When she finally stripped, she could hear a few approving words being muttered by the sec men in the room. At another time she might be flattered, but right now she was feeling sick to her stomach.
"A natural redhead, I see," the baron observed. "You are now my prize breeder. Your offspring will bring top jack for years to come. Congratulations."
Krysty was about to tell the baron to go fuck himself, but decided it might be wiser to hold her tongue for just a little while longer.
"Sit down," he instructed.
Krysty sat again, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest.
The baron opened his bathrobe to expose himself as if he were drawing back curtains. He was hard, but his cock was small for a man of his height.
"Spread your legs!"
She uncrossed her legs and slowly spread them apart, wondering if the predark instructions Mildred had told her about had been made up by men like this baron. She didn't seem to be any closer to finding a way out of this situation.
She readied herself to call upon the power of Gaia.
The baron was now standing directly in front of her, his small erection just a few inches from her face.
"Take it!" he said.
The sec men in the room chuckled at that.
"I said take it," the baron repeated.
This was where it ended, Krysty thought. She reached out with her right hand and gently caressed the baron's scrotum, feeling his testicles sliding around inside his sack. With her left hand she took hold of his cock, her fingers able to reach all the way around the thin shaft, and then some.
"Ahh," the baron sighed. "That's good."
Krysty, ready to invoke the name of Gaia, prepared to squeeze as hard as she could with her right hand. She also tensed her left hand, ready to give his scrotum a hard twist.
"Enough!" the baron said, pushing Krysty back in her chair.
She released her hold on the baron's genitals.
"I don't want to scar you, my pretty one," the baron said, doing up his bathrobe. "I know an East Coast breeder who is partial to redheads, and I doubt he'd pay much jack for, uh, damaged goods."
Krysty began getting dressed.
"But first you have to give me an offspring."
"Who do you wish her to rut with?" the man with the book asked.
"I imagine there will be many who'll want her," the baron said. "But only the strongest man on the farm would be worthy of her, so we'll have a gladitorial-type contest for her. Men, battling each other to the death for the privilege of rutting with this vision of beauty." The baron looked out the window at his orchards. "Yes, men brutally chilling each other, spilling blood, guts and gore, all for the right to mate and make new life with this woman."
Krysty wanted no part of the baron's mad plan, but as long as she played along with it, she'd be safe and able to try to get in touch with Ryan and Mildred so they could begin to figure out an escape plan.
The baron turned to two of the sec men in the room. "Take her to one of the private lounges and make sure she's comfortable. I want her to look good for the combatants."
The sec men nodded and led Krysty to the door. The baron turned to the man with the book, and took his riding crop from the pocket of his bathrobe. "Send me a breeder," he said, whipping the crop against his hand. "And make her red-haired if we have one."
"Yes, baron," Norman Bauer replied. "Right away."
Chapter Thirteen
Doc had been right about the muties.
When the four friends were done making their recce of the area from the observation level of the tower, they found the fruit gone from the stairs, and the three muties fast asleep on one of the landings.
"So you see, John Barrymore," Doc said, as they carefully stepped over the sleeping muties. "It wasn't your fault that you fell asleep on watch. The fruit had a similar effect on all of us."
J.B. nodded, feeling a little better, but only a little. So there was a reason why he'd fallen asleep on his watch. It still wasn't anything but an excuse.
They made it down from the tower without further incident and began the journey northwest toward the farm. When they reached the outer edges of the ville, where the ruins of the old city ended and the ruins of the old farms began, they decided to take a short break to eat what little supplies they had with them. Doc was still carrying the bag of fruit, but none in the group was hungry enough to eat any. Instead, they made do with a few pieces of jerked beef J.B. had with him, and a bag of nuts Jak had squirreled away in one of the pockets of his jacket.
"Any more peanuts in the bag?" Dean asked Jak.
"Ate them."
A sound erupted behind them just then, like the snap of a twig or the fall of a rock. All four of the friends had their blasters drawn a second later and were searching the nearby tangles of weeds for a sign of what was there.
They could see nothing unusual.
"By the three Kennedys!" Doc exclaimed, rubbing a knot that was rising up from his head.
"What was it?" J.B. asked.
"If I'm not mistaken, it was a stone." Doc searched the ground around him and found a small round rock by his feet. "As I suspected," he said, holding up the offending rock.
Other rocks hit the ground around them, then stopped.
J.B. looked in the direction the rocks had come from. There was no movement in the weeds now, and whoever had thrown the rock had likely moved on.
"Jak, Dean," J.B. whispered. "Find out what's out there."
Jak nodded and hurried off toward the weeds while Dean made a wide circle to the right.
"Are you hurt?" J.B. asked Doc.
Doc rubbed his head. There was probably a sizeable lump there, but the skin wasn't broken. "Only my pride." J.B. smiled.
"I would like to know why it is that I am the one who was first to come across such misfortunes on this trip?"
"Lucky, I guess," J.B. said.
JAK MOVED THROUGH the weeds as quietly as a cat and as quick as a snake. His lean, muscular build and acrobatic athleticism were well suited for this sort of hunt. If there was anything out there, he would either catch it or chill it long before it ever saw him.
He pushed aside the tangle of weeds in front of him with the six-inch barrel of his .357 Magnum Colt Python and peered into the undergrowth. He couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean much. After all, whoever was out here couldn't see him, either.
Jak crouched and moved deftly to his left, careful not to disturb any weeds or otherwise alert his prey to his presence. With his acute sense of hearing, Jak detected Dean making his way toward him from about twenty-five paces away. With one of his friends so close, Jak holstered the Colt Python and fished inside his jacket for a pair of leaf-bladed throwing knives. Even if he could positively identify an enemy through the weedy underbrush, the man-stopping power of the Colt could easily punch through a body and still chill Dean, even if he was standing dozens of yards away.
