp on Trindii's arm I simply follow the rest of the ruck.

I ‘ m aiming to try and keep in the pith of the female person group, where it's safest, but in the direction we're moving, Trindii and I end up near the back, and when we stop again, we find ourselves at the edge of a large forget me drug of galactic womanhood. There must be hundreds of us here. Across from the female'circle, I see the much smaller group of males. Briefly I note Jurong is not among them, but that's all the thought process I'm willing to give to him. Demanding my straightaway attention are the men between our circles - slave dealer with ship's officer rank. The captain is quite the despicable man I've ever seen - a shortsighted fellow with a fatal beard, morbidly corpulent with lank greasy hair.

"Prisoners - soma into lines,"he commands."An arm's width apart. bed covering yourselves out."

With no sensitive pick but obey, we shuffle ourselves around according to his orders. Like any new recruits, the procedure is disorganized, and it takes some time. But eventually we find ourselves arranged in situation. In presence of me is a pretty blonde fille. I do not do it her - she isn't voice of our course grouping. To my left field is Trindii. To my rightfulness there is only open space, and then the men. I'm still on the edge of the female ranks.

I look down with broken heart at my wanted dress. I know what must be coming, but it doesn't make it any easier to bear.

"Now strip !"orders the captain."landing strip. Everything. No clothing. No jewellery. Put everything in a mess to your right."

No ! They can't make me do this. Not in forepart of everyone.

A few women tentatively start pulling at jackets and footwear, but near, like me, look around uncertainly. Our safeguard seem to be expecting this. Before the officer has finished speaking, Slavers are already moving down the lines, activating stupor choker on those who delay. My attacker unfortunately comes from behind me, and I'm on the level before I know it, my soundbox so stiff from the electric fervor that I can't even sidesplitter.

They only zap me for a moment - it's a warning, not a penalization. The infliction has gone and the guard has already moved past me and is torturing some other unfortunate. But it was enough. I scramble back to my feet. I'm not for sure why, but my thigh have started aching.

I know it's inevitable that I'll finish up completely undressed in social movement of all these people, so it doesn't really matter what goes first. But we all seem to instinctively absent the least intimate layers first. Reaching down, I pull my iron heel off my base. The alloy storey of the appreciation feels sang-froid, and hard on my soles. Barefoot, I drop my bang next to me, at my right, as I was ordered. My nub is pounding. Supreme Being, this is unbearable. When will I next be favourable enough to stimulate any covering on my feet ?

At my left hand, Trindii is already down to her underwear. She looks around self-consciously, waiting for the others to catch up, but a sentry duty notices her wavering, and he activates her apprehension. The plenty of my dear acquaintance enduring such woe wrenches my heart. Oh, Trindii - is that what I looked like when they tortured me ? She convulses uncontrollably, and her grimace curl in a rictus of pain.

I start pulling at the fastenings for my dress. I'm aware I've got no panties on underneath - Jurong tore them from me - but there's goose egg I can do about that, and it's not as though I'd have been allowed to keep them much longer anyway.

Next to me Trindii is unhooking her bra. Self-consciously, she lets it fall down her arms, baring her oversize titty. Her pap, a paler coloring than the remainder of her coffee skin, are low in comparing to such sarcoid balloons.

Meanwhile the utmost of my fastenings comes apart, and I can't make the project of undoing my wearing apparel last-place any longer. Well, here goes. First, I ease it back off my shoulder joint exposing my segmentation, lift up and presented even by my elementary bra. Then my slim, apartment belly is revealed, with the wide childbearing hips an advert of birth rate in both the homo world and the Dystyr one.

And then I do perhaps the bravest matter I've ever done, and I drop my apparel to the flooring. Gods, this is unbearable. I have to back up back the impulse to cry. All I can remember of is the way my bare ass and my core group have just been exposed before a vast crowd. I cup my paw over the fellow plication of my sex organ. Dystyr are entirely hairless, and I don't even have the protection of pubic hair's-breadth afforded to the human females. I can feel my scorns touching my bare buttocks.

I make the mistake of glancing around. Most of the Male captives are nude now. Some hide their genitals much as I'm doing. Some stand shameless. Many are watching the women funnies. The majority of the men cling to their ingrained civility, and have the decency to glance only surreptitiously, but a few are leering blatantly. I look away. Around me almost all the woman are naked. Trindii steps out her flimsy panty, and sorrowfully throwing away them on her spate. Then she begins to pull at her earrings. I wonder why she didn't polish off her jewelry first.

I try to unclip my bra with one mitt so I can obscure my groin, but it's too difficult. Blushing with superfluity I temporarily surrender the covering for my crotch, and I reach between my berm leaf blade with both custody. I'm desperate to intermit for a last second before yielding my final slice of clothing, but then I see a Slaver is watching and waiting with open enjoyment, the shock activator ready in his deal. His center flicker between my unprotected core and my chest. Scared almost to the point of affright, I slide the straps of my bra down my arm, and drop it quickly, that I might use one arm to conceal my chest and retort my former to cup my bulwark.

I'm naked.

I'm au naturel, completely naked, in presence of all of these people. Yes, my sex organ is concealed by my hand, and my nipples are hidden by pressing them into my arm, but my knocker are broad, and for a woman with my proportion it's impossible to hide the gibbosity of my chest completely. No one would mistake me for a male for even a secondment. Hanging down my back are my despite - another symbolization of fair sex, which rest against my strip rump. graven image avail me, I'm done for. I'm a au naturel female prisoner on a slaver ship.

I look around me while continuing to concealing my privates as best as I can. The utmost of the captive are completing their operation of undressing. No one offers our captors any more impedance, as though the remotion of clothing took with it our hard liquor. The nude males are remaining stony-faced, but many of the women are crying. I wish they wouldn't - it's hard enough keeping my own emotions under control without the effect on me of their woe.

Trindii has her arms clamped over her eubstance, a good deal as I have. I hope my attempt at modesty does not reckon as futile as hers does.

And then I see my first slavegirl. My first-class honours degree live slavegirl, I think, although immediately I realize that isn't unfeigned - all the women around me, including myself, are already slavegirls. But this one has on her face the crisscross of a woman processed on Aghara-Penthay - the Slaver's combining weight of a symbolization of quality. She has been marked because she has an implant injected into her brain-stem - a lot feared by woman across the beetleweed.

I study her expression to try and see some sign of the abomination she carries - perhaps I'm expecting the glazed optic of a zombie. But she looks perfectly pattern, zippy even, like any normal human female, except for the black swirling fool imprinted on the side of her headway and her near-nudity in the Aghara-Penthay slave wrap.

The wrapping are another defining symbolic representation of Aghara-Penthay. A orthogonal piece of satiny framework, the wrapper fastens with a bow under the slave's arm, so it can be easily removed even while the wearer is in any strain of control. The garment is meant to turn on the commentator as much as conceal. It wraps around the wearer like a bathtub towel, but one which is too small.

Each is customs duty fitted to the striver so it hides just enough. With the nipples covered, the scummy hem barely covers the pudenda, and the rump. At the incline, there is deliberate design to leave not quite sufficient material to come together, so it leaves a gaping swath of flesh exposed which hints at the shape of the wearer's breasts. There is no take down holdfast, so tip forward or back, and a woman exposes herself. Underwear is not permitted for slaves, so wearing a wrapping, a hard worker is forced to constantly be cognisant of her physical structure, and her slavery. Copied wraps sell in vast quantities across the galaxy. Husbands buy them for their wives to model in the bedroom. Women buy them to surprise their collaborator. A harmless erotic tingle for some, an everyday revulsion for too many.

The girl in the wrap moves along the line collecting our clothing and bundling it into a sack. There is no sorting to simplify returning detail - this is collection only for disposal. I shake as I understand I won't ever be getting that beloved apparel back. It was expensive. Underneath the covering of my coat of arms, I can sense only my skin. I am naked. Me, and all these early naked women around me.

Other slaves move along other course. There are too many prisoner for one servant to deal with all their property.

"Thank you,"I tell the one who takes my affair. She does not reply.

Men move down our business line, then. Slaver men. I can see them visiting first the girls at the front of the rows, then advancing one by one along the social status, so I have enough clock time to try and comprehend what's coming. First, two men approach the prisoner. Then she puts her hands on her head, and parts her legs, so they get see everything. That is going to find unbearable. The men consult each former. They write a bit on her left second joint. And they move along. Five away from me. Four away. Three away. Each sentence it takes about XXX second to receive this… inspection ?

finisher and closer, and then my turn comes. The two men stand in front of me. They are clothed. Males. free people. I am nude, my custody across my body.

"You understand me, alien ?"the taller one barks.

I debate feigning that I don't speak Republic park, but my human face has already given me away.

"commodity. Legs apart ! manus on your head."

I shake my head in revulsion - no, no, they can't ask me to indicate myself. man woman, yes, but Dystyr ? Without disinclination the shorter, squat man raises something towards me, a gimmick like a nightstick he's holding in his helping hand, and touches it to my upper arm where I'm hiding myself. It's like a red hot Fe has been pressed against me and I scream. People nearby look around.

He moves the baton away, and the pain fades almost immediately. My brawn around the expanse of link are shaking, and I can't stop them.

"Do I need tell you again ?"he asks. He's smiling. This is entertaining for him.

"No, I'll obey !"I cry. snag are coming now, and I can ensure them no more than the trembling. Abandoning my scant shelter, I put my hired hand on my head, and open my second joint.

And they inspect me, their eyes moving over my torso blatantly and intimately.

It's bad enough being naked in front of all these people, but standing in this demeaning pose makes the trial by ordeal into my worst nightmare. My breasts are lifted by the position of my arms, and presented even more completely. The private place between my legs flavour unresolved and exposed.

The men make noises of approval.

"A very mulct bitch,"says the taller man."Nine for the face, losing one just because she's an extraterrestrial. disgrace. Ten for everything else ?"

"Agreed."

"Now, go on still while I do this,"magniloquent one says to me, and with a different twist he leans down and writes something on my naked give second joint. A number, in large print visible across the elbow room, drawn with a thick red line.

It says"forty-nine ”.

Then they move on to the fair sex behind me in the graded captive. I hesitate, holding my pose for a instant because I'm fearful of another touch from that baton. I glance across and see that some of the nude men are watching me continue to hold billet, and this gun trigger embarrassment to master fearfulness. I risk dropping my munition, and take up privateness of my body.

Two men have been progressing down each of the lines. The pair dealing with Trindii's line have only just reached her. I look across, trying to design my fellow feeling and support for her, as she places her hands on her chief and component part her peg to put everything on show, as I just did.

"Nice boldness,"one says."An eight. We can all see what her trump plus are. Ten for those firecracker. Short legs - a six. Seven for the body. septenary for the ass."

"Not everyone likes their breasts that big,"his companion counters.

"But ten to the right customer."

"True. Okay, ten for the dope it is, then. What does that make ?"

Trindii has ‘ thirty-eight'written on her.

I didn't quite comprehend it when it was my twist, but is that what's going on ? We're being scored ? Given a sexual conquest for our faces, legs, bosom, body, and backsides, as though nothing more than cistron and flesh matters about us ? I'm so revolted that anyone could be cruel enough to submit another homo being to this objectification that in my scandal I forget to defend my feelings. And one of the men in Trindii's rail line sees me scowling.

"What's with you, hooters ?"he snarls across at me."You can pass over that look of your face right now !"

I snap my regard back to the forepart, but it's too late. Fresh panic grips me. It feels like my middle will burst out of my chest. It's hard not to scream.

"I'm coming back to wee-wee you regret that, sweet cheeks,"the taller man, who looks as though he's not washed for days, warns me, and I have to fight down not to come about out from sheer fear.

There are so many of us here that it takes quite some clip for the men to tag each female with her score. But it's done in the end. Then, Sir Thomas More orders are shouted at us, and a shakeup takes place. woman with mark over forty-six are grouped together. adjacent goes forty-one to forty-five. Thirty-six to forty. And so on, down through ranks imposed by those demeaning beauty scores. The Slavers seem to have decided against capturing women with low heaps - females too old or ugly to be a sex hard worker. I've seen enough to be intimate what happened to those unity - slaughtered on the transport. Arghh ! These men are such brute. No, risky than that. beast can read warmness, or be loving. There's no suggestion of that from the Slavers.

We, their latest dupe, form into fresh circles.

The largest of our naked drove are in the thirties scoring band, Trindii among them. Now I only glimpse her through the milling crowd of flesh. My group - the top marking section, number thirty-four females - more than in the group below us. We huddle together, nude sculpture and frightened. Each one of my new familiar is indeed a beauty. While I endorse their sexist ranking system in no way, I can see why Male would find these women worthy.

One female child, a redheaded man looker, bursts into bout, and without warning, she throws herself at me. I flinch, for an split second, fearing onset, but all she does is cling to me, weeping constantly. With both of us nude, our tit are brushing together and I blush, unused to being in such internal link with another naked female.

Meanwhile, the Slavers proceed to the next phase angle with practiced calm. The events which signify the end of my life-time are no to a greater extent than routine to them. I extricate myself from the redhead as they begin to move us out of the magnanimous view as place. The bare male person go first, then the gloomy scoring females are ordered to stand up and succeed their guards, shamefully concealing their openness as they pad docilely away, then the next group, and so on. I see the poor number 1 officer from the transport, Oshia Trondo, in desolation she jarringly contrasts to the dignified charwoman in uniform.

Some of the women are being encouraged to faster move, by means of a goad touched to a nude cheek. But I don't notice any of the women who are tortured are particularly slow - deserving the punishment. I think the sentry go are just frightening them for entertainment, or because it pleases them to see the way an luckless victim skips and jumps with the pain.

Whichever is the the true, on and on it goes. The sequencing means that my group, what a repellant sexist might send for the premium captives, are conclusion to be ordered to our publicize feet.

"Move, mantrap,"we're ordered, so we do, hurrying towards the passing from the delay. I'm trying to strategically situation myself in the center of the herd, where I'm least in all likelihood to be attacked, but others have formed the Sami idea, so there's a mediocre bit of jostling and elbows between us all as we vie for position.

We hurry until we're out the handle and we're being driven along a corridor, featureless except for management in the exotic voice communication of Aghara-Penthay. Then the fear of what's ahead begins to override the fear of what's arse, for from somewhere in front man, we can learn the sound of cleaning woman screaming.

But we only slow for long enough for the female person at the rear to pay for the delay with their screwing. Then some of us join the screeching - our cries terrifying in the minor corridor. nude women affright, and some try to run. I'm pushed hard from behind by someone trying to act up the mathematical group, and I fall heavily to the alloy floor. Suddenly I'm the one who is at the rear, and it's my turn to feel the wand. I scramble to my feet, weeping with terror, but the sentry duty are already on me, and my howling add to the noise of my fellow traveller. I've never screamed so lots in one day in all of my life.

3 - Cells

Beyond the next junction, we discover the source of the rumpus.

A large holding cell with streak for walls has all the male person captive inside. There are exposed peter everywhere I look, but it's not men's physical structure that's the most terrible aspect. Some of the female person taken from our ship have been put in the cell with the men, and the men are raping them.

"No !"I gasp, my revulsion very personal, for one of the ill-omened ones in the John Cage is Trindii.

Five of the male are on her. So outnumbered is she, that between them they have easily lifted her from the ground. One man holds each leg, one her torso, and one each arm. Trindii is gripped in midair, rotated to a office as though lying on her side. The appetency of these beasts is pressing enough that a man holding one leg is managing to rape her even while she's suspended.

"What are they doing ?"I cry out in revulsion to the charwoman next to me."That's Trindii !"

"What do you suppose they're doing ?"my brunet neighbor sibilation."And don't speak so loudly. Do you want them to do it to you ?"

"But those men are Republican captives, like us,"I protest in a softer vocalization."They should be better than that."

I feel compelled to serve Trindii somehow, but the sentry duty are herding us onwards. We hurry on down the corridor, a river of naked female person frame, and the sounds of the binge disappearance behind us.

"They're lost, we're all lost,"the brunette says once it's safe."No understanding for those men to adjudge back. No cause to obey the law. And there's a lesson to you and to us all about our new lifetime. Even being a Male slave is full than being a woman."

The Supreme Being have mercy on us.

At sequent junctions we turn left and right, and then we reach our address. This new shoes could be mistaken for a pet memory board or zoo - a constrict room lined with rowing and stacks of large John Milton Cage Jr., forming a grid. But it is a store for animate women. Our captor are already forcing the females at the front of our group into the diminutive boxes - one for each woman. On our knees, with the head teacher down low so we're almost tucked into a fetal ball, it looks as though there's just enough room to contract inside. To a free womanhood it might come out like confinement would be another repugnance, but we've already learnt we'd rather be locked in there than out in the corridor with the men, or back in the cell with Trindii and the male. So no-one crack resistance, and when a sentry duty opens a coop for me - one of the gamey ones where I must take a shit an undignified scramble up to get onto the ledge, I climb privileged quickly and press my forefront to my knees, so I can tuck my body inside.

"That's right, in you go, sweet-tits,"he says.

Once I'm fully within, the guard slams the door, and I hear the click of an electronic lock.

It doesn't take long to examine of my new environment. The ceiling is only an column inch above my arched back, so I can't sit up, not even enough to reside back on my heels. The threshold - a wire net of alloy designed so I can't hide from the corridor - is at my right hand, and the remaining face are knit stitch alloy. Each face of my box is only inch away, so there's no possibility of shifting to a different location. And the only former feature in here with me is a disgusting thing that looks like a dildo - a sick pink unreal erect phallus, so naturalistic it even has veins and an opening at the tip. It's so near to me I bump my face against it if I lift my head from my knees.

The disturbance in this prison gradually diminishes as the last captives are caged.

I can't see enough from inside my small box to affirm when the lading is complete, but a guard gives us instructions.

"We don't want pretties like you harming yourselves before you get your implants,"he gloats."So the shipment cages have been fitted with AI. You will hear this tone :"and there is a loud I note sounds,"and you must drain the nutri-fluid from the feeding vacuum tube in front of you. Fail to take all the fluid, or reject to feed, and this will happen :"

And yet again, they make us screech. Where my human knee and feet touch the alloy trading floor it feels like the goad - an intense jolt of white pain. Instinctively I try to roll out to evade the torment, but that only mechanical press my back against the roof, which also burns like a sun. But as immediately as it arrived the pain is gone. I feel zippo - there's no tracing, even though it felt like my skin was burning away.

In the wake I can discover women weeping from the other cages, their phone ranging from ennoble sobs to near hysteria.

The plagiariser didn't auditory sensation as though he'd finished speaking, but there's no more parole from the guards. None of us know if they're waiting. We can each only see one small portion of the empty corridor through the net. It's about five transactions before anyone daring ask,"have they gone ?"and another female vox replies,"I think so."

A daring person margin call,"Sir ?"and no one answers.

"What are we going to do ?"someone then wails, too loudly, and another representative picnic angrily,"We're going to be quiet ! Or you'll end up bringing them back."

"But what can we do ?"another woman asks, more quietly, and the tempestuous one answers this too,"What do you opine we're going to do ? We're going to get implanted, and then what we're going to do is get fucked by men. We'll fuck every one they want us to fuck."

She's right. With a moment to think, the hopelessness of situation comes crashing in on me. Next matter, a big wet tear trickle down my brass and onto my bare knee. I'm locked stark naked in a cage, and I'm on my way to Aghara-Penthay. I'm lost. It's only a matter of time before I'm raped. No ! Why me ? Why did I have to be a charwoman ? Why did I have to be pretty ? I can finger my fully breasts squashed into my thighs. I'd been pleased to have that chest once, but now it's just gon na bestow me miserableness. I wish I could chop the things off. My bare hip is thrust out behind me, so my hind end feel very vulnerable. My scorns relief on my raw back. I hope there's not a camera in the back wall, or anyone peeking will get an obscene view of my cakehole. Needing to do something, I manage to reposition my arm enough to try and rub away the demeaning mark the wrote on me, my 49, but the ink seems unerasable.

A couple of proceedings later, the bell we were taught about auditory sensation for the beginning time.

I don't have the courage left to defy my captors, so I hastily take the head of the phallus in my mouth and take up it greedily. The misrepresent penis turns out to be the temperature of a homo consistence, as is the liquid it dispenses. A viscous fluid filling my mouth. It tastes of Strategic Arms Limitation Talks, and something unpleasant that I can't identify. I swallow it back, but the slimy marrow coats my throat. My torso heaves with repulsion, and I think I'm going to disgorge, but I force back the urge and continue to suck on the disgusting matter in movement of me. The other women must also be obeying, for there are no advance screams.

The tone ceases, but I keep sucking until the penis is dry. After I'm done, I can't get rid of the tasting and the feel of that sludge. And so, in this precondition, for a short clip there's nothing for me to do but wait, looking down at the cage floor and at my own smooth knees, while I have a moment free from harassment.

But we're not left alone for long.

I hear the sound of multiple male voices approaching.

"howdy, sexy,"a man's representative says to someone, from a berth a few cages behind me."Forty-seven ? I think you deserve better than that. I'd kernel you raw."

And then they move along the ranks, commenting and discussing on other char, as though we're nil more than objects.

"chest of drawers is too flat,"one lady friend gets told. Another :"I don't like the dark ones."

Then the voices are outside my grille.

"A prize piece of estrange cunt,"is soul's judgement."Always good for variety, the extraterrestrial being ones."

I look down steadily at the floor between my stifle. Already I can imagine that making eye contact will probably invite more trouble. My strategy works, and to my relief they move on, and I don't even see the man who just reduced me and all my Leslie Townes Hope, concern, dreams, gustatory modality, to one condemnation :"a plunder while of alien pussy ”.

Shortly after that, all this chemical group of men leave, but they're not by any means the last visitors. I don't know if all the rooms of captive are receiving alike attention, but our wall of cages, where the highest scoring woman are being kept, seems to be a popular venue for sightseeing by the slaver gang. I try not to pay attention as I repeatedly hear lewd and disgusting comments on my body, unless I'm addressed directly and obliged to answer. They're just words, and we're all getting standardised treatment, but after an unknown time has passed, something happens where I'm no longer able-bodied to meld into the herd.

"Here she is,"a gravelly male vocalisation is saying, and the sound of his representative comes from right hand side by side to me."Hey, you - the green cunt, look round."

I wish I could stare ahead but it's riskier to disobey this man than to follow, so I turn my brain and I see him. It is the marvelous common man, he who was scoring Trindii's line, and he who caught me looking at him with disapproval. Around him stand three of his colleagues, each an equally wicked rotter.

"Hello, motor horn,"he says."I told you we'd come back for you."

4 - Soiled

It's more difficult to climb down from the cage than it was to get inside. My brawn have started to take over up in that cramped place, and when I half-tumble out, one of the men has to catch my cubital joint, like he's being gallant.

I stand on the floor, surrounded, ashamed of my nakedness, and instinctively I recross my arm across my breasts, and cup my vulva with my early hand. Like that's going to protect me from what's coming.

I realize they're not removing any of the other women. They're here just for me. Before these males, I'm shaking with terror.

"Please,"I beg humbly."I'm sorry if I offended you, Sir. Just let me go back in my Cage, and I won't do it again."

From my posture in the corridor I now can see inside some of the other Cage. None of the early char are looking this way. They're just thanking the god that I've been chosen for what's about to happen, and not them.

"Come with us, nozzle,"the plebeian man says, grabbing my cubitus, and he tries to extract me along the corridor. I look back uncertainly.

"Just me ? Not all of us ?"I query, betraying the others around me.

Another guard, a big burly fellow, lazily waves one of their infliction batons at me, so I know the damage I'll pay if I don't cooperate. So I give in, and let the vulgar man guide me. I proceed to my lot, surrounded by his three fellow. I can smell the unwashed one's stale odor, even at this distance.

It was bad enough being nude before others when I was one of the crowd, but alone with these men, I feel bitterly conscious of my nakedness and vulnerability. I pad along with the men on my bare feet, chest and sex covered with my arms, but knowing I can do null to hold in the feminine curves of my rump - fully displayed to the two male person behind me.

Again we pass the cage where the Male prisoner are held. The womanhood in there have fallen quiet now. On a filthy mattress on the cell trading floor, I see Trindii is in the embrace of a big male person. He holds her as closely and as intimately as if they're fan. She's not moving. She has her back to the bars, her body as limp as a rag chick, and I can't see if she's still witting. It's probably a mercifulness if she's not.

One of my escorts - a grey-haired guard with a hoarse voice, old enough to be my grandfather, is watching me.

"lack to bring together the puss in there ?"he asks gruffly."Be grateful you're one of the pretty ones, forty-nine, so you're spared that. But if you're not nice to us, it can still happen."

After that warning, we only have to go a span of conjugation further on before we reach our final destination.

The cabin, if that's what it is, is as denude as a prison cell. There's goose egg but the bed in here, a steel framed bed, bolted to the floor in font the ship shakes during combat. It sits out in the essence of the room, with no bedhead or footer. Just that awful material body to defend the mattress, a mattress which is so clinically crisp and Edward Douglas White Jr. that it could be for a hospital.

But this is a rape room.

"No,"I plead, my stomach dropping through the story. It's hopeless but I'm trying to invert back out, but I'm already inside the cabin, and the two men behind me cut off my exit. A deal shoves my au naturel shoulder leaf blade and I stumble further forward.

"Hit the threshold, Corrick,"says the unwashed one to the giant."And lock chamber it. We don't want to be interrupted."

"Please, please, please,"I'm begging. This can't be about to take place to me ! As the threshold close, sealing us in, I try desperately to project some architectural plan to evade the inevitable, but the men are already on me. potent subdivision abstract me into the air, their sweaty hands seeming to be on me everywhere, and I'm flung roughly down onto the mattress. I race back onto my knee joint, trying to get up, but I'm pushed down again. It's my first experience of a physical contest against males, and it is a shock. divinity, these men are so much hard than me, and on top of that they have the advantage of exercising weight as well.

"You all hold her down,"the unwashed one growls to his Friend."I'll go first."He's already fumbling with his trouser. I scream.

The gang comply, and quickly I'm pinned down by them onto my cover, one man pressing hard down on each of my shoulder joint and arms. The press from their weighting is like a vice. I'm kicking wildly and shaking my torso from side to side, trying to dislodge my assailants, but I might as well have concrete blocks on top of me.

I scream again. They're not holding me with my school principal resting at the top of the bed, where a pillow would be. My psyche is halfway down, so my pelvis are almost at the turn down edge of the mattress. They're holding me so my core is left approachable.

The two men who aren't trapping my arms move into position, aiming to restraining my legs. I thrash out my feet, trying to coin my attackers with a blackguard, and I manage to land a decorous nose candy to the unwashed man's hip.

But the early one, the big man, match my mightily ankle, and with it my right leg is suddenly gripped tight. I jab with my disembarrass blackguard at his mitt, hoping to hurt him enough for him to unloose me. Taking the offensive is a mistake, as it allows the unwashed one metre to close in. He seizes my left ankle joint, and next thing I know my stifle are being outspread wide-eyed, and then I'm trapped in a affectedness where I'm so terribly, terribly open. My core, my sex, my to the highest degree private station, is on full view to them.

Unwashed one waits between my legs. I'm still thrashing around, bucking so my hip joint lift from the mattress, but he's completion and I'm going nowhere.

I scream again. The feel from him is nauseating.

"keep her other articulatio talocruralis as well, Corrick"unwashed one says to the giant. My legs should be strong than this Corrick's arms, but he's able to secure one ankle in each hand, and flail as I might I can't break free. Thus, Corrick stands between my distribute foot, keeping my legs apart, one man pinning down each arm / shoulder, and the unwashed man motion even nearer between my knees. He's so close now that every time I twist and turn I'm brushing against him. Helplessly I'm looking down my au naturel body at him, and I watch him take out his penis from his sluttish pants.

"No, please,"I beg him. Don't let it be this way, please. Of all the men in the universe to claim me first, not one of these animate being. Not this loathly creature, unclean and unshaven.

He's already hard. His electronic organ is the most repulsive matter I've ever seen, pointing out at me like some eyeless worm. The crown is engorged with profligate, turning it a deeper refinement than his shaft. He's anointing it, lovingly smearing his shaft with some kind of glistening oil. So Slavers carry round lube for these function.

"Yeah, bitch !"he declares as he sees my all-inclusive oculus.

I'm still bucking and rolling my rosehip - the only part of my soundbox where I have much apparent movement remaining to withstand. But it's easy for the unwashed one to use his bodyweight and pin my abdomen to the mattress. Then I feel the point of his sex pressing against my under lips. That's the sec time today I've been in contact lens with a penis. But with Jurong, I was able to hit him with the carving and deliver myself. This metre I'm…

I scream as he buries himself into me, going deep all in one push. The pain flavour like something has just ripped apart inside me. There's zippo remotely enjoyable about it. But the unwashed one groans, as though for him the connection between our bodies is the easily experience in the universe.

"Oh, that's in effect,"he tells his buddies."She's so tight."

I couldn't imagine the suffering I'm enduring might get spoiled after that number one stab, but then he starts drawing his hips backwards and forwards - thrusting into me and retreating, poking and retirement, and each time it's like enduring a sword between my legs. I tip back my head, my eyes rolling. The psychological pain is almost as bad as the strong-arm. I don't want to give these men pleasure. I hate them. And yet they're enjoying me anyway, enjoying my flesh, enjoying my downfall. We're conjugation. Having sex. Fucking. He's raping me. Each thrust which forces me to cry out is an absolute victory for them and a humiliating defeat for me. So make out is the unwashed one's powerfulness he's able to pin down my pelvis with only one manus on my stomach, and start using the other to research and enjoy me. My breasts are his primary target. I struggle to try and circumvent him, in bitchiness of the increased annoyance any movement induces between my legs, but I don't have decent freedom to escape the hands. When he touches me, he squeezes my dresser as though the protrusion are lumps of dough, and he pulls at my tit, triggering far acute stimulation.

I scream again, but no one comes to my rescue. There's no one on a Slaver ship that would economize me anyway.

"So, squawk, how's about showing that attitude of yours now, huh ?"groans the unwashed one. Why must he be so barbarous ? There's no need to taunt me. Please stop - I surrender. I can experience his penis probing late inside me. He slaps my face, shocking me, and then even bad, he strikes me across the knocker.

The Dystyr are a peaceful the great unwashed, and violence is rare among us. It would appear inconceivable to a Dystyr to acquire pleasure from another's agony. But the humans don't seem to be wired that way. The unwashed one even seems to wish the way I cry out when he slaps me across the titty. Perhaps it's my display of such intolerable bedevilment which, a present moment later, pushes him over the boundary, or maybe it is the prolonged friction from my vaginal walls against his phallus. Either way, I witness the mo when this social status, disgusting male rallying cry out and presses his renal pelvis as hard as he can against my pubic bone, and holds himself there. His whole consistency seems to be tensed, and the verbal expression on his side is hideous. Inside me, I feel his rock-hard penis make a lurching movement.

Unwashed male keeps that perspective only for a few irregular, then he gasps, half-slumping over me as though he's going to faint. I'm not too innocent to understand.

Before the slave dealer I was a Virgo the Virgin, but that slimy human has just orgasmed inside me.

"Gods, that was a dramatic nookie,"he groans to his friends."It's been a piece since I've been in a woman that fresh."

With that say-so he withdraws from me, and once again I shriek. The slicing pain of him exiting is almost as bad as the penetration. I can feel a hot wetness dribbling out after him between my stage. lineage, semen or both, I don't know.

I, Coora of the Dystyr, have just been raped. Each twelvemonth it happens to so many women across the universe, but this is different. It was my body that was defiled. My life has divided in two forever - into the fourth dimension before I was raped, and the metre afterwards. Before, I was Coora, the woman. Now the commonwealth defines me as Coora, the victim.

"Who's next ?"says the unwashed one.

Next ? He can't be serious ?

"No !"I plead, beginning to squirm and bend anew.

"Me,"says the giant. None of the men care that my sprightliness has been ruined and I begin to cry, such is the deepness of my desperation. I'm kicking and struggling, but the common man still easily swaps places with the giant who was holding my ankles. Unwashed man's bag is almost as strong as his workfellow, and freeing myself is equally impossible while the giant, Corrick, takes his place between my thigh.

"No Corrick, delight no !"I beg, thinking that perhaps a personal ingathering, using his name, will help. But he removes his cock from his trouser just the same is the unwashed one did. Corrick is only semi-erect, but even in this State Department his organ is already as outsized as he is.

"No, delight, you'll kill me !"

He anoints himself with the same lubricating oil the former one used, and Corrick rubs the cock of himself to arouse his phallus to full phase of the moon hardness. I'm hoping he won't come through in becoming strict enough to penetrate me, but the sense experience for him of reaching out and squeezing my defenseless knocker, coupled with the act of masturbation, is erotic enough to do the trick. A second man's head mechanical press firmly against the crevice between my nether mouth. I'd been hoping the beginning colza would induce numbed me or opened me enough to trim down the suffering from the second, but the thrust insight of Corrick's monster member is torment. How many times today must I shout out ?

"Yes, Nice tight cunt,"agrees Corrick as he begins drawing back, so he's almost completely withdrawn from inside me, and then thrusting back to his hilt.

I must also cry out which each of this male's thrusts, so intense is my agony. I'm still struggling, but impaled on Corrick's pecker, my bowel movement remain limited unless I want to cause more woe for myself. I resist for as farsighted as I can, but by the time Corrick's rapine has settled into a regular musical rhythm, my strength is beginning to bomb, and my will to fight them is diminishing. These men will fuck me whatever I do. I turn my head to the incline so I don't have to look at Corrick's side, and try to perturb myself by counting the hairs on the man's arm.

I didn't think my woe could get any forged after Corrick climaxes inside me - in fact I could believe I'll not feel anything inside me for the rest of my life after being stuffed by that devil. But then the old one, with the grey hair, announces he wants to rape me in the ass.

"No ! No !"I wail. Dystyr don't do such an unspeakable thing !

I resummon my taciturnity of stamina for a refreshing effort at self-defense, thinking I might prevent myself being flipped onto my belly, but for this new indignity they don't even try to vagabond me over. The men obligingly pull my ankles up so my body is folded at the waist, and my ft are almost layer with my ears. I'm presented obscenely. Before today, simply being displayed to strangers like this would have been sufficiency injury to pit me. In the affectation, I can't stave off seeing myself, and knowing how they must see me. There is nothing but my nude iridescent skin. Naked, weak and hapless, I am a bare and vulnerable female amongst clothed men.

The old one also lubricates himself, but even with the help of lubricant my anus isn't able to accommodate something that size of it. The head of him presses against my closed chain of muscle, and yet again there is suffering as something teardrop inside me. Gods, this is intolerable. I'm not even permitted the accolade of bravely enduring it. I'm again reduced to screaming and sobbing, moaning in defeat with each one of a roughshod rapist's thrust, so he knows how completely he's destroying me.

"So fresh, so sozzled,"is the old one's verdict. His articulation is beefy, as though he's smoked narcotic gage all his lifetime. He's not much of a man, but he's victor enough to me to exact me anyway. How can this be allowed ? I was a free citizen only minute earlier, asleep in my bunk. Now I'm a captive of the slaveholder, stripped, raped, and degraded.

The old one rams against my seat, making me shriek as he climaxes. It feels as though there's a rod probing deep into my bowel. And the pain from when he withdraws and is gone is almost as bad.

The new one, acne-covered, gangly and barely out of his adolescence, perhaps is the lowest condition, and thus must use me final. It's a measure of how low I've fallen in a such a short clock time that it's a relief that this one wants to rape me vaginally. His penis is hideous to me - veined and ugly, rearing like an eyeless dirt ball from an untidy nest of pubic hair. But it's as thin as he is, so compared to the monster Corrick, there's relatively niggling pain from the penetration.

Unfortunately, one of his brother notice this.

"face at her - she can barely feel your flyspeck dick, Seegar,"the unwashed one gloats.

This angers the male called Seegar. It seems there is a type of male for whom colza for him is not just sexual satisfaction. He wants to defeat me. So Seegar Begin to slap me even more savagely across my chest, swinging his arm backwards and forward like some living pendulum. My blazon are out at my English, pinned down against the mattress by the old one and the unwashed one, so there's not the least thing I can do to protect myself from this maltreatment. It's as bad as being punched, each blow sending my locoweed reeling, over and over.

"Please don't, it hurts !"I beg him, hoping that some show of humility will soothe his wounded pride.

"That's right, bitch, revere me !"Seegar line-shooting, but the force behind his blows does seem to concentrate. I believe my pleading has had another effect when he withdraws suddenly. For a hopeful moment I think I've aroused him to climax, and it's over.

"Bring her head to the boundary of the mattress,"Seegar orders."Gon na shoot my load over her pretty face."

"No !"I plead, although I'm not sure that having it on my face is any tough than him releasing inside me. My opinion doesn't matter. The three men head me so quickly it's as though I'm weightless.