And then he saw it—the flick of a weed and the flash of color distinct from the pale green and sickly yellow of the weeds.
Jak moved in for the kill. If he was lucky, it would be a coon or squirrel and they'd soon be eating something better than jerky and nuts for breakfast.
Jak positioned a knife in his right hand for throwing and parted the weeds in front of him for a better view.
He reared back with his right arm…and saw Dean looking back at him, the boy's Browning Hi-Power leveled at Jak's head.
The albino teen relaxed his arm; Dean lowered his blaster.
Jak jerked his head to the left.
Dean nodded, moving away from Jak so he could circle whatever it was his friend was hunting in the brush.
Jak moved left and saw that the growth of weeds ended a little farther on. That meant that whoever or whatever was moving in that direction would either have to double back soon or make a run for it over open ground.
Either way, Jak would have them.
As the two youths neared the edge of the
tangle of weeds, Jak caught sight of some color low to the ground. The color was pale, like the white of his own skin, which meant there was a good chance it was one of the spiderlike muties.
Jak readied the throwing knife again and prepared to move aside the final few weeds separating himself and the unsuspecting mutie. When he had a clear view of the creature, he'd throw the knife at its neck. The blade would penetrate a few inches, chilling it in a matter of seconds—quick, precise and almost painless.
Jak prepared to pounce.
He moved his left hand across his body, ready to push the weeds aside, almost as if he were about to open a sliding door.
One…two…three…
The weeds were suddenly gone, and he had a clear view of his prey. He reached back to throw the knife and realized it wasn't a mutie at all, but a young woman.
And a pretty young woman at that.
"Hi there," she said with a smile and a wave.
Jak slowly lowered his throwing arm. "Hi."
Chapter Fourteen
"Who are you planning on rutting with tonight?" a hard-muscled, blond-haired man asked Mildred.
"Excuse me?" she replied.
"Tonight," he said. "Who are you rutting with?"
"I don't rut ," Mildred said, doing her best to ignore the man.
"But everyone ruts at night. It's our reward."
"Well," Mildred said, continuing to pick peaches and place them in the basket slung around her hips. "I'm not everyone, and I don't rut. Understand?"
Another young man, this one tow-headed, came up to the base of the tree Mildred was working at and said, "Is she rutting with you tonight, or is she free?"
"I saw her first," the blonde said.
"But mebbe she wants me instead."
Mildred stopped what she was doing and watched the two men fight over her. The scene seemed quite unreal, but although she thought it a pathetic display of machismo, she still found the attention quite flattering.
"I saw her first. So if she's going to rut with anyone tonight, it'll be me," the blonde stated, jabbing himself in the chest with an outstretched thumb. "Unless you want to do something about it."
"Maybe I will."
The blonde stepped away from the tree. He was naked from the waist up, all of his muscles well defined from days working in the orchards. He had on a pair of short pants that were ragged and torn, revealing equally sculpted thighs and calves.
The dark haired one was no slouch, either. What he didn't have in muscle tone, he made up for in mass, outweighing the other by thirty pounds, at least. As a result, they were a good match for each other, and Mildred was curious to see who might walk away the victor.
Everyone else seemed curious, as well, as most of the slaves had stopped picking by now and had become interested in the men's squabble. It even sounded as if there were bets being placed, with the blonde being the early favorite.
The dark haired man didn't make a move for several seconds and, thinking there would be no fight, the blonde waved him off and turned back toward Mildred. That's when the other took the chance to throw a punch that struck the blonde square on the back of the head at the base of the skull. The fair-haired one's head snapped forward, and he fell to the ground.
As the dark-haired one carefully stepped over the other to catch Mildred's attention, the blonde on the ground kicked the other's feet out from under him and in seconds the two men were rolling around on the ground, punching wildly.
The sec men seemed to be enjoying the contest.
Their weapons were lowered and they were cheering on their favorite.
After several minutes the combatants seemed to tire. They were roughed up, with a few scrapes and bruises, but neither of the men was bloody. Finally the dark-haired one slapped his right arm onto the ground three times and the blonde released him. The two men got onto their feet and the dark-haired one walked away to resume his work.
The workers got back to work.
The sec men began exchanging jack.
The blonde walked over toward Mildred, a bit of a proud grin on his face. "So," he said, "you'll be rutting with me tonight, then?" It was as much a statement as a question.
Mildred had no intention of having sex with this man, even though it seemed to be the natural way of things on this farm. Still, she had the feeling that simply saying no to the man would probably cause problems. She had to think of something else to tell him, and fast.
"Well, then?"
"I'd like to, honey, but it's, uh, my time of the month."
"I don't mind."
"But I do," she said.
There was no anger or disappointment on the man's face. He simply nodded in acceptance of this fact of life. "Tomorrow, then. Or when you're first able."
He was persistent, Mildred thought. "It might take a while," she said.
"I'll rut with others in the meantime," the blonde said. "But when you're ready, I'll have you first."
Mildred couldn't imagine she'd still be here picking fruit in a few days' time, but if she promised this man, maybe the word would get around and the others might not be inclined to proposition her. "Sure," she said. "When I'm ready, I'll let you know."
The blonde smiled. "My name's Eric. I'm one of the best rutters on the farm."
"I'm Mildred," she said, admiring his physique. "And I bet you are at that."
Eric left her then, returning to work.
The women working the nearby trees eyed her warily. "Maybe the men won't be the only ones I'll have to worry about here," she muttered under her breath.
"THIS WAY!" The sec man pointed down a long, wide hallway that had several doors and ended at another corridor. When Krysty hesitated, he gave her a hard push from behind that nearly sent her sprawling.
She regained her balance and continued slowly, familiarizing herself with her surroundings so she wouldn't lose her bearings