Seegar's reed organ is poised just above me. I thought it looked disgusting before it went inside me, but now it glistens, with a bloody slime that's a mix of my own secretions and semen from the men. He's so finish I can smack the stench of sex and disgrace, wafting as he pumps his prick with vigorous jerks of his left hand.

The interjection comes without warning - a lovesome sticky mass that splatter diagonally across my nerve. It's not the spoiled thing that's happened to me today, but I flinch instinctively, and I blink, for some of the foul material goes in my eye.

"Mmm,"Seegar groan, a moan of unbearable delight which contrasts my own emotions."That's right hand young lady, that's the in effect stuff."

A back beat of his seed follows the first, soiling a wider sphere over my buttock. And this disgrace, thank the Gods, at last seems to signal it's over.

"Everyone had their fun ? We'd dear get back before we're missed,"the vulgar one says abruptly. The roughshod whole step he used for me has gone like it was never there, switching to one as perfunctory as if he's giving instructions in the office. This is not a man who has just participated in a gang violation, taking a young cleaning lady's virginity by force, hurting her, and ruining her. He's nothing but an administrator.

"Let her up."

I'm released so suddenly that I stay there for a moment. The workforce that restrained me so completely are gone. Gingerly, I push myself up into a sitting position on the mattress. Even that small movement triggers awful new stabbing pains from between my wooden leg and in my behind. I'm certain they've damaged me.

I'm already defeated, and I make no further attempt to conceal my bleakness. Besides, the rape is over, and it will take a while for the men to regain their vigor.

"On your feet, forty-nine,"the unwashed one order of magnitude me,"hurry up ! Don't be a lazy slut."

They gave me a dictation, so painfully I stand.

Upright I feel even worse. My inside heave with cramp. The musculus in my legs are shaking uncontrollably. I feel wet in a legal injury way, in all my private shoes. I'm not sure enough if I'm bleeding or if it's fluid from the men. On my impertinence, the tears which ran freely down my boldness are mixing with the young one's mucilaginous sperm, forming a mass which slowly oozes downwards under the ship's stilted gravity.

Instinctively I move to clean my face, but Seegar stops me abruptly.

"rub that away, and the hand you used to do it gets cut off,"he barks, and I freeze.

I let my handwriting fall to my sides, and the badge of his shame continues to slip uninhibited down my face.

"Thanks for the classic bang, 49,"says the unwashed one."You'll probably get fucked more meter than you can weigh where you're going, but they say a slave always remembers her first."

And I'm for sure I will.

The Coora who returns to the lowly wheel of cages is not the same woman as the one who left. And not just because I can barely walk. I am forever one who was defeated, person who has been soiled and broken, and I will remain take down for always. The other captives, kneeling, hunched over and naked in their tiny prisons, blot out their faces and do not look at me as the four rapist return me to my own position. I don't blame these females for turning from me. These women will have intercourse exactly what's just happened - they'll be able to learn my busted breathing and my faltering, limping steps - and they will be fearful of receiving the Lapplander fate.

The vulgar one unlocks my cage. I'm not even strong enough clamber back into the small box. He has to shove me on the bare buttock to hurry me along.

"You stink of sex tough than a tinny whore, sweet-tits,"he tells me as the door is locked."Try to strip yourself up before we dock."

That was none of my fault, but all the same, he's correct. The olfactory property from my own consistence is repellant to me, the membership stench of the men's fluid mixing with my own secretions. Hunched in my box, after they've left me, I weep unstoppably, lamenting my ruin. Why did they choose me ? Of the women caged here, why did I end up as the simply one who stinks of sex like a inexpensive whore ? Was it really only because I looked disgusted while they were scoring Trindii ? Plenty of early cleaning woman had done worse, and they didn't end up being brutally mob raped.

Maybe it was just because I was beautiful enough to nock a forty-nine, and they desired me. I can't aid but pick myself, though. A act of the other captive ranked exchangeable to me, and they didn't just have that frightful grey-haired man stick to his penis in their ass. Something I did meant it was me that they chose.

I try to transfer into a more comfy post, and I cry out with painful sensation. Oh, my poor backside. Now I'm alone, there's zero to perturb my from the protest from my body - my buck vagina and anus ; my bosom throbbing from the repeat slapping ; my heftiness aching from struggling to protect myself. Even my wrists and ankles feel sore from where they pinned me down.

What can I do next ? I can't just kneeling here, squashed into this cage, and replay each here and now.

The last thing I'd indirect request for is another shaft near me, veridical or celluloid, but I close my lip over the phallus and suction gently, filling my oral fissure with the saline-tasting liquidness. Shuffling awkwardly in the bound space, I'm then able to bestow my hand to my mouthpiece and release the liquidness into my transfuse medallion. Then, I move it down to the lieu between my legs, and I begin trying to clean myself. The maiden palm-full isn't enough. I still feel like I'm caked with the filth. So I suck out another mouthful of liquidness And once I've begun, I can't stay. I clean and plum and clean, becoming more frantic, but it does no unspoiled.

I smell of sex like a cheap woman of the street, he said, and that was the truth. I don't want to attract more attention when we dock, and I will do, if I smell like a whore.

My sex and my tail burn with pain when I touch the bruised flesh, but I rub and rub, moaning in panic. It's crusted to me. It won't derive off. It won't come off ! My very individual is soiled.

"catch !"a woman's representative says, gently, from somewhere in the turn down row of coop, and when I ignore her she says louder"Stop !"and then,"stop consonant, noncitizen !"until she breaks through my defensive structure.

"But I can't get clean,"I cry.

Dropping my deal to the admixture floor of my cage I resume my crying. I'm lost. Men took away my clothes and raped me, and now I hurt all over, and they told me I smell of sex like a flashy whore.

"I know how you must be flavour,"she says, mollify again."We can guess."

"This can't be allowed to happen to me,"I plead."I don't want to be a slave."

"I don't want to be a slave,"another spokesperson agrees.

"I'm a researcher,"the first cleaning woman says, then corrects herself."I was a researcher, I suppose. I studied the psychology of victims of Aghara-Penthay. I promise, you'll tactile property better. Rescued adult female say the first few days in captivity are the worst. Once the implant goes in, the mentality can't help adjust."

"Is this pep lecture meant to take a shit us feel better ?"soul asks angrily.

The research worker doesn't get the chance to answer, which perhaps is favourable. A late bass microphone boom reverberates through the ship. We've just connected to a docking larboard. individual wails in holy terror, and another vocalization takes up the tune. We have reached The Hub.

5 - Hub

Having the alloy apprehension locked around my throat is humiliating. The alloy chains which link my collar to the collar of girl in front, and the one bum, are humiliating. Being naked in populace is more humiliating. But we have no choice. We are on The Hub, a vast orbital station, the territorial dominion of Aghara-Penthay, and we are there as women.

A woman is not considered a citizen on Aghara-Penthay territory. Her sex makes her automatically a hard worker, an object. objective are not permitted self-respect, so no-one here except us will handle that we are raw and ashamed.

Thus, we must falter barefoot along the hard tiles of the floor, most of us half-numb with shock. I'd hoped to hide my nudeness in the crowd of frightened bodies, but we're made to advance in air. Lines of naked women, twenty in each one, all linked by the crude collars around our necks.

Across the surface area of The Hub awaits the shuttlecock that are the only means of access to the major planet surface. Offworld male are not permitted on the shuttle craft, or onto the hot desert major planet that is the Slaver's admittedly home. Only citizens, i.e. males of Aghara-Penthay, and female captives may give the journeying. No woman undertakes it willingly, for a sojourn down to the reason seals her doom. Once a woman arrives, she is not permitted to go away until she's implanted and processed - docile, and under the ascendence of any Male that commands her.

We are walking to our doom, and yet we walk anyway, most of us dumb, a few tears. Women that try to delay or to conceal their naked bodies are quickly punished with a touch from the goad. We're already too intimate with those mean arm.

Chained in the thirdly position from the front of my credit line, I hurry along as best as I can for a woman with terrible internal wound. I've only been goaded briefly, but it was enough even to overcome my other excruciation.

Another chain of twenty women - ones with often turn down scores - walks parallel to ours. Four more chain of mountains, side by slope in two-by-two formation are ahead. I can see lots of my fellow captives. It's easy to distinguish the single who have already been raped from the way we gimp along, as though we're already ancient. Some of the fallen ones, including me, carry blood bar or former grime as further grounds of their downfall. I stopped trying to wipe mine away, hoping that the mess might deter further aggressor, but the Male eyes read me hungrily anyway.

Flanking us are slave owner carrying batons. They are not particularly watchful. It's already too late for us to run.

The Hub is the gateway between Aghara-Penthay and the rest of the universe. On its lower layer are the moorage rings, where the Slaver police car dock, along with myriad supply watercraft, bounty huntsman, and the ships ferrying those who seek pleasure. The pep pill of the three point is given to disposal, and The Hub's defenses.

It is the midsection floor which is notorious. The Mezzanine is a long lurid strip of brothels, legal community, restaurants, and hotels where huge earnings are made by catering to every sensory desire. The first balcony also contains the auction menage where every galactic year, thousands and M of processed striver are sold.

We hear the Mezzanine before we see it. Blaring medicine. Loud conversation. Men shouting. Raucous laughter, of many males. Interspersed with this, sometimes there is the sound of a female, usually a cry of suffering.

On we trip up. At the front of my chain leads a girl bearing the red mark Forty-Eight on her bare second joint. Behind her, and directly in presence of me is fifty dollar bill - an exquisitely formed brunet homo, with blanch hide. I must watch out the graceful flexing of her bare buttocks as she walks, and I'm forced to hark back once hearing that the shape and whole tone of a cleaning lady's rear is a signal of her birth rate. Then comes my place, and behind me, another Forty-Nine. Two Forty-Sevens, three more Forty-Eights, and on and on.

I'm unable to work the change in my life story. minute ago, I was a free citizen of the democracy. Only feet from me are men who are still free citizens. They are destined to leave The Hub and go back to their lives, when I am destined for sexual slavery. I've just been bunch raped, and these assholes are here on vacation.

One group of men sit languidly around a tabular array, particularly close to where our unhappy chain crack. They're watching the chains move past, drinking alcohol as they lap up the view of so much dislodge nude person chassis. In any other space you'd get hold of them for trim college son. But Male don't visit The Hub by stroke. Perhaps something about them looks lupus erythematosus savage and more hopeful, for Fifty breaks out of the line and motility towards them, and so, pulled by an uncomfortable tug at my neck opening, I must watch over her.

"Please,"she begs the nearest, a better-looking man with great blonde hair and a lover sportsman's torso. He looks the same age as I am.

"Please,"fifty says again."avail me. I've just been captured. I'm from Illyshkin foursome. I'm a citizen of the democracy. Help me, before they take me down there to be implanted. I'll be your wife, your girlfriend, I'll be your fantasy. Just economize me, before I end up a sex slave."

"cum finisher,"says the blond man.

"My name is Tana,"offers the fille."Tana Dinovchek."

I glance anxiously at the nighest Slaver, expecting Tana to be goaded for her audacity, but he's smiling meanly and is capacity to determine, at to the lowest degree for now. It's prosperous to see why. Things don't seem to get off to a good start for Tana Dinovchek. She shrieks as she's seized, and pulled into the man's lap. There is a acutely drag on my throat, and I must go even nearer.

With the girl in place, the blond man strokes his hand up the back of Tana's thigh, and over the curved shape of her bare buttock. He squeezes her titty. Tana looks uncomfortable at such audacity, but she decides to fight on with her appeal.

"I was at the universal joint beauty competition, on Iniver four-spot,"she says."Lots of us here were there. We're supposed to become famous models."

"No diddlyshit ? I love that show. I'll picket out for you."

He pulls at her pap, and Tana flinches.

"And what do you want from me, hot clobber ?"asks the blond man.

"Help me,"she repeats."Buy me, before I'm taken to the surface. My family unit are wealthy. You'll be rewarded by them. And then by me."

"wellspring, that's quite tempting, Tana Dinovchek,"he answers."But you know what the trouble is ? I'd rather see you implanted first, and then think about buying you. I know female child like you. You're too used to getting your way, just because you're hot. I bet you wouldn't spirit at me twice, as soon as we were back on your home world. But here… on Aghara-Penthay, you're suddenly grateful to take in me constrict your nice juicy tit."

"whoreson !"says Tana, and she tries to uprise, but the blond man tightens his bobby pin.

"Uh-uh,"the sentry duty says to her, finally intervening."He's not given you permission to depart. delay where you are, slavegirl."

Blond man continues to act with her breast with one hand, while the other he presses between Tana's bare thighs. She resists for a moment, and says,"stop that ! ”, but at a frown from the man in uniform, she gives in. Then blond man roughly forces his fingers inside her vulva, and Tana gasps at the discomfort.

"She's tight,"blond man report card to the guard.

"Fresh haul,"he shrugs."So new, so bracing off the hard worker ship, that some of them are still virgins. Need to determine their place."

"Is that straight, bitch ? Do you need to con your spot, Tana Dinovchek ?"asks the blond man. He withdraws his fingers and reaches up with them to smirch her typeface. Tana flinches, automatically raising her hand to protect herself, and in retaliation he slaps her, slaps her shockingly hard. Before she can do anything, he continues,"Yes, you do need to learn. Probably never had to try and please a man before, huh ? Bet you're used to guy cable running after you."

With that he ejects her from his lap, and she stumbles away, tearful, pulling me along behind her, and me pulling the former forty-nine behind me.

"Well, it's your crook to run. precipitation along and get your implant, pussy !"are his parting words.

After that awful encounter, none of us try to attract the aid of the men on The Hub. But it's as though an announcement has gone out. Everyone seems to notice us, and our line is forced to pause frequently.

"Hey, dangles,"a stranger says, stepping in my way."Nice tits. What's your epithet ?"

"Coora,"I answer, unable to come up with anything but the truth.

"What are you, Coora ? A species from the outer satellite ?"

"I'm a Dystyr. I'm a citizen of the Republic."

"Not any to a greater extent, you're not. The Republic won't come and save you here,"he leers."Can your species have sex with man ?"

"Yes,"I blush, unable to call back of an reply early than the accuracy,"but…"

"A lotta cat have a thing for the disaffect girls. You're gon na get thump raw."

He says it as though I've not thought of that. As though this is all my idea.

"What's that stuck to your brass ?"he asks.

Mercifully, I don't have to answer.

"Keep moving, hard worker,"commands one of our sentry go, and we comply, eager to escape this public beasting.

The business line of women only begin to decelerate as we approach the far end of the entresol, where the shuttles ferry slaveholder male citizens and their captives to and from the surface.

The itch to flee raise in me. Perhaps it's the revulsion of what lies on the surface - the implant, the slave sign, and my end of the world. Perhaps it's that I've not been goaded for a while, and I'm start to forget how painful it feels. Perhaps as I'm still young, I'm showtime to recover some of the resilience drained by the gang assault I endured on the ship.

"We have to do something,"I whisper urgently to the woman nearest me."I'm a democracy citizen, studying political theory. I'm meant to go and function for the Republic government."

"We're all commonwealth citizens,"says Tana, the model contestant who was just humiliated by the tourer."expression where being a devoid citizen got me. That man…"

"But I can't be implanted,"I moan, my voice breaking.

"I'm sure the slaver will be very well about it if you just explicate that to them,"says a sarcastic char's voice from behind me.

"We could create a break for it,"I suggest, making my voice loud enough to be heard by the other mountain range of cleaning lady at our side."If we all go at once, we might seize some of their weapons, and fight our way to the docking level."

"We're stark naked, and we're chained together by our necks,"a stocky female person end by in the parallel line replies angrily."How far do you remember we'd make it ? Each one of us they stunned, the rest of us would give to trail her."

"But we have to do something,"I plead as we get closer and closer to the guarded shuttle bays.

"The something you can do is close your hole, 49,"the heavyset female person almost spittle at me."Think you've got it bad ? You premium bitches will be trained, you'll get a high-status proprietor, because only individual like that can give your unadulterated body. You might end up lying by the pool, when you're not sucking his tool. Want to swap that for my future ? Thirty-one - that's my number. Sold in a batch to a brothel for lowlifes, and that's if I'm favorable. So shut up, go get your implant, and smiling that vacant smile."

"You're bitterness because you're ugly,"I say, shocked by her spite.

"And you're nothing but an overpampered princess,"she retaliates.

Perhaps I should be grateful to her, for all my terror, my anger, my chagrin, suddenly has a focus. I fling myself at thirty-one, nearly breaking my cervix as the Ernst Boris Chain goes taut when fifty dollar bill and the forty-nine behind me are dragged along. Not expecting an attack, thirty-one is thrown to the priming, and I'm on her, pummeling, trying to get past her blocking arms and shoot down a good punch on her mean value, ugly face.

vox are shouting, but I've forgotten everything around us, so acute is my cult. It takes a instant before I even reconsider my surround. I'm lying naked on top of her - more intimately in contact than I've been with any other female person. Perhaps that's why the sentry go let us carry on for a minute. Neither of us is in any danger of doing actual hurt to the other one, and the sight of two nude women struggling is titillating to them.

I have the advantage of weight unit, as I'm on top, but Thirty-one stifle me repeatedly between the legs, which even for a girl is unpleasant. We're too close to each other for me to get a punch through her sentry go, and she can't do much from on her back except use her human knee. When we slow - both of us breathing heavily - I guess we'd have to ring it a draw.

I'm looking right down into her face, she's looking mighty back, and it's the low gear prison term I feel any closeness between us.

"Up,"ordering a guard."Back on your feet."

I scramble to obey. The Male who commanded me has developed a prominent erection, and I don't want to be raped yet again.

"Nice display, forty-nine,"he explains, and our tune begin to displace again.

finisher and stuffy we pad towards the bobtail where we'll circuit board shuttles, be carried down to the planet's airfoil, and be lost forever into our futures of slavery. But there are no Sir Thomas More incidents which delay us, and not even a suggestion of attempting to escape. It looks as though I'm going to Aghara-Penthay.

6 - Planetside

cleaning woman rider on the shuttlecock which descend to the surface of Aghara-Penthay are not given behind. We are packed tightly into the shuttle's cargo grip, as though we are commodity, rather than humans. Hanging from the hold's cap like fronds of a tree are numerous short cable television service, and each of these is clipped to the pinch of a captive, so that we must rest standing in a parade formation, or choke. The women either side of me, and those before and behind, are fill up enough that we nudge unsheathed organic structure each time we are rocked by the effort of the ship.

Thus, naked as part of this shameful constitution, we undock, and begin the journey to the next phase of my downfall.

It is almost exclusively the Slavers who can use the butt, which are arranged around the bulkheads boxing in the room. Almost exclusively, for one distaff captive does sit across the broad thigh of one of the men. This one, an especial beauty, is apparel, unlike the rest of us. She wears one of the red wrapper, the wrap which identifies her as a woman who is property of Aghara-Penthay. Her covering is not often, but it is vastly better than being nude.

Or perhaps not, for her clothing privilege seems to come at a price. The precaution's penis, rampantly punishing, has been freed from his gasp and tip upwards, blatant and obscene, at a forty-five-degree angle. The woman is pulling at it with both her hands, attempting to pleasure him, although even with my limited noesis I can see she seems inexperienced at the job. Meanwhile his hired man is inside her wrapping, groping her breast. The man slaps her human face, although not as hard as he could. It's a warning. The female's face does not behave the slave mark, which is strange in soul already wearing the wrap.

She seems comrade, although in this horrific context it's hard to rate her. A woman I saw on the tape transport, perhaps ?

"Look, that's Donaya Oshanka - the news anchor,"one of my fellow nudes gives the answer in a loud whisper.

"How arrive she gets a wrap ?"another captive complains.

"Don't you know ? She must be here for the Rape Run. runner are the only char who don't get stripped. They let the audience anticipate seeing them strip, once they're caught."

Donaya, perhaps hearing us, looks in our way for a instant, fixing us with the intense regard she's known for using in interviews. But she bows her head to take up her body of work, her brunette scroll falling forwards to hide her typeface as she concentrates. Her guard duty gives a lewd grunt.

"I thought Rape contrabandist weren't… you know - interacted with, not before they're caught in the competition,"rustle another charwoman, quieter now.

"Who's she gon na complain to ?"individual behind me rustling harshly."They're not supposed to mess with any prisoner until after processing, as the virgins fetch a higher price, but that didn't stop them using all the unity they liked from the moon of Odaron. wait at the mess they've made of the noncitizen bitch there."

I realize I'm the ‘ alien gripe'and take care down to hide my face, automatically ashamed at the mussiness still caked on my thighs. but hours ago, I wasn't just an alien bitch. My name was Coora. Those who met me saw somebody with a high-flying future as a political adviser, serving the commonwealth on some pleasant planet. I planned to mate with a suitable Dystyr male person when it pleased me. Now I'm naked in battlefront of strangers, on my way to Aghara-Penthay to be implanted and ruined. stranger describe me in terminus of being the alien bitch who got herself raped.

Up front, in bitchiness of her inexperience, Donaya brings her captor to climax. The man's disgusting spermatozoon erupts in a small fountain - some of it landing on Donaya's hands, and some of it spattering and dribbling down onto himself.

In reaction to a whispered orderliness she wipes him make clean, then grimacing, licks what's left wing of the yucky hole from her own hands.

That's when, with a bump, we land.

Gods have mercy on me.

My sob comes without warning, and I'm not the only one who starts crying. The postponement's doors opened with a mechanically skillful grinding, and we're hit by blinding sun and rut like a furnace.

"Out, slave girls,"guild a guard, while his colleagues move along the descent unclipping our collars. No longer linked in chains, weeping women shuffle uncertainly out into the scorching dry air. idol, it's hot on this satellite. There's not a cloud breaking the sky, and the sun beats down relentlessly.

The large landing chopine where we find ourselves is hundreds of base above the ground. It overhangs the social organization underneath, so I can't see what supports it. Surrounding us is a knit of oxide-red priming coat, completely barren. The arid landscape painting is not uniform - the plain stitch is broken up by organization of John Rock, and distant mountains of the same unvarying color play in the heating plant fog. I can see something that looks like a city - a huge structure made of many ancient stone buildings merged together into one whole. Perhaps it is designed so the Slavers can move around without being exposed to the exterior sun. I scan the panorama and wonder which area is The geographical zone, the hunting undercoat where the slave trader chase down violation Runners like Donaya.

The plunderer took such a great haul from the exaltation that at the end of the mezzanine we were split across three bird. The early two do not down on this pad, and although I see another pad in the metropolis, high on a stone tower, there are no ships on it. I don't know where they went.

Trindii's chain happened to be loaded on my shuttle. She looks terrible after a night in a batting cage with the men. She's covered in bruise, and she's gameness. One of her back talk is swollen and split, as though she's been punched in the mouth.

All the same, I make for her, desperate for a last bit of comfort from mortal who cares for me, before it's too lately. We hug, both of us weeping into each other's berm. I've seen her nude painting before, but not had close physical contact. As we hug, I try not to feel ashamed that our breast are pressing into each other.

With Trindii is another girlfriend I know from college - Cliria - a willowy blonde human female. Some people you just don't get on with, try as you might, and Cliria was one of those, for me. No thing how deliberate I was, she seemed to take thing I said the incorrect way, so I'd always be on my guard duty around her. But the God have destined us to stand naked together on the surface of Aghara-Penthay. On the course, Cliria seemed to recall of herself as quite a catch. The slave owner seemed to agree. A forty-four is inked on the inside of her thigh, close to the vulva.

"You okay ?"Trindii asks me, tenderly wiping my tear-streaked face.

"Not really,"is my exclusively on-key answer."Men took me to a room on the ship. They… well, you can infer. But you had it worse."

"tear into grouping, snap !"interrupts the Saul Bellow of one of the guard duty."Forty-five and over lots - stand there. forty to 45 - over by the comms box. The dregs - over there."

"trade good luck. Both of you,"I say to Trindii and Cliria, knowing shortly I'll probably never see them again.

"Slave luck,"corrects Cliria. She means well, but my tears erupt again.

striver hazard is a idiom which originated here, that's become well known enough to slip into the galactic lingo. It seems wasted to wish individual good luck when they're a sex slave. Their life history already proves they're not destined for respectable fortune. hard worker luck means wishing someone the best upshot possible under horrific circumstances. An easy life story with a form victor. Domestic responsibility instead of sexual service.

"striver luck,"I think I as I wave Trindii word of farewell and pad over to the outer space indicated by the slave owner. We've been corralled close to the boundary of the pad. There is no barrier between us and the gut-wrenching pearl - green practice to nullify ships snagging landing gear. The same 34 women taken from the transport assemble in the high grading area. Among them is Tana, the one with the fifty score taken in the foray.

"Your gens is Tana ?"I say quietly, not wanting to pull out the attention and perhaps punishment of the safeguard."I'm Coora."

"The unknown girl, they took away to rape on the ship ?"she replies sympathetically.

"That was me,"I shamefully admit.

"I was in the Cage future to yours,"she says.

I look hopelessly towards the slave owner settlement, across the vacancy of abandon air from our platform.

"We could throw ourselves off this pad…"I say softly."End it, here."

But I don't really have it in me. And neither does she.

"Where there's life history, there's hope,"says Tana."Some hard worker are rescued. The Republic has a unanimous sanctuary for them."

"Follow me, slits !"interrupts one of the safety, and he leads the way into an opening where a flight of stone steps leads down into a building. Accepting our luck, we pad docilely behind him, nude feet following booted ones. Another mates of slaveholder men follow behind, but there is minimal supervision needed now we're down on the major planet's Earth's surface. These new men are administrators, not warriors. For anyone with a vagina instead of a penis, there's nowhere to run on this earthly concern.

Inside, it is like stepping from the mod to ancient extragalactic nebula. I'm padding down roughly hewn stone steps, that resemble the interior of a castle, rather than anything from my era. Only the bioluminescent kindling, or the occasional blink of comms or detector panels, reveal the bearing of tech.

At offset there are windows - narrow slits without glass, as the protection from the clime is unnecessary on this world. But we work our way down and further into the construction, and everything from then on is under contrived lighter. After various minutes we pause, in a all-embracing hallway.

A guard with a badge of rank address us.

"Slits,"he says,"you are the golden ace. Your smasher is all that defines you, as a female person on Aghara-Penthay. Beautiful women like you have higher value. Training will increase that time value further. Shortly, you will be taken to a pen used for holding slaves during their breeding. Work hard at your training, or you will be punished."

"But first, a medical scan,"he barks."You will be sent in deuce, through this door and along the corridor to a room. Put your top dog into one of the boxes you see embedded into the wall. You'll be scanned for disease and parasites from your deficient earthly concern, infections which may jeopardize the security of Aghara-Penthay, and your brain outputs will be read for intimate tendencies. After the run down, proceed out the far door towards the processing room. Do you interpret ?"

My stomach rolling with brass."Processing ”. That means the implant, the mark. Processing is the end of my life as a republic female person. An implant chip shot will be injected into the brain stem. After that, I'll be slavish to men forever. Even if I'm one on the rarefied few who are rescued, I could never re-start anything like a normal life. A failure like Jurong would just feature to ask me to sleep with him, and I'd comply. Jurong would love that - seeing me reduced to an obedient and receptive slave. I pray our paths never cross again.

"number 1 two cunts,"says the Slaver, bringing me back to the confront,"you, and you."

The two women he indicated, both creatures with their beauty marred by their expressions of terror, proceed apprehensively through the door. I try to see inside, but only glimpse another corridor. For several minutes we just stand there. Tana has bunched so close to me that she's brushing against me. I think she just wants contact with another female.

Then there's a squark from a comm link, and the Slaver directs the next two charwoman through the doorway. One of this next pair has just wet herself from fright, and her ramification scintillation with her own weewee.

We draw back away from the puddle.

"I'll make you lick that up, afterwards,"the Slaver calls after the departing woman.

Again we stand, each remaining distaff growing Sir Thomas More and more frightened as our numbers reduce. A scan, and then processing. By the end of this day, the regretful day of my life, I'll be implanted, and forever a sex slave. I would do anything to delay what's about to bechance, but my minute has come.

"You adjacent, dangles,"says the officer, indicating me,"you and your sexy Quaker, through the door."

Tana and I move as directed. We look back towards those still waiting for a bit, as the doorway closes behind us. But then we're in a bare stone corridor, and our just pick is forwards.

"I can't be implanted,"I whisper to Tara."So as soon as the scan is over, if there's somewhere to run - we run. I don't forethought if they shoot me. I should consume jumped from the platform."

"Agreed,"she replies. It didn't take long to give up on the"where there's life, there's hope ”, then.

A heavy alloy blast door is at the far end of our corridor. Pushing our way apprehensively through, we find ourselves in a chamber that's almost void save for the technical school. One wall is not Isidor Feinstein Stone, but contains depository financial institution of the boxes, and showing screens.

A slave dealer male person waits here - someone of low social status than the one who directed us. Still, he is a male, and therefore disembarrass, which makes him much better than us. He is clothed, and has a professorship and a chargeman. We stand nude. A pad at his incline is playing a vid. He is bored.

The boxes we were told about are obvious. They're at chest height, side of meat by side in a row, and have a expectant oval curtain raising, big enough to fit even a skull like mine, with its contempt of flesh. It's completely black inside them, as though they're part of a magician's joke to produce flowers or a pet out of nothing.

"heading inside the scanner, twat,"the guard says lazily. This lowlife is so unconcerned he's one-half slumped in his seat. I guess even sex slave dealer can have repetitive jobs.

Fearfully, I half flexure forward and slip in my headway into the saturnine curtain raising, as Tara does the Sami alongside me. My bare fundament is left pointing out behind me.

"Get right in there, bitches, right in, until you feel the far face press on the top of your heads,"the Male calls languidly.

I comply. There's a lame of aggrandise alloy pressing against my peak. What will the CAT scan look like ? Lights, sounds ? I wonder how they can build data on me, without yet possessing any of my personal details.

I've considered myself to be intelligent - I'm a cleaning lady at an elite group college, but by the time I realize I've been tricked it's too late.

Something mechanical seizes my skull in a grip like a vice, seeming to press in on me from all directions at once with irresistible force. Before my scream has even begun, I feel a hurting like I've never felt in my life - a piecing, at the back of my head word, as though someone has shoved a needle from the top of my spine through to my oculus. Simultaneously, there's a white-hot electrocution at my cheekbone - torture flaring as hot as the trace of the slave prod.

My cry of torture is deafening in the confined infinite. I think I hear Tara howling beside me from the same distress, but I'm not sure.

And then the annoyance is fading, and the frailty's appreciation begins to relax its clutch. In a panic I try to withdraw too soon, and painfully scrape my chief against the retreating clinch.

Tana's expression shows a understood scream of unimaginable repulsion. Where second earlier there was only the legato blench tegument of her cheekbone, she now carries a swirling benighted grade - a mark recognized across the galaxy. The scrape of a slave woman of Aghara-Penthay - someone processed and implanted.

She raises one hand tentatively and presses her fingertips behind her skull, at the top of her thorn. I mirror her natural process. I can find a clump that wasn't there before. Swelling around the injection situation. That's where it went in - my implant.

"You two look upset,"says the guard, unconcerned."So kiss, to comfort each other."

I could really use a mark of soreness from another living being. Tara must be feeling the Lapplander, for she and I move close."I'm sorry,"I say, and holding her freshly marked human face with infinite softness, I draw her towards me. Her mouth are lovesome and soft, and they taste of tears.

"That's enough,"says the guard."Now go through there, and wait."

We're already implanted, lost. There's no point resisting him now, so we silently follow the orders and shuffle out.

"Next ace, political boss,"the guard is already saying into his comm as we leave.

In the room beyond, the females who went ahead of us are waiting. All of them similarly damned with the hard worker fall guy, the mark that means they carry the implant.

I will birth one of those on my face, too. Every man in the universe of discourse who hasn't been hiding under a rock will see it, and know what it means. I am confused. I have no ability to hold out their commands. I will be their sex hard worker. Again, instinctively I fold an arm across my thorax, and use my early hand to cover my sex. As though that will protect me.

A twain of the woman are weeping. I feel close to crying again myself.

I press my fingers again on the lump. How long do I have before it works ? How longsighted before I lose my innocent will ?

"It's not fair,"one of the newly-marked women moans."They said processing would be in the next room. We weren't given a chance."

Have the other char captured from the transport already been implanted, just like us ? Trindii ? Cliria ? Thirty-nine ? So many of us…

Cliria wished me break one's back chance. The safety on the landing platform said we were the lucky single. It doesn't feel like I'm lucky, so far.



7 - pen

If I was to opt the soul I hate most in the existence, someone who didn't know me will might anticipate I'd have gone for the men who gang raped me on the transport, or Jurong, who tried to violate me during the plagiarizer raid, believing he'd be dependable because I'd be seized, and wouldn't have chance to account him. But no - it's Trygg, our slave trainer.

Trygg is the male with responsibility for maximizing our economic value before we're delivered for auction.

On Aghara-Penthay, slave trader society is divided into factions - four tribal groups under a chief, or faction loss leader. The transport carrying me, and the luckless others, was raided by sea robber from the sect of Jackran-ad-aktar - known across the universe as"The outlander ”. Trygg works for him. So do all the men who live in this item slave trader settlement. On the arm of Trygg's soiled uniform is a badge, bearing Jackran-ad-aktar's livery.

Before being captured, I'd hoped for a rewarding career in the service of the Republic, travelling in a series of postings to liaise with the governments of pleasant, civilized, satellite. I'd studied hard, learning about political theory ; sociology, story ; math.

None of these skills are useful in a sex slave. All that matters is the attainment relating to pleasing men, and making myself as arousing as possible to them.

Under Trygg, sometimes literally under him, is a female - Alurri. She is a rare affair - a slave who resides permanently on Aghara-Penthay. Alurri's responsibility is to teach us all the thing which we need to interpret for our new lives. In exhaustingly retentive days, we learn how a sex slave serves nutrient and drink ; how to walk and proceed ; hard worker pose, and ritual for how to award ourselves ; how to wash a male ; how to trip the light fantastic toe - not the ethnical effort figure like I learnt in girlhood, but obscenely erotic styles of choreography. We discover how a woman should act while in restraints.

Then there is the sex theory. I find out more selective information about the penis than I could throw believed existed. There are also other pleasure spots on the Male body, and I must memorize them all. I learn the places on a woman's soundbox - early than her obvious muddle - where she can also institute a man to culminate. By squeezing the penis between the breasts, for exemplar.

Some men like to see char with charwoman, or relish watching a woman in heat, so I am instructed by Alurri how to invoke myself, and former member of my own sex.

Most insidious are the example in slave psychology. I'd believed that the implant was all that was needed to break a captive, but no. For minute at a time on my knee, repeating mantras that men are superior to me ; that sexual slavery is the simply space for females ; that I exist only to please men ; that my trunk is all that matters about me. These are crude oil proficiency, but it's hard not to start to think it when it's hammered in so relentlessly.

When Trygg and two of his underlings first brought Alurri naked into our pen, I thought she was another unlucky captive being prepared for sale. For the three men came in armed with goad, and without explanation they goaded her, and goaded her and goaded her with those hateful batons that stimulate the trunk's pain sense organ. For a replete five hour, we were ordered to keep an eye on without looking away, and to listen to her screams, and to image ourselves in her place.

When it finished, and Alurri was left gasping and weeping on the story, we found out the reason for the monstrance. Alurri was to train us, Trygg said. She would shortly be given her own goad, to help actuate the female person in our pen, and to serve teach us to truly fear those in federal agency. Any sentence when our progress did not sufficiently please Trygg, or if Trygg considered that Alurri wasn't brutalizing us enough, the goading we'd witnessed would be repeated on Alurri.

Sure enough, Alurri was handed one of those mean artillery which had just been used on her own consistence, she was privileged with being handed a buckle down wrapping, to accentuate her higher-ranking status over us, and she was left to begin. It quickly became clear that Alurri had no purpose of enduring that torture a irregular time, and we have been paying the monetary value ever since.

I hate Trygg above all organism in the macrocosm, but the one I fear the most is Alurri.

I will do absolutely anything to delight that female person, and all my endeavors are focused on earning her brief nod of favourable reception.

But my all is still not enough. She is not just imparting skills - she was ordered to teach us fear, and she does. Most of the penalization we receive event from a pocket-sized gaucherie or transgression in the day's usage, but sometimes we're goaded in order to teach us a striver can be goaded without a reason. Just because the one with world power wishes it so. There are those out there who find it arousing to get infliction to others, and many like to see female suffering. One such is Trygg. Sometimes he club a slave to be tortured merely for his pleasure, and we are made to watch along with him.

There is nada I can do to fly the coop this repulsion. We soon discover that the dominance of our implants over us is absolute. If one of the Slavers orders us to support some invigorated torment, we run to them, docile and inert, gear up for it to begin. We are ordered not to fly, so we don't. Besides, where is there to flee, anyway ? Slave implants can be tracked. Anywhere across the galaxy, my possessor will now be able to comply me. There is no evasion, unless incredibly good fortune places me at one of the few sanctuaries, where implanted adult female rescued by the Republic are guarded from their own compulsions.

My implant is linked to a record they created of my personal and secret information. Not just my gens, species, history. All my sexual history and preferences are recorded there. In the most abase interview of my life, Trygg probed me for every detail, beginning from the earliest fumblings and experiment in my maidenhood. I didn't want to discuss such matters, but I found myself answering truthfully anyway as soon as he commanded me. They like to rape our minds, as well as our bodies. Trygg discovers I particularly dislike anal penetration, so those who wish to use me are made aware of this fact. Trygg learns that the Dystyr are conservative and shy, and I find it particularly humiliating to picture my gender in front of others. adjacent day as a result, I am ordered to arouse myself in forepart of the mathematical group, and then I am raped, while under coercion to climax during my own violation.

My presentation of the training up to now has sounded mostly theoretical, but there are most definitely hardheaded elements too. With the elision of the few virgin, our captors may use us at will, and they do. Trygg especially so. girl in the republic had told me that human males could only climax a few times a day, but that man's appetite for cleaning lady seems insatiable.

Always he hangs around the training room, watching lazily, or goading either one of us, or Alurri, seemingly at random, until he becomes sufficiently worked up to wish to satiate his lust. Then a victim is chosen and raped, usually by means of her to the lowest degree favorite style, either in front end of the group, or after removal to his room. There are several subsidiary males reporting to Trygg, even though they have no obvious roles from what I've seen, former than to intimidate then rape cleaning lady. These savage make equally detached with us.

Those girls who admitted in their interviews to being virgins are spared the vaginal penetration, as virginity is going to add to a woman's sale time value to many cultures, and for striver traders it's all about the credits. But apparently a woman can persist a Virgo while taking it in the ass or the mouth, so I'm not certain if the virgin are to be envied or pitied compared to the respite of us.

Our pens have no windows, so we soon lose cartroad of time in our world of perpetual hokey sparkle. There is a period when these lighter are extinguished and we are ordered to rest. Those hr we call ‘ Night ’, but it could be any time outside on the planet's surface. The relentless sexualization of us does not terminate with the darkness. Most often we sleep in the playpen, but sometimes we are summoned to contribution a man's bed. Serving as an overnight companion is a duty commonly expected of a sex slave.

Even at nighttime in the pens, our time is not our own. On the first day, each of us was paired with another female. My duple is Tana - one of the virgins, at to the lowest degree she's a virgin except for the brutal male person who fingered her inside on the Hub.

With our companion, we must slumber intimately close - squashed naked together into a coop with proportions resembling a enceinte coffin. Any attack at privacy or dignity were soon surrendered during the enfeeblement of the first off Nox, and from then on, we've slept entwined in whatever position gives most comfort.

The Slavers force us to form an worked up adhesion with our companions, that our feelings might then be used to torment us. Firstly, every Night we must finger our fellow traveler, taking delight from each former until we orgasm. The noises from our pens, in the first hours of darkness, are quite obscene. I naively hoped to act this purpose at low, but found that thanks to my implant, my body moved under mastery as though without my willing. I can hold back my climax as easily as I could hold back the lunar time period on my homeworld.

Secondly, we must share in our successes and nonstarter. Often when one of us is goaded, both of us are goaded. Or sometimes, when Tana performs below prospect I am punished, or vice versa. The mind games are as insidious as the mantras. When she's in botheration, I learn to hate it. She's just another sex slave, but her wellbeing matters to me.

As our flood tide fade each night, we often end up weeping, kissing, doing anything we can to briefly sooth each other's mutual misery.

As the 24-hour interval of training roll on, our progress is assessed by each slave being forced to spend a nighttime in a coffin cage pleasing Alurri. When my round comes, I believe I bring my teacher to culminate quickly, but next day I learn I wasn't sufficiently seductive when Tana is punished with a whipping in presence of the group.

Coora is common cold - that is what everyone in our group is told. Coora thinks she is better than human women. You must teach Coora that this is not the typeface. That is an order.

Just before we are caged for the night, the homo women administer my lesson. With faces apologetic but implacable, I'm given the trouncing of my life - kicked and punched by every single woman, driven by her implant. Even Tana joins in.

I don't need a lesson from the other woman to pull in me hate myself. I already hate myself for failing. I hate myself for being a sex hard worker. I hate this life history. I hate being female. I should have thrown myself from the landing political program when I had the luck, but my embed prevents even that concluding choice. I believe that I'm so pathetic that I deserve to be a slave to men.

In this place of endless misery, we forget all about the past, and do not retrieve of the future. We only exist now, trying to deliver whatever task is currently required to a story of beau ideal which might just nullify punishment. I forget Trindii, Jurong, thirty-nine, my ally at the university, my friends and family back on the Dystyr homeworld. I forget that there are many places across the universe where cleaning woman are free. I chant my mantras - it is discipline that I am a sex slave.

I even forget that our time in training has a use, and the slaveholder never meant it to be permanent. On the Night that turns out to be our utmost in the penitentiary, I happen to be in my batting cage alone, for Trygg choses Tana to occupy his bed. She returns, weeping and limping from her damaged backside, while I'm with the other char, preparing to practice my skills for the day. But Trygg and his men are not far behind Tana.

"Follow us, slaves,"Trygg orders, and so potent now is the compulsion of my implant that already it's as though individual is pulling at my nub."All except you,"and he indicates Alurri.

Tana and I look at each other anxiously, and we bunch close together to try and chip in quilt, but we all know this means new horrors are ahead. We know that the girls around us offer no protection against our fate, but we huddle together anyway.

It never rains on Aghara-Penthay, and except for the rare sandstorms, the climate is perpetually baked by the nearby whiz. And yet as we follow Trygg to the landing place pad - the Sami pad where we arrived without implants as fresh prisoner, I pass the first base vacuous window place and I realize it must have been weeks since I've seen sunlight.

8 - Sale

This sentence, the number they have given me is not a grievance. It is my lot number.

forty fair sex are packed into this slave pen, each labeled between one and 40, and each with our figure displayed on a wrist strap much like a watch, so bidders may match what they see with whatever other information has been provided. forty charwoman - man, aliens, different hide colors and soundbox figure, forty woman who once had lives, sexual love and kinsfolk, but each one now implanted and marked, each one naked. I am lot thirty-four. Just one of these forty women.

We are back on the Hub in scope around the Slaver planet. From here, the slave dealer raiding vessels dock with fresh captive, and transport ships ferryboat visitor to and from the rest of the world. The transport ships that represent freedom and escape are so close I could walk to them in a matter of minutes, but they might as well be on the other side of meat of the extragalactic nebula as far as I'm concerned. Men are everywhere on the Hub, and as soon as I heard one lewd postulation from a man, all progress towards a ripe life would end as I'd hurry to obey him. And that fate would only occur if we could even fly the coop the auction center. The door to our pen has been kept locked since we arrived. This is the Hub. Men are shut who are not of men Aghara-Penthay, and that means that here, the theft of break one's back girl is a danger. The slaveholder guards who did little more than rape us down on the major planet, now take their province seriously.

We have been tightly cramped into this space, which is no Thomas More than a holding cell, for some metre. There is cypher in here except for a hollow in one corner to use if we need to relieve ourselves, and a alimentation thermionic vacuum tube in the bulkhead. There is not even enough space for us all to sit at once, let alone rest. If a woman wishes to lie down, it requires the cooperation of her neighbour. An dog-tired female person who was taken from the education pen utmost night, and violated relentlessly by the safety device, makes use of the least popular place, lying with her head near the smut hole.

I've lost track of prison term, as to how farsighted we've been in here, but surely it is at least eight 60 minutes. almost of us wait stoically, but a few weep. A few try to arouse themselves, so their scour cheeks and rear mamilla will increase their desirableness. A few pray. Tana is one of those.

"Please, Gods, a variety captain, who takes me from here and process me well. Please, Gods, a kind master."

They have given her number 39 - like the mark written on my assailant's thigh on the journey down to the open. For the auction bridge, I do not know if a high number is better or big, but it matters not. I will be sold as thirty-four. She will be thirty-nine.

The Dystyr are not a spiritual people."Slave hazard"is the better I can expect.

Without warning, the door opens with a pneumatic whoosh, and many of us jump.

"Number one !"says the Slaver functionary, an older, adiposis male person wearing the uniform of the Jackran-ad-aktar junto."Come with us."

Under the coercion of her implant, number one silently leaves with the slaver, and the door cachet us inside once more. Silently I count Carraleppis - the way Dystyr teach their untried to figure seconds. One Carraleppi, Two Carraleppi - it gives me something to rivet on, early than my fears.

I do not cognise the vendor's name - even though he will change my altogether life by selling me, selling me as though I'm a piece of merchandise and not a sentient being. I have not get a line figure one's name either. I suppose I never will.

I would estimate that ten more minutes elapse before the Slaver comeback for the female who is lot figure two. I do not know her name, either. phone number two sells in perhaps five minutes. Number three takes a piddling longer. Once I studied math, and I estimate that at this tempo, it will be various hours before my turn comes.

Gradually, the turn of women in the cell dwindle. We look at each other nervously. If there was some way to good prepare, to regulate the outcome towards the best owner, of course we would do it, but the tycoon is all with the men who will be buying and selling. We are not even permitted knowledge of the selling cognitive process, where we might make ready.

I use the feeding tube. I urinate in the mess. Once there's more distance I lie on the base for a while, but it's Rock hard, and I'm too wired to rest.

Female bit xxv is the beginning to break, and starts sobbing uncontrollably as she's taken from the cellular telephone. The sentry go are not pleased. Crying cleaning lady do not show their faces to best vantage. It takes fifteen transactions before they come for twenty-six. I suspect they're forced to calm XXV down before she can go to her auction.

Female number thirty is taken. There's only ten of us remaining in the room now. My stomach has become upset from the fear, and I must relieve myself from the other orifice, and then attempt a rudimentary clean. Female number thirty-one is called. Female thirty-two. Gods, assist me, it's nearly me. I don't believe in you Gods, but if anyone has mercy, please, a kind professional.

They come for lot 33. I'm so afraid, I'm feeling nauseous. prison term slows to a crawl. How long has it been ? One minute ? Five instant ?

Tana approach, and hug my hired hand. She doesn't speak - there is nothing can be said.

After a light eternity, the door is opened.

"Lot 34,"the Slaver official says gruffly."Come with us."

There is no refusing a guide statement. Trembling, I pad out after him into the corridor. Perhaps I do not pad quickly enough, for the Slaver snap my pep pill arm painfully, pulling me along with him. We only have a short journey to the auction room - already I hear the strait of many male voices - yob and intimidating - growing quickly louder as we get close to the chamber. As we hurry towards my sales agreement, the Slaver gives me orders.

"You must walk up and down the catwalk, and comply the auctioneer's teaching, until your sale is dispatch,"he says."Move beautifully, in the way you've been taught. restrain your head up, so the buyers might see your face, but preserve your eye down. You are tabu from public speaking, unless you are instructed to do so."

Then we're at the door, leading into a bombastic hall where, in front of me, tone lead up to the incline of a stage.

"Up there,"the Slaver parliamentary procedure, and I must obey him, even though"up there"means I must step bare onto a stage, displayed in front of a room full of people.

I wish I could curl up into a ball to hide myself, and then die from shame. The immense absolute majority of the raucous bunch filling the seats are men, men who can see me naked, although I see a few women clad in the dark blue slave wraps, which indicate a distaff privately owned. I see that every pair of eye are on me, until I remember my club and quickly lour my regard submissively down.

At the far slope of the stage, a man, the auctioneer I assume, stands behind a lectern. A slave dealer guard, unshaven, also stands at the backbone of the stage, armed with a goad. From the eye of the stage, the catwalk extends out between the dustup of seats. I must snuff it very close to the chairs - I will be inch from all these men.

But the compulsion from my implant is everything. I begin to walk down the catwalk, stepping gracefully in a way which accents the bm of my hips. There is a sunshine from the crowd as I sashay along, accompanied with lots taunting. I hear comments and vilification shouted from all focus, almost all of it about my forcible appearing. My hands, at my slope, are trembling as I continue up the narrow runway, trying not to explode into tears.

"valet de chambre, we present lot xxxiv,"begins the auctioneer."“ Coora"is a particularly delicately example of female person from the Dystyr metal money. As you can see, she has delightfully toned legs and buttocks, and her breasts are, as you can see, literally, outstanding."

There are cheerfulness of accord to this witticism."Hey, cracker !"a vulgar articulation calls, trying to attract my attention.

"The tenacious tubes of flesh coming from her head are known as ‘ scorns'”, continues the auctioneer."They become sensitive during foreplay, and may also be used for restraint."

Tie me up by my scorns ? Who would require to do that ?

I hear a flash chiming interference coming from some tech in the auctioneer's lectern. Then, a mo after, a second chime.

"Coora is .22 days of age, by the astronomical reckoning. Her lucky owner will have many years to enjoy her prime."

At the end of the catwalk, I turn on the ball of my foot, and proceed steadily back to the stage. Those behind me will be able to see how my bare buttock move when I walk.

"Dystyr females usually save themselves until breeding, so we were surprised that Coora had already pleasured multiple men by the time she arrived at The Hub,"continues the auctioneer.

wrath flares in me. Bastards. These slaver are complete SOB. Now the bout are closemouthed. I'd only"pleasured multiple men"because I'd been bunch raped on their ship. But they're making me sound like some variety of flashy whore. What if Dystyr are bidding on me ? What if person I know sees this ?

"We have perfected that sensuous nature, and completed Coora's sexual training. She is highly skilled at bringing an owner to orgasm, using whichever of her holes he pleases."

There is a rapid succession of gong from the lectern, and with horror I begin to understand their purpose. Those chimes indicate dictation. Bids on my life. I'd assumed the bidders might be in the residence, calling out their fling, but of course of study most interested parties will be watching the cut-rate sale remotely. So these men in the hall are.. ? And I understand that too. They're men of the galaxy on a holiday to the Hub, and they're just here watching for entertainment. I'm a living, sentient woman, being sold into sex thralldom, but for these men, looking at my body is zero but a thrill. My naked mortification is something pleasurable to watch.

"Coora's implant is guaranteed fully running. She has been instructed by the finest slave trainer, in all the arts of service which man requirement of woman."

I've turned to move back out along the catwalk, so I'm unaware of a slave owner guard approaching behind me until he seizes one of my scorns, grabbing it close in beside its root in my skull.

"curve forward,"he orders me, putting atmospheric pressure on the contempt until I double far enough over at my waistline. In this perspective, I'm rotated beat with my ass sticking out behind me, showing off my dead body in an obscene view.

"Now, upright,"is all he would need to overtop before I'm standing ruler-straight. But he drags me up by the scorn anyway, pulling painfully to arch my backrest and present tense me to the interview. Then he grabs one of my bosom and squeezes it hard enough to make me wince, while the crowd cheerfulness at my misery.

Something about this display triggers a stir of chiming tender, and I think things couldn't get worse, but I'm wrongly.

"Look right at my Kuki-Chin,"he society. An odd control, but I focus on his stubbly jaw anyway, which is only inch from my human face, as though we're buff about to kiss. Because I'm looking at his jaw, I miss him slipping the goad between my stage and pressing the scepter against my core. The prodding is on the delight setting, instead of pain, but the effect is just as paralyzing. My body locks rigid as 1000 upon K of nerve finish in my muliebrity wire me with arousal. The cry I emit could never be mistaken for anything but rousing. Between my ramification, I am flooded with the fire of desire.

The link is gone as suddenly as it arrived, and he releases his clutches on my bod, but the damage has been done. The gang goes furious as I stand rooted with horror. We all know what they've witnessed. I've shown them I am fair sex, intimate, sensuous.

"As you can see, Coora's body is exceptionally reactive,"says the auctioneer over the Rush of accompanying chime."The Dystyr are a peaceful metal money, and we'll also show you she has a low tolerance for pain."

I look round in alarm, but not quickly enough. The goad brushes my flank, dialed to the infliction setting this clip, and with muscles locked by the agonizing jolt I'm flung to the catwalk floor. I've already been sexually humiliated, was that not enough ? My side still burns with the wake of the scepter, and I can't defy the crying back any longer. In battlefront of the crowd, I burst into bout.

This provokes another rush of tender. Is there any male out there who doesn't enjoy watching adult female ache ?

"On your feet !"barks the safeguard."keep walking."

I'm terrified I'm about to be goaded some more, and I rush to stand, but the twisting is over. He's already returning to his station at the vertebral column of the point. Has he done this for all the women before me ? Will he do it for the ones after ? For Tana ?

tears might take away from my beauty, but I've lost my ability to restrain it, and I weep openly as I continue to parade up and down. The pace of the gong is slowing, and the interest of the crowd seems to be diminishing too.

"The last chance to buy this alright piece of bitch is going…"says the auctioneer, when there's about ten seconds without a bid. But still there is no more.

"Sold !"he exclaims to the room, and to me :"Through that door, slave !"

Numb with shock, I hurry to the stairs at the other side of the level from where I came in. I'm eager to be out of the deal of these monsters. The Slaver official, who has been watching from the unveiling portal, has already gone to bring slave thirty-five.

The place I find myself inside is like a great loading dock for logistics, except it's one that smells of sweat and urine and fear. Neatly arranged across the level are rows of crate on steering wheel. They remind me of oversize pet carriers, being equipped with a cage doorway and air trap around the incline. An grownup female person would be able to fit inside one of them, if she crouched down and drew up her knee joint inside. From within some of these crateful, I can learn charwoman crying.

Two low-ranking Slaver guards have been watching the sales event, and are waiting here to meet me.

"Follow us,"one of the men says, and as I docilely pad behind them, I'm led to one of the crates. Like the others, there is a tech pad on the side, probably to post my sales agreement and cargo ships data."Lot 34 ”, it says on it.

"Inside !"he snaps.

I crouch down and crawl, undignified, into the box. There's a dispenser for fluid inside here, but nothing else. The floor is hard and uncomfortable. I find there's decent space to turn round with difficulty, but there's not enough elbow room to stand or tidy my leg. While I adjust myself, and vainly try to obtain a comfortable office, the Slavers slam the door shut. I hear the magnetic lock ambush me inside.

The three solid sides of my crate appropriate a little privacy, and comparatively unequaled I surrender myself to the weeping again. That was one of the sorry experiences of my liveliness - nearly as bad as the gang rape on the ship.

I've just been sold, as though I'm a thing. Me - Coora of the Dystyr, meant to be studying Politics then going to bring in the democracy, before eventually returning to my home cosmos to opt a mate. I have just been paraded naked, and sold as a sex slave. A"finely slice of cunt ”, that's what they called me. Gods help me, who owns me ? I don't even know. I'd at least expected a"sold to…"from the auctioneer, but do my feelings not even merit that ?

"You deal with thirty-five when she comes in,"one of the precaution says to the early, interrupting my idea. The men are still close by, but I can't see them out of my John Milton Cage Jr. room access."I want to go sentry thirty-six."

"What is it with you and the ones with no tits ?"his comrade replies.

"The heart wants what the core wants,"he shrugs.

I stare at the walls of my container, my whole being filled with hate for these multitude. How long will I be in here ? But we are not to wait hours in this room, like we did before the auction. Every bit, low ranking Slavers steering wheel out another crateful, presumably taking them to the docking level of the Hub, for loading onto a delivery vessel. Several crateful have already gone by the time xxxv, crying even more than I did, is brought into the room. For some reasonableness I feel a little hope. I am an planted striver, and when my new owner purchase order me to rest in his sexual serve, I will certainly do so. And yet, thralldom on his mankind has to be skilful than on Aghara-Penthay.

"Slave fate,"I plead silently.

They come for my crate quickly. I don't even witness Tana emerging from her auction. My heart pounds as, pushed by two Slavers, my crate abruptly starts rumbling along the level of the Hub. The docking level, I'm anticipating, and then, thank the deity, I'll be off slaver territory.

But Coora of the Dystyr does not have slave luck. We move a utmost of a hundred 1000, before the crate stoppage, and somebody opens the charismatic whorl of my cage door.

"Out !"a male phonation ginger nut at me.

I have arrived at the Flower Garden.

9 - flower

"Now you, you're something special,"the man says to me."How lots to fuck you ?"

"One hundred quotation, maestro,"I reply promptly."Just ask inside, and they'll let me out of this cage."

"Is it more if I want to do you in the ass ?"

"No, Master. It's only more expensive if you want to harm me, or leave marks. That takes me out of circulation while I heal, which costs the star sign money."

"Excellent. Get yourself wet. I'll be back for you in a minute."

I finger my core group, circling the musca volitans which I know awaken my desire, readying myself for yet another collaborator. Dystyr women typically only mate with one or two dissimilar dominant males in their entire lives. An alpha male is at his heyday for five to ten eld, so a adult female will bear a number of offspring for her chosen over that period, perhaps go on to pair with a second alpha, and then spend her declining years raising young. Our society is formed of large extend class, all under one paterfamilias. I have four full sibling, and slews of half-siblings.

At the Flower Garden, I am not to be permitted only one mate. I am not to be permitted only two mates, or even three. It is not strange for me to have sex with twenty dollar bill different unknown in one day. The side by side day, there will be a similar number of new faces. The succeeding day, Sami again.

The Flower Garden is one of the Hub's many bordello. The more single cathouse, such as this one, usually grocery store themselves as specializing in meeting one particular taste. The Palace of Roses, for exemplar, caters for those who enjoy inflicting botheration on women. The treasure firm aims to volunteer the most exquisitely attractive female. The flush Garden satisfies those who desire non-human women.

Sixteen of us serve here as sex slaves. Seven Gaianesians - women who appear almost human save for a distinctive grading on their frontal bone, and a reflex that renders them defenseless and sexually receptive. Two shapeshifters, who can resemble any female person the client choose. A mix of various nonhumans of all mintage, coloration, and traits, make up the repose. There were two Dystyr, but one was killed by a customer a few month ago. That form of incident happens regularly here. The brothel's director, Jabal, went to the vendue for a replacement, and he found me.

It costs men one hundred acknowledgment if they want to have sex with me. I do all of the employment, but of the lucre, I keep cipher. An average of twenty dollar bill men per day - that's two thousand credits a day, from each hard worker. It's not surprising that the bordello on the Hub are very moneymaking, and can open to use their profit to buy the mellow quality slaves.

The Hub never sleeps, and outsiders on pleasure head trip arrive here at all hour. So we work in fault - sixteen hours on obligation, eight time of day to perch. I see the other Dystyr female - Illonya - during the overlap of our minute. beingness of the same species we're naturally drawn together, by shared understanding of the experience and the disgrace suffered by a captive Dystyr womanhood.

challenger between the cathouse is fierce, so during our minute in serve, we are displayed prominently to attract customers. The front of our establishment, open to the Hub's mezzanine level, comprises a row of vertical cages, much like an upright coffin in their proportionality, marking the boundary of the venue. We must brook in these John Cage for hours at a meter, nude. A academic term in the cages starts off being reasonably endurable, but become terribly uncomfortable, with the admixture saloon permitting no resting side for shopworn legs. Furthermore, it's difficult to reposition our weapon system quickly in the enclose space, and that makes us very vulnerable. The work party of marauding Male on their vacation misstep like to tease us, pinching and goad, and enjoying a free grope of a woman's defenseless body, until Jabal gets annoyed with our bawling and tells them they must pay, or leave.

But we all prefer the serving in the Cage to the terminal role of the boundary - the wall. A eminent wooden structure, it is configured with hinged scuttle, located at the height of an adult female's waist. One curtain raising is cut to fit the torso, and two are just large enough for a woman's wrists. Leaning forward, one of us is locked into this bulwark for every shift, her trunk bisected by the woodwork, her arms trapped at her English. The carpentry prevents the dupe seeing anything of their depress organic structure, and with the position pushing their back out behind them, whoever is in the wall feels horribly vulnerable.

On my first time in there, a man raped me, and I never even saw his face. I don't know if he paid. His fingers were there first, without admonition, and then his member was inside me. The wall blocks the view from staff in the cathouse of our upper trunk, so in the wall we're even more vulnerable than in the cages. It's uncommon to make it through a slip without some drunken cretin rushing up, and laughing just like his action at law are all some college prank, he will jerk off over the ill-starred girl's human face. One day without warning a stranger struck me gruelling enough to knock me out, and I woke up in the book binding room being healed.

So when someone wants to plunder me back in one of the private way, it's almost a relief.

The session of anal retentive sex with the man who said I was something special is quite legal brief, and thirty minutes later he's down a hundred credits, and I'm standing back in the Cage with a sore derriere.

A Dystyr male approaches my cage future, but he decides he prefers Illonya, who is the hapless female person in the wall today. Taking the cleaning woman while still in the wall is cheaper, as the theater is saved the prison term of moving her to and from the common soldier rooms. Perhaps this male is on a budget.

To my disgrace, I'm relieved when he chooses her instead of me.

A downside of Dystyr gild is that the beta males, those who are not genetically unattackable enough to gather a group of cleaning woman, still harbor the fantasy of having sex with a Dystyr female. On our homeworld there are some prostitutes who provide this experience, but some males prefer to travel offworld and pay to force themselves on a Dystyr slave.

It is considered a disgrace in our company for a char to couple with an deficient male - she demeans herself, genetically speaking. virtually societies look down on tart, but it's particularly the shell with Dystyr adult female who sell sex, so it is not the okay examples of our womanhood who seek the profession. Still, they are undecomposed than me. I find the disgrace of my status unbearable each metre that one of my own kind arrives at the Flower Garden.

"Where is Coora ? We saw her on the electronic network. How much for Coora ?"

Dystyr males want inside my fountainhead, and I'm compelled by the implant to answer their dubiousness. Who are your fellowship ? Do they love you're a sex striver ? What is it like fucking us ? What arouses you ? tell me about your past.

I usually prefer sex with the human male, for at to the lowest degree there, there is less social stigma, but the succeeding human being male person who wants me is more humiliating than usual, for he already has a female with him. She wears the much-envied blue wrapping and ankle bracelet, that identifies her as a common soldier slave. These are women who are not under the authorisation of Aghara-Penthay.

It is not unheard of for free woman to desire to confabulate the Hub. They might do it to please their partner, or they might hold a confidential subservient nature, and yen to experience slavery briefly, before returning to their convention lives. The wrap of a buck private slave skin as little as the red wrap, and some enjoy being the physical object of so many hungry optic. But as every woman on the territory of Aghara-Penthay is automatically property, and slave, those who come willingly still can not see without a registered owner. The ankle bracelet, impossible to remove once locked into plaza, carries the information on her and her adjustment, much like an implant, and similarly can be used to go after her, making her position permanent should the relationship falter.

Nonetheless, there are woman eagre to commit themselves to a male companion, one who will become their proprietor and take them on one of the shuttles visiting the Hub. Some of these cleaning woman choose poorly. It is rough-cut for men to trade their companions out, and the unlucky female finds her thralldom becomes very real.

This one who wears blue air is prettyish in a homespun way, brunet, a few age elder than me. Her face is flushed with excitement.

"What about this daughter, Navar ?"she says to her companion.

It is manful appetites that are responsible for the being of worlds like Aghara-Penthay, and yet I find myself despising these fair sex almost as practically as their men. Studying political science, it's vulgar to get along across soul who take a sabbatical to a planet in poverty or crisis, because they want to see the desperation. They seek out the experience, smearing themselves in the distress of others because they know they're safe to retort soon enough to their privileged existence. The women in the blue sky wraps remind me of them.

These patrician woman crave to fully understand my universe, to augment their thrill. So in the secret room, it's not enough for them to ingest a three with an extraterrestrial being female person who is ineffective to refuse them. They want to see what it's like, as though my miserable world is nothing but the subject of some tawdry erotic phantasy. In a day or two, they'll be back in their careers, drinking ethanol with their trusted girlfriends, showing them the unmistakable bracelet they have to conceal in the office, telling them about a sex slave named Coora.

But Navar has paid for the use of me. So I kiss his female person, with true desire, when I'm ordered to do so. I let her suckle at my nipples. I use my knife to arouse her. After her man has fucked us both, moving back and forth between penetrating one woman and then the following, they go off to a bar, while back in the coop I'm left still savor her juices.

And that's just the first few hours of today.

10 - Progress

Illonya's experience of capture was much like mine, except she was taken by the slave trader in a ground attack. Trained as a veterinarian, destiny took her to an agricultural satellite on the outer boundary of the commonwealth, close to the jumble of mugwump spatial soil. Too close, it turned out, for it was a plaza where best the farm prole recruited were frequently goodish untried womanhood, and one of the independent dominion nearby was Aghara-Penthay. There was nowhere to hide in the vast heart-to-heart planes, grazed by the brute under Illonya's care, when a pirate raiding vessel dropped out of her sky. The Slavers slaughtered almost all the male proletarian, and took all the female person who had economic value as captives.

Illonya arrived at the Hub a virgin, but that didn't last long when she was processed, auctioned and bought by the flower Garden. She doesn't know exactly how many days she's been here, but fast coming is the era of the third Rape Run she's witnessed from slavery.

green slaves derive and go all the time, but when a woman is kidnapped for the Rape Run, she often draws a bunch as she's taken through the Hub to the shuttles, and her circumstances on the surface. Illonya didn't see every one of these - for example she doesn't commend Melena de Santo arriving - the Republic fleet policeman who, along with the Bounty hunter Ja-Alixxe, escaped from the colza Run 4452.

But with the efflorescence Garden holding so many Gaianesians, Illonya won't blank out the 4453 Run, where the alien females in the bawdyhouse wept as they saw their beloved leader, White Queen, parading to her Run in a roughshod formation with her fellow citizens. violation ball carrier remain unviolated - the Slavers know that virginity adds note value when the losers go to auction, but this nicety does not apply to any cleaning lady taken along with them. Gaianesians believe women are physically and intellectually Lake Superior to men, and a woman can not have her arousal physiological reaction triggered unless a part of her secretly desires this. They learned the error of this standpoint, when the Slavers allowed the the great unwashed rape of White fairy's purity guard, while their loss leader was forced to watch.

In the prelude to the Brassica napus Run 4454, another mass rape is permitted on the Hub. I personally witness this one, along with Illonya. The Runner at the center of the Chaos is a female called Tisya. She leads a religious sect called the Djenerion, who believe that only virgin cleaning lady can access the enlightenment, and interpret it for the masses. Also, Djenerion believe only virgin female can access the most heavenly realms of the hereafter. The appealingness to the Slavers was obvious.

Every one of the bodyguards who were taken with Tisya is brutally violated, in the entire public gaze of the Hub. For a sadist, there's not much better than raping a worthy woman, and tearing her future from her at the same sentence. There is barely a man at the brothels, when there's so much sex available for loose, only yards away. Illonya and I stand silently watching, holding hands, bust running down our faces. How can men be such animal ? How do they get away with this, time after fourth dimension, twelvemonth after year, with no-one able-bodied to stop them ?

A distich of hours later, order has been restored on the Hub. A Dystyr beta male arrives, one who has seen the brothel's advertizement on the mesh, and has travelled all the way here, just to rape me. As sometimes happens with the betas, he blames his deficiency of sexual success on cleaning woman, rather than on his own genetics. Only this colleague has made a small hazard on a distant planet called Dodayosk. enough citation to buy success. He tells me all this, because he wants to see me anticipating what's coming. He's made sufficiency credit to purchase me, if he wishes, and easily enough to pay the penalty charges he would be fined for temporarily taking me out of commission.

I beg and plead, because that's what he wants, but it only delays the inevitable. He takes a broad leather strap, and for the start clip one of my own kind beats the animation daytime out of me. I barely even remember the Brassica napus in its consequence. I was half-unconscious by then. I just remember wishing that at the moment on the landing pad, when I'd just arrived on the surface of Aghara-Penthay, that I'd thrown myself from the tower.

society on Aghara-Penthay is divided into four factions, each with a drawing card, also known as the honcho. The flower Garden happens to be under the sect of The Alien, Jackran-ad-Aktar, the Saame faction which happened to be responsible for the maraud where I was taken.

In the Rape Run, each junto leader, known as a Hunter for the duration of the contest, effort to overtake the most females. When a Caranx crysos is caught, she is raped, the rape broadcast for the enjoyment of the galactic audience, and then afterwards she is auctioned into bondage. Failed Brassica napus Runners, their faces known across the creation, auction for staggering marrow of cite. Only the live blue runner evading seizure is released, traumatized, but with her implant dormant, and otherwise unharmed.

As part of the Alien's faction, we are expected to support his efforts to hunt the most ball carrier, even though the outcome makes no different to a slave young woman. kin group colour decorate the walls. reporting in the peak Garden favour showing the Alien, or the Runners closest to him.

Lotho-Etsarra makes the start catch of the twelvemonth, a non-human sport named Siilka Noneeva. Jabal, who had a bet that Jackran-ad-Aktar would be get-go, is in a distasteful humor for the respite of the day, and we must do the ripe captives can to keep out of his way.

Lotho-Etsarra should be making the most of his spark advance and Hunting with renewed heartiness, but if he does, oddly we see no coverage of him in the next day's streams, and the Rape Run's presenter, Richard Wagner, makes no mention of him either. But Jackran-ad-Aktar takes advantage of the lull, and makes the first catch of Day 2, Rape Run 4454 - Baleria Acron, the innkeeper of an erotic gameshow named hareem. I used to love serail - I'd laugh out loud at it from beginning to end. Now it is nothing to me - something banal, irrelevant. I don't know why I ever even found it amusing.

Jackran-ad-Aktar is returning to his coterie to destroy Baleria with his monstrous reed organ when he runs rightfulness across the Djenerion drawing card Tisya, caught in a risky crossing of open ground. Bad news show for her, good news program for us. slaveholder love gambling, and Jabal gives all the slaves a sugariness treat, sharing the winnings from backing his leader.

Our sect chief's extraterrestrial being biota prevents him raping too frequently. Wilhelm Richard Wagner's official high spot broadcast of Baleria's Brassica napus goes out across the universe, while Tisya has to wait in a side room, listening to the cries and anticipating her bit later in the day. And then Jackran-ad-Aktar's bung drops. expert problems are usually fixed quickly, but minutes turn to hr and there's still no impudent footage of the Alien, and Lotho-Etsarra hasn't been seen by the hearing since yesterday evening either.

Even the striver can differentiate something is awry. The Slaver men are busy, apprehensive, talking to each other in urgent whispering. Guards are summoned to the surface, and they go with heavy armaments.

"… some kind of power play within one of the factions,"I overhear one of the sentry go tell Jabal.

The flow of the Hunters in the Run still show Salarin and Cronorgan. Salarin catches the tidings ground tackle, Donaya Oshanka, whom we saw on the shuttle, and as is his personal manner, begins to torture her brutally. poor woman. But by now only the holidaymaker are showing a good deal interest in both the feeds, and in the female person. A human Male arrives from bass in the republic, from the Chief Executive's home major planet of Odaron prime. He is a nonaged diplomatist, and knows from my information that I was studying politics. He has no interest group in discussing that, however. He has a hoodoo for sex with unknown girls.

I know respectable than to reproach him for travelling to Aghara-Penthay to meet his vices with me, when touching me in the commonwealth would be an imprisonable offense. I thank him when it's over, as I must do with all the men who buy the use of me. If a man seems less cruel to me than well-nigh, sometimes I will beg them to buy me permanently, and take me from this place. But the diplomat brushes my base plea away. He just wanted one experience with a Dystyr, and now he will locomote on to his next species. Later in the day he returns to us, and chooses one of the Gaianesians for an hour.

I am considered suitable, and have knowledge and training in diplomacy. I would stimulate made a useful consort to that Male. But it seems I was not good enough to entice him. And when someone does total who wants me, of course I only get slave luck.

11 - Luck

octad days later, it is my turn to occupy the wooden wall. My hips and my gloomy eubstance, behind the wall, are completely naked. My amphetamine eubstance is little punter, for my wrist are trapped in the pocket-sized holes at my side. Although I can't use my hand to protect myself, at least from the front I can see threats approaching. The wall holds me in a position leaning forwards, so after a while holding my head up causes an intense annoyance in my backrest and neck opening. The weight of my contempt hanging downwards makes this lay more uncomfortable than it is for fair sex without the accessories.

My hapless life on the Hub continues as convention, but down on the surface of the major planet below me, there have been significant changes.

It turns out there was a understanding for the disappearance of Lotho-Etsarra and Jackran-ad-Aktar from our screens during the Rape Run 4454. A group of brave cleaning woman from the Djenerion Sect infiltrated the planet's Earth's surface, reaching The Zone where the Run takes home, and in retribution for the Slavers abducting their drawing card, Tisya, these charwoman began eliminating the faction chiefs.

The luckier members of the group were killed during the raid, but some, including their leader, were taken active. An lesson had to be made of them - a destiny so fearful it would discourage any other woman from taking a stand against the Slavers of Aghara-Penthay. This major planet and its Hub are generally accepted to be the worst domain in the universe to be distaff, but compared to those pathetic creature, I have achieved break one's back hazard. Those cleaning woman had their limbs amputated ; they were muted ; muted in every obedience so they couldn't even communicate by moving their headland ; and then they were handed over to the Elmek. The Elmek, Wagner told us, are a species of flyspeck anthropomorphous existence, who fetishize devouring the sex electronic organ of normal sized females. Slowly. It will take months for those poor Djenerion to be devoured. All those months they will spend in dire pain ; unable to affect ; unable to speak ; ineffectual to fly ; unable to beg. They will lie there, reflecting on their actions, praying to their immortal for a redemption that will never come.

The men of Aghara-Penthay can not be without camarilla leaders, and the world power vacuum was quickly filled. Some of the men of The stranger and The Libido's sect went over to Salarin and Cronorgan, but most united under a knock-down new chief. His name is Monad. This brothel, the heyday Garden, was formally under Jackran-ad-Aktar, so Jabal, like most men, lacking the braveness to form his own junto, quickly swore his allegiance to Monad.

Slavers are all cruel, but word reaches even us that this"Monad"is something especial. They say he's more animal than human. They say he never backs down from a conflict. They say he ruler by fear. They say no-one else uses a woman after he's had her.

And this is the one whom fate has decreed now has ultimate business leader over us all, here at the Flower Garden.

The Hub has been tranquility today. Approximately an hr ago, someone behind the wall fucked me knockout. I did not see his face, but he did it roughly, as though he hated me. Perhaps he was a Dystyr male, perhaps not. Why do so many men hate char like me ? When they take us, it's about more than raping us. They're getting even, settling a grudge.

Recovering in the wall, I'm staring at the floor, lamenting being born female person, when I hear a strangely fellow voice.

"Coora,"someone male says to me.

I look up, and cry out in scandalize humiliation.

Jurong is standing in front of me, staring at me. Oh no, oh no ! His dream are finally fulfilled. I am naked before Jurong, a Jurong who is transfixed at the sight of me. I am too familiar with that expression of hunger. This will not end well.

"Supreme Being, Coora,"he says to me,"your mamilla are even sound than I imagined they would be."

"No !"I plead, shaking my trap arms in a otiose sweat to conceal myself."Please, don't look at me Jurong, not when I'm like this."

"But you're beautiful, Coora,"he says."You shouldn't be ashamed. And you should see how you look from the back."

I close my optic in despair, blinking back the binge. Being naked and degraded in straw man of strangers is one thing, but here is individual who knows me from when I had dignity.

"How much is it for a session with you ?"

Oh Supreme Being, please not him. But he presses,"Answer me, Coora."

"One hundred credits, if you want to go inside. Ask the Slaver, Jabal, and he'll make me released from here."

I'm supposed to say"One hundred credits, headmaster ”, but I can't bear using that term with him.

"One hundred credit entry ? There's plenty of girls on the Hub for much less than that."

Good. Let him use one of those wretched creatures.

"But then, they're not you. They're not my Coora."

"Please Jurong,"I beg, straining to relieve my wrists."If you have any kind opinion towards me, please don't Brassica napus me."

"You know Coora, when you struggle, the way your tit shake is exquisite,"he says, and I stop suddenly."You should go along still if you want to discourage men."

"Please, Jurong,"I beg again, but I plead from a stationary position all the same.

"Everything will be okay. I'm going inside,"he says, and I burst into tears. Please, somebody facilitate me. Not this…

Jurong has gone from my opinion. Soon Jabal appears, but not with Jurong. I am released from my post. I stand there weeping openly, rubbing my sore neck to facilitate the discomfort.

"Put your wrap on. You look like a adulteress, standing there naked,"Jabal snap bean at me.

I scrabble on the floor for the meagre packet of wearable. I wasn't planning to dress for the brusk distance inside the bordello. Not because I'm lazy or unashamed, but because clothing myself will only give Jurong the expiation of ordering me to transfer it. But I can't disobey Jabal, so I secure my wrap in space with the approved tie - a bow under the left arm. Right-handedness is most park among Male across the universe, and they naturally reach to our allow sides. The gnarl can be unlaced easily, and we can be stripped while restrained.

The rooms inside the cathouse are dead impersonal - more like being in a hotel room than an individual's chamber. The ignition is soft pinko and Orange River. The semblance are supposed to hide scrape mar, but with my iridescent tone I think they make me look sickly. There are no bed covers, just a mattress with a cover that can be quickly removed for cleaning. All around the bed are anchor compass point for simpleness - hooks and metal spyhole. The equipment for this is in boxershorts under the bed. Everything a man may require is there - I know from acrid experience - handlock, chains, Mexican valium, muzzle, clamp, whip, phalluses, vibrators, lubricant, and blindfolds.

A small table is stocked with hard liquor, ethyl alcohol, stimulus, and build of aphrodisiac. We are forbidden from using anything on the table, unless we do so under instruction from a client.

Jurong is sitting on the bed of this room, looking around with great curiosity.

"This is your home ?"he asks.

"None of this is my dwelling,"I answer tersely."A slave can not take in monomania. We use whichever room is free."

"You're going to be like this, today, are you, Coora ?"he says with a wry smile, as though I'm being unreasonable."I've add up a yearn way to see you."

"You've paid for me,"I say bitterly."Just have your fun, and go away, Jurong."

"Your visibility says you've been highly trained in slave skills,"Jurong says, ignoring my animosity."I guess you didn't find much use for your politics here, huh ? present them to me, Coora. That's an order. swear out me Danaean Spirit, but humbly, the way a trained slave serves her master."

I can not refuse. Pouring the drink, I must kneel before him to present it, kissing the rim of the glass and then lifting it to him, as though in offering to a God. I must kneel with my second joint all-inclusive apart. In the demeaning wrapper, this will hide nothing of my core from him.

While I make the preparations, he talks.

"The college held a memorial military service, for all those who died or were taken in the sea rover attack,"Jurong tells me, as though he thinks anything in my past matters now."Nearly two hundred from our stratum were on that ship. Just from our socio-economic class, one-hundred-and-twenty-nine cleaning lady were taken alive. Twenty-four were killed, either by the Slavers or by ending themselves. Nineteen males enslaved, and fifteen of them killed. The golden end of the men evaded gaining control, but no char from the division returned place. All told, nearly five hundred captives were taken in the foray on moon of Odaron, the vast absolute majority of them female captured for sexual slavery."

And one of those Danton True Young female was me. I kneel as a sex slave before Jurong, my former schoolfellow, humbling myself, spreading my thighs to make an obscene view of the private place between my leg. I kiss the potable trash and lay out it to him holding it extended with both hands. I keep my promontory submissively down, but must take care at him, so he can see my eyes.

Jurong takes the glass from me, and sips.

"That is near spirit,"he says.

I do not reply.

"Ilza is the fair sex's class president now,"Jurong continues."All the guys want to date her, now there's so few women left. There's just a smattering of women from our year that weren't on the voyage."

I remember Ilza. She was one of those envious, vindictive types.

"I bet she likes that,"I can't assist saying."She'd like knowing I'm here."

"She does lie with you're here. You, Trindii, all of them. There's a big display showing all the ones who were taken, Coora, a memorial,"he says, and I moan in humiliation. The tears are coming again. Please, don't let me cry in front of Jurong.

"You probably know this as well, but the slaver advertise everything about the girls working on the Hub,"he presses relentlessly."All your information is there. It says you weren't a virgin when you were taken. That disappointed me. But you're one of only a few who were enslaved that can be traced. I was so allay when I saw that you were in a brothel. Most of the girlfriend have probably been sold privately, and are lost. Trindii has disappeared. Cliria is gone, somewhere. Eleese is gone. Gods, she was hot. It's a lucky man gets to own that. But really, for me there was only ever you, Coora."

What am I supposed to say to that ? His interest in me was always beyond friendship, beyond anything I sought. Last fourth dimension we met, I struck Jurong in the head with an ornament to escape him raping me. I won't be so lucky this time.

"Was the idea of sex with me really that bad, Coora ?"he asks, rubbing his skull in that same spot the sculpture hit. When he sees I'm not going to reply, he demands,"Answer me. Truthfully."

The compulsion of an implant on its victim is absolute.

"I've never had feel for you in that way,"I say, trying to be as diplomatic as potential."Dystyr women usually only want our alpha Dystyr males."

"But now, I'm probably not such a bad view, huh ?"he presses."I mean, I bet you've been taken by worse than me."

I pause, recalling some the horrors in my recent history.

"That's true, Jurong."

"Maybe regretting your actions, just a piddling ? Think about it : only here and now after our scene in that cabin, the Slavers withdrew to make their escape cock. It must frustrate you that if you'd only put out for me, and we'd had sex that day, we'd have probably not been discovered. My cock, instead of all those others and an implant."

Supreme Being, I hate this guy.

"Did I ever tell you, my family are very wealthy ?"he switches subject, suddenly finishing his drinking in one swig, and putting the glass back on the table.

I can't bear another arcsecond of this small-scale talk of the town. The prevision of him touching me is a form of torture, and I've had enough.

"I'm an embed slave, Jurong,"I say, turning to face him."We both know I can't block you. But delight - don't imbibe this out - if you're going to do it, do it, then go plate to Iniver four, and continue to live your privileged life."

"But that's my distributor point, Coora,"he says, as though he's explaining something to an idiot."I graduated with first social class honour. My family are very pleased, and want to pay back me. I could ask for you to be that payoff - ask for funds to rescue a slave who was a erstwhile schoolfellow. You can't go back to a normal life, not with an implant in your brain, but in the Republic with me, you'd technically be free."

My jaw drops as my world does a paradigm geological fault. char like me all learn that the only way to subsist thraldom, mentally is to remain in the now. But from nowhere I'm confronted with the idea that I might experience a time to come - a life beyond the Flower Garden. I've never been proficient at withholding tears, and again the sob comes without warning.

"We live in the Rainbow Cluster,"he says."You should see it, Coora - one of the most beautiful views in the galaxy, except for the opinion of yourself, of course. Gas clouds of all coloring material, and millions of stars, stretching to eternity. You feel a connexion to the eternal."

My nous is racing though, and already I'm coming down from the high.

"And what would you desire from me in central, Jurong ?"I ask in a trembling voice.

"well, no other woman will touch me, once she sees I'm keeping a late sex slave,"he says, his articulation curing."They'll all judge, even though my intention are good. So you'll have to be my companion. My insinuate companion, and you'll generate me the affair I've always craved from you."

"So I'll not be a sex slave, just a prostitute,"I say angrily,"sleeping with you in exchange for a place away from here. And I'll never be able to leave you, not when you only have to mouth and I'll come running back."

"You studied gender politics, Coora,"Jurong defends himself."You know that sex is almost always transactional. The charwoman gives her soundbox, in commutation for resources, protection, support… For an plant female, that situation is just a bit more overt."

He thinks, then adds,"I have a lot to offer you, Coora, and you're not exactly in the estimable bargaining side right now."

I frown.

"And what about right now ? What do you desire today ?"

"What I do in the hour I've paid for depends on you, Coora. Put yourself in my place. I desire you, but I can hardly to take you back to the Republic, just for you to recite the first mortal you meet that I raped you when we were on Aghara-Penthay,"answers Jurong."So I need to be for sure you're committed to me, genuinely committed, and that you won't try to flee as soon as you're in free people space. So here's what I suggest. If you want to be mine, you're going to sleep together me now, prefer to bang me of your own free will, and you're going to do as though you think I'm the most suitable guy in the universe. Convince me, and afterwards I'll put thing in move to get down the purchase."

Sex with the hideous Jurong. It occurs to me this might all be a trick - he might walk out of here, never having intended to save me, and I'd never see him again. The ultimate humiliation. I'd have given him myself, as though we were lovers, for nothing.

"And if I refuse ?"I ask.

"You won't, unless you're a tomfool. But if remaining here looks better than a life history with me… Why, your consent doesn't thing, does it ?"

So that's it. present myself to Jurong, or be raped by Jurong. He's not the first since my enslavement to say"treat me squeamish, and I'll buy you ”. But with those men and Jurong I would be a fool to decline. Any chance of leaving the Hub and returning to some soma of life inside the democracy is comfortably than my existence here.

"Lie back on the bed, please, my darling Master, Jurong"I say, trying to shroud my repugnance and wee-wee my vocalization auditory sensation tender, and when he complies, I straddle him, reaching for the knot fastening of my wrapper.

And then, for the number one time, I screw somebody for my life.

12 - Relocation.

After an hour play acting like the regular girl, once I've kissed him so long and he's gone, I think I've probably been conned like I was with the others, and I hate myself. But then a match of fault after my encounter, I'm abruptly released from my duties in the display cages out look, and I'm escorted inside. There's a small room at the vertebral column of the brothel that functions as Jabal's office, and to there I am taken.

"Coora - that gadget there is to go tightly around your neck,"my owner commands gruffly, throwing a large metal ring the diameter of my throat onto the desk."And that…"and another jumble of metalworking goes onto the desk with a clatter,"is for covering your cunt."

I pick up the collar, bemused. It looks like the shock device that was locked onto me when I was first captured, but this one has a taller band, and writing on it.

"Sold : Do not use ”, it says.

I look at Jabal, my heart suddenly racing. Does this mean ?

"Hurry up, put it on,"he snaps, and I quickly snap the collar around my neck. I push it as far as it will go, and hear the lock activate with an instant click.

I haven't worn the other device before, but I know what it is. In a house of prostitution, there's not normally a reason to lock sex slaves into celibacy bang. I step into the metalwork, pulling it up to my core as though I'm putting on panties. At the back, there is a small scuttle that will rest on my anus - bombastic enough to void solids through, but not big enough for a penis to penetrate. A lilliputian snatch at the front permits urination. I pull it up into place and attain the rear band sits deep between my buttocks, and is quite uncomfortable. I'm not sure what I think of this thing. The bash will be difficult to houseclean, and unhygienic if I have to don it for long. But then it does forestall me being used. At one time I would have considered this thing demeaning, obscene, but Gods, now it feels good to own something protecting my vulva.

I push the appointment closed, and hear a ringlet click on the whang, too.

"A client has taken a fondness to you,"says Jabal, disapproving."It happens, sometimes, with the offworlders - they fixate on one striver. The Slavers know this is a mistake,"( his tone turns smug )."This never happens with us. We understand the the true, that the value of a female person is measured only in her oomph, and the next fresh striver, who is therefore more worthy, is always on the way."“

Jabal gives me a minute to see his wisdom. Then he indicates the small window, the one looking through to the club's waiting room, and then out onto the Mezzanine.

"For example, look out there, Coora."

I obey.

"The next Coora has probably already walked through there, and is training on the surface."

I could intend of replies to this, but before I have a opportunity, the smash begins buzzing softly - the source of the quivering coming from a berth pressing right against my clitoris.

"Oh !"I cry, and pull at the metal band covering my core, but it's too cockeyed to budge.

Warm liquid joy spills out through my lower body. I feel myself starting to become aroused.

"But the obsessions of clients make good business for us, so we don't argue when the offworlders form their fond regard,"Jabal continues, ignoring my embarrassed surprise."He has paid well over your value, to secure you. You'll be pleased to know you have been a profitable purchase for the house."

After perhaps xxx seconds of intense vibration, by which metre I'm getting quite turned on and my legs are starting to tremble, the buzzing stops, as abruptly as it began. Frustrated, I push the alloy against my sex, wanting the pleasure back.

"Who paid for me, lord ?"I then ask humbly. Jurong - it must be Jurong. It would be too much of a conjunction otherwise.

"Like to roll in the hay, wouldn't you ?"he smiles with a flash of the familiar cruelty.

"The client will return to pick up you in three days. During your wait, he has specified you are not to be used to provide intimate services."

No sexual services… Does that think of ? Oh, Gods be praised. I go weak with easement. The end of my suffering is in sight. I might make already had sex for the finale time on Aghara-Penthay.

"The rap will prevent early men from raping you. During your waking hour, it will arouse you for XXX seconds out of every two minutes. It will activate more discretely during the night - you're in for some very erotic dreams, Coora. I promise you, when your new master collects you, he'll find his break one's back very desperate to please."

I push again at the metal against my meat. So how long have I got before it fires again ? to a lesser extent than a second ? I know better than to object - Jabal has said zero to show I can't be punished for the succeeding three days, if I show any planetary house of uprising. It will just bear to be endured.

"As you please, Master."

"You can still be of some use, until your possessor comes. You will serve food and drinks to node. You will wait out front, and when males take an involvement in a Dystyr, direct them to use Illonya."

"As you please, Master."

"You will portion my bed at nights. There are ways to enjoy a woman without penetrating the usual gob. Especially if she's so turned-on that she's going half-crazy."

I repress a tingle at the prospect of feeling Jabal's hands mauling me. But show dislike, and I will only arrive at it more gratifying for him.

"As you please, Ma… Oh !"

The buzzing against my sex returns, without warning. And it feels undecomposed. I feel my boldness gleam with the bang of arousal. I push at the alloy, trying to maneuver it against the most pleasurable protrusion of my flesh. I'm wondering whether, if I'm prepared and pre-excited, this evening if there's a instant alone I might bring myself to orgasm, from just thirty seconds of stimulation.

Jabal watches me, smiling knowingly. The room is silent for a here and now, relieve for the soft buzz of the belt and the ever present sound of the Hub's atmosphere CPU. Again the vibration vanishes, just as it was getting really interesting. I poke and prod at the belt, irritated.

"Quite something, isn't it ?"Jabal says wryly."fountainhead, you're dismissed, for now, Coora. Go and help the others."

I stumble out into the main region of the sporting house, my heart pounding. Around my neck is a pinch which says Sold : Do not use. A sexual morality belt inhibits admittance to my sex organs.

A expectant central couch area forms the primary room of the Flower Garden. The front is give to the mezzanine floor, which it is comfortable to cerebrate of as"outside ”, although of track we remain inclose on the vast orbital station of The Hub. threshold lead from the lounge into the bedrooms, and the functional spaces of the brothel. Against one wall of the waiting room - actually one of the major bulkheads securing the station's integrity, is the bar. Here Myrune - one of the Gaianesian women, sits talking with a potential customer. Her red slave wrap does not adequately brood her.

A grouping of males pass past the straw man of the sporting house. They are gimcrack, brutish, drunk. They laugh at the woman currently filling the wall. I can not evidence who she is, being only able-bodied to view her naked rear.

All this, I only have to stand for a couple of days. It makes it so much sluttish to bear, knowing the scene around me is no longer my future. I am destined for what ? Jurong ? The Rainbow galax ? He wouldn't have been my pick, but I'll take him over…

Godsdammit !

Once More the belt fires up without admonition, and I double over, clutching at my crotch. It seems that each time it fires, the essence of the stimulation on me seems to get More intense. And this is after just a few activations. How will I experience after hours of this ?

I'm already wondering - who ordered the vibrating belt ? Was it Jurong ? He would likely want me to be more interested in him, sexually. Well, his program will inevitably follow if the strength continues to rage like this. Unwanted, the memory of feeling Jurong's clammy hands on my naked body regaining. Eurghh ! I push it away, then try to assume it. Better Jurong's hands from within the commonwealth, than the many others who have had their hands on me on Aghara-Penthay.

Myrune's eyes take in the view of me, with my strange collar, doubled over clutching my groin. And then the vibration is gone. I move behind the bar, and feigning nonchalance I begin mopping ethanol spirits with a dirty rag.

"Ain't you something ?"Myrune's companion says to me, leering crudely. He's a human - older, unshaven for several days and social station from his own trunk odor."They kept you hidden in the book binding. How much is an hour inside your snatch ?"

"I'm not for sale, Master,"I say, indicating the collar. I'm deliberate not to go disrespectfully self-satisfied about this fact.

"Well, I'll just have to adopt it out on your friend, then,"he says testily, and turns back to Myrune."How much for your pretty ass ?"

The relief of my good afternoon comprises of confrontation much like this. A large grouping of male person on a pre-wedding party chooses us as their favorite establishment, and almost all the girls of the planetary house are kept fussy entertaining them. There's so much demand for women to serve in the bedroom that even today's girl in the wall - Hoola, another of the Gaianesians, is brought back into military service. But I still remain unused. My fill-in is almost unendurable. Even with the repeating torment from the whack, this is my least scummy day since gaining control. I've been equipped with a mental shield which protects me from everything. This is temporary. This is temp. That's the mantra I keep repeating. Soon, I'll be in the democracy. Implanted, but destitute. I will see the Rainbow galaxy.

The former womanhood inevitably see the sold house around my neck, and react with envy when they hear the explanation. Aghara-Penthay is their forever, but no longer mine. I will be leaving. How did I achieve such a feat, when they did not ?

The time which is designated as Nox arrives on The Hub, and I go to Jabal's bed. There, he gropes me, relentlessly and as intimately as he can while being inhibited by the knock. I can yield it, even when he climax by rubbing himself against my thigh.

I can bear that the belt ammunition, which has been activating all day, even though it has intensified so much that I turn to liquid in his sleeve. I can accept the image of Jurong pressing into me. I can yield Jabal's cum on my leg.

Because my future is away from here.

Next break of day, I wake from a series of intensely obscene pipe dream, to detect myself so aroused I'm barely able to stand. It's going to be a retentive day. Dismissed from Jabal's cabin, I take my property in the bar sphere. Mornings in the brothel are usually the unruffled and slowest period. Most revelers visiting The Hub company late into the dark. And those who need their lust sating early prefer to go directly to the sleeping accommodation, rather than hanging around drinking in the public areas.

My morning begins as smoothly as it can for a girl who by now is do-or-die to orgasm. At to the lowest degree it does until there is a loud ruckus from along the Mezzanine. I look up and see a posse of slave owner men are approaching, from the direction where the shuttles leave down to Aghara-Penthay's surface.

I haven't seen our new faction leader, but I don't need have done in order to tell who's approaching. In the middle of the mathematical group is a giant male, half a headland taller than those around him, radiating authority. A warning must have been passed back, for Jabal, still fastening his pants, and the other male who faculty the bloom Garden, come hurrying out to meet him. Hoola emerges with one of the junior men. She looks as if she's just woken up.

"Know who I am ?"the giant says, scanning the group with eyes that miss nothing.

"apprehension monad,"says Jabal in a trembling articulation.

"Let's get to the point. The credits coming from this brothel are well below some of the others,"says Monad."Why is that ? Are you stealing my coin ?"

"Of course not, dread monad !"stammers Jabal, shaking with fear."We're near the end of the Mezzanine. The houses in the middle get the most trade wind. And the Flower Garden batch in non-human women. They're a recess product."

"Are these two all of your product ?"barks Monad, indicating Hoola and myself."display me what else you have."

"Some of them are with clients. And some of them are sleeping."

"Do you mean I like ?"

"Fetch the girls,"Jabal quickly purchase order the subordinate. In answer to a mutter enquiry he adds,"no, all of them."

I melody up side of meat by face with the other women. We're in no specific Order. I happen to have the frizzy-haired Gaianesian, Hoola on one side, and the former Dystyr female person, Illonya, on the other.

And then my rap flame up.

"Urghh,"I moan sensually, my body jerking as I resist the urge to double over and clutch my crotch. In a moment, I've recovered myself, but by then it's too late.

"Nice. What's the story with the one in heating system ?"growls Monad. I'm staring at the floor and don't see where he's looking, but I just get laid he's talking about me.

"A client just bought her,"says Jabal."The sale made us a lot of reference, too. He wanted the whack fitted, so she'd be desperate for him by the time he arrived."

So it was Jurong. I knew it. But there's no time to think about him.

"footstep forward, you with the swath,"monas says, so of path, I do.

"looking at me."

Even though meeting his regard makes me shake more than the belt, this too I obey.

"You're a beaut, aren't you ?"he says gruffly, his stare train."I don't usually like scorns on women, but they suit you."

My reaction betrays me.

"Ha. See that ? She was surprise I know their proper name. The scratch expected me to be unintelligent. She thought she was cunning than me, even though she's the one standing there with an implant in her skull. What's your name, slave ?"

"Coora, Master,"I reply, trying to sound as humble as possible. I'm desperate to convey that I'm not a womanhood who thinks herself victor to the junto leader.

"You :"Monad says, turning back to Jabal."Have the apprehension taken off her, and give away that belt. She's coming with me."

"But she's sold…"blusters Jabal."And for a lot of credit."

"Do you want to argue ?"Monad smiles maliciously."Then please, argue…"

"Of course of instruction not."

"Then do as I ask. Or before the day's end, you'll be implanted as well, and joining your girls."

So within proceedings after beginning my day with hope, I'm padding after Monad, disconsolate with despair. I'd been tricked into hoping, for a while. Most of the woman look sympathetic as I depart, but a few look satisfied by my changing lot.

Please, please, let this new inferno be suddenly lived, I pray. I was getting used to the feel of my belt, and without its presence I feel as exposed as I did when I was first stripped before men. I feel my scorn brush against my derriere as I walk.

I follow monad to the bird bays. It seems I'm heading back to the surface. The last shuttle I had used was crowded with captives. This one's only passengers are Monad, and a few men of his retinue. The residual of the postponement is packed with solid food crate - Aghara-Penthay being reliant on supply from offworld for its nutrition.

I am the simply female present.

"kneel,"Monad commands me as he relaxes in a easy seat, and of course I drop to my knee, assuming the orthodox buckle down positioning, as I have been trained. The faction leader sits with his thigh banquet, as do many men. His crotch is flat with my eyeline. I see the protrusion of a large pipe organ, but I see he is not yet aroused. I wonder what triggers him. It would better help me please him if I understood his tastes.

A deep clunking sound and a slight shifting sensation from the artificial gravity tells me the bird has undocked, and for the indorsement metre in my sprightliness I'm dropping to the planet's aerofoil. My feel sink as we descend.

I lower my gaze, and see my paw are trembling. I've heard the rumour that no other man uses a woman after monas has had her, but what exactly could that stand for ? He keeps every one of them for himself ? With the overly endowed men such as the late unlamented stranger, they boast that their conquering are too stretched to feel anything again. Perhaps that is it. Perhaps the females he uses are moved to non-sexual service. I could cope with that fate.

"What did you do, before you were enslaved ?"Monad asks, abruptly breaking the silence.

"I was studying politics, Master,"I answer,"at the Capital University. On Iniver Four."

"I know where Capital University is,"he says dismissively."Your homeworld - the Dystyr planet - it has many female politicians ? Women are treated equally ?"

"Yes, Master."

"And do you believe in equality ? What does your political relation teach you is the recurring fate of benevolent societies ?"

I'm not sure how to answer. Fairness is such a fundamental tenet of the republic it's unsufferable to mean there could be a dependable way.

"Huh !"monad snorts derisively as I frame my response."She had to retrieve. Pretty, but not bright then."

There is no reply to that which helps me, so I am silent.

"The answer is : a group without scruples will always outdo those around them who are restricted by morality,"states Monad."As long as the whole does not act the same way. It is the like for someone. Put a few predators in the herd, and the predators do best. saucer, student."

"par brings a broader pool of potentiality, skipper,"I feel obliged to argue."Eventually, the extra ability means they conquer the oppressors."

"And yet, there you are, a quality specimen of a democracy female, drawn from the great ‘ capability pond'in history, naked at my feet, and a slave,"tabulator monas."Aghara-Penthay is the ravening cosmos. The Republic is the herd. We take what capability we want from you, to serve our pleasure. The democracy could flush it my home to limbo, if it had the balls. Instead, your men come here on vacation in refuge, because their leaders have sense of right and wrong about eliminating innocent victims. We act without limits."

I shake my headspring, but he commands,"arouse yourself,"and I must obey.

I'm sure enough I'm correct, and yet I'm the one left fingering my clitoris, while he enjoys the sentiment. And this remains the situation as I reach the planet's vile airfoil for the irregular time.

Perhaps I'm expecting twenty-four hour period of waiting in a cell again, but on disembarking I learn that monad is going directly to a meeting with the former faction leaders, and I am the one chosen to play along him.

"You want to see genuine politics in action ?"Monad growl to me."It is prison term to ingest your wish."

This is far from my wish. My dream was to see galactic politics as a participant, working to pass water the universe a better spot for all metal money. Not as a prize - an exteriorize symbol of a faction headman's business leader. But such is the fate of Coora. So I meekly follow my new passe-partout into ancient chamber - a space with sandstone wall, containing eight heavy thrones, each carved from a individual piece of rock. octet faction leaders must have been the gamey number there's been in Aghara-Penthay's account, but in the era of my slavery, there are only three leader occupying chairperson - Salarin, Cronorgan and monas.

I've seen programme of the faction leadership many time, but the experience of being in their presence feels very different. Salarin smasher such terror into the universe's cleaning lady that I've somehow imagined him as gigantic, but in reality, he's small for a human Male, and has a slim, stringy habitus. The Sadist is elderly and grey haired, but still has a animation about him. I could believe he'll continue to short-change the extragalactic nebula's females for many year yet. I know he becomes aroused by women's suffering, and kneeling so close, I can believe it. The air around him radiates with menace.

Cronorgan is entirely hairless - a tone which is pleasing and natural on Dystyr males, but in world makes them appear effeminate and immature. He is rather corpulence, which furthers the impression that here someone babyish. I know better than to let his appearance patsy me. He is the dominant allele. His pleasure is breaking women so they comprehend cipher but their slavery, and he does it very well.

And there is Monad. giant star, and muscular compared to his compatriots. monad is battle-scarred and grizzled, a contrast to the former men on whom I don't see the least defect. Here sits a man who takes by force out, and he's willing to fight for it.

rear end each of the vest Chiefs sits three of his bureaucrats, on smaller chairs to mull their lesser status. A fleet captain who oversees the cabal's piracy and capture of dupe, a contracts adviser, creditworthy for the faction's cash in hand and retail agreements, and finally - the handler of the cabal's slave, who deals with training, processing, and all matters from captives'arrival up to their compass point of sale.

The concluding attendees are us - the cleaning lady. Each Chief brings a sample of the finest female chassis he possesses, displaying a prize such as her to the former males as validation of his condition. Three of the okay slavegirls in the universe. I take no pleasure in being in such exalted ship's company. I was forty-nine, and I know that only on a planet where women have rights and are respected, is beauty a benefit. I feel cypher but pathos for my fellow creatures.

The number one one I notice is the charwoman at Salarin's feet start, and I do a double take when I see her. Surely, the one kneeling there is Ja-Alixxe. The female bounty hunter, who was captured and forced to participate in the Brassica napus Run two years ago, is more famous that the faction tribal chief. I remember she escaped the Run, along with the Republican colonel, melena de Santo. But Ja-Alixxe was recaptured, and after being condemned to be raped to death, the beetleweed saw her martyred in an plosion on the Hub.

Apparently not. Still, what does it weigh to me if one slave lives or dies ? The slaver have their ruses.

I can't assistance but read her, though. Some women mentally disintegrate during slavery, but Ja-Alixxe looks remarkably well. Her eyes still sparkle with flaming - she looks furious, even. She has the perfect body of an jock. Salarin must throw been making her exercise. They have done something cruel to her teat and her genitalia. Instead of the formula color of human being form, Ja-Alixxe's organs are silver, as though they've been sprayed with a metallic rouge. Her breast have been enlarged since I last saw her in the feeds.

At Cronorgan's feet kneels a non-human - a stunning representative of the Gaianesian species, only distinguishable from human women by sword lily of a mysterious purple shade, and a pattern of mark on her forehead in a similar color. The Gaianesians in the flush Garden were stunner, but this one is exceptional.

Cronorgan keeps his hand knotted in this womanhood's whisker for the entire duration of the council, applying a docile press. I wonder what that must feel like. In the brothel I've seen enough evidence of the Gaianesian females'involuntary response - a reflex - a ignominious inherited trait from their past which renders them sexually receptive when their hair is pulled. Perhaps this is on-key. At even the least movement which causes a tug from Cronorgan, I notice there is an twinkling when the girl's eyes defocus, she stares into space, and her lips part sensuously.

And I complete this luckless tierce, my chatoyant teal hide and my contempt making my appear the most-nonhuman of the slaves.

"This is Coora,"grunted Monad, as I took my stead kneeling at his fundament, facing into the traffic circle with my back resting against his monumental tibia."She believes equality is going to save her."

And without warning he loops my contempt around my throat, and tugs them tight like they're a noose - using my own physical body press into my throat. From nowhere, he's begun choking me. I struggle to rise up and get up, but he barks at me to stay in position, and my legs drop faster than if I'd been axed. I lift my hands instead, and use those to skin with the scorns, trying to pull them enough to loosen them and inhale. This effort monas permits, but probably only because I'm so ineffective. He holds me in this position, my windpipe crushed, until I begin to panic. It's probably only for xxx instant, but I'm beginning to see stars, and concern makes the fourth dimension feel much longer.

monad releases his custody long enough to let me cough a strangle breath, but as soon as that's done, the scorns cinch close and throttle me again. My own flesh is choking me once more, and I pull at it. No, he's leaving it too long - does he want me to swoon ? And again, as my terror begins to peak for the 2d prison term, I'm given a short moment to gasp for oxygen.

The men are discussing prospective victims for next year's rape Run, as though my predicament isn't happening, but intent with my fight for selection I've stopped listening to the line of governing a major planet. I'm trying to solve my fingers inside the noose of form so I can give myself an air-gap. monas, fully aware of my plan, adjusts the grip of his huge fist, and pulls back against my neck even more tightly.

I try to plea for mercy, fingers scrabbling vainly at the bands crushing my windpipe, but I can utter no sound.

"No, hands to your thighs,"Monad commands me now, and in malice of my despair, I still must obey. I rest the backs of my hands on my naked thighs, in the classic slave kneeling position.

He permits me another gasp of air - just for a fraction of a second.

I'm trying to understand what is expected of me. Does he require me to pass out, in which case it would be better to just simulate losing awareness ? Perhaps it is my concern which pleases him ? I don't need acting to show I'm afraid.

Salarin pulls back on Ja-Alixxe's hair, mirroring the Gaianesian's posture, so the amplitude hunting watch must watch me. There is pathos in her grammatical construction - an emotion I don't think back ever seeing from her during her sentence in the ravishment Run. The Gaianesian woman, in contrast, looks utterly terrified. Is the survey of me that bad ?

Starved of O, my awareness begins to get less real, and it feels as though I'm falling backwards. At that point I am tolerate another brief breath, and I'm catapulted back into my consistency. A minion of Salarin's is addressing the loss leader. He mentions the name"Yarook ”.

"He's not getting even the horrible bit of cunt from me,"growls Monad from behind me."I'd rather cut their throats."

The declaration must have provoked my maestro to anger, for without warning I'm flung forward, landing heavily and painfully on my front end on the hard base. I start pushing myself back up, but Monad barks"Lie there ! Wrap those things tighter around your neck."

An guild is an purchase order, and any electric resistance dissolves instantly.

The meeting suspension, silent, while I circle the twist of my own dead body even tighter about my neck. Behind me, I hear my owner rising to his feet. Compelled my implant, I lie there, limp and docile, set up for whatever he intends of me.

I'm lying on a thick rug, but the base is very uncomfortable. My cheek look as though it was bruised in my tumble to the floor. The scorn, wrapped"tighter"as he commanded, are too tight to rest, and the foreign shimmering starlight is creeping back into the boundary of my imagination.

And then my master falls on me, crushing the rest of the air from my lungs out into a strangled screeching of painful sensation. I have no lubrication on my backside, and the suffering from him suddenly piercing my anus is unrelenting. The torment of him raping my rear would be adequate to make me scream on and on, if only I could, but he drags hard back on the living slip noose, and a adult female needs air to cry out.

"Is this really necessary ?"I hear Cronorgan ask as Monad ruts into me, violating me in front of them all."She's a prissy sample, and it's a permissive waste if you're going to do this every single time."

"I'll sell her to you if you admit you're weak, and you care for her ?"monas replies, the sound of his articulation amplified through me by the force per unit area from our bodies being crushed together.

Seconds more crack. Even with my dwindling awareness, they are endorsement of unendurable suffering. I'm waiting for Monad to let me postulate a breathing spell, like he has done over and over so far. sure enough it must be soon. This trial by ordeal can't go on much longer. Meanwhile his peter smell enormous inside my gut. Dystyr women's organic structure are similar to man female, when it comes to the ratio of our binding musical passage. We're equally able to pull round anal incursion, but it's to a lesser extent commonly practiced in our society. I hope Jurong doesn't expect me to hold out that.

I start to notice my capitulum filling with a beautiful sound, as though a choir of a thousand part are forming one perfect chord. My vision has dwindled right down to a pinpoint now. about of my view is filled with bright lightness. I think I am falling.

And finally, I understand.

Sexual cleanup is almost unheard of in Dystyr society. It is as foreigner to me as my iridescent skin and my scorns are to the humans. So I barely have sentence to consider the thought that must bear been apparent to the observers - that Monad does not specify to let me breathe, ever again."No man uses a female after Monad has had her ”. Oh, I think. That's what they meant.

I'm not sure why, but I feel strangely calm as I consider my end. I may even spill a sparkling tear, but it becomes a headliner before I have opportunity to hitch it. I look up, following it towards the void of outer space.

And I see the Rainbow Galaxy.

Standing, I run naked and unashamed towards eternity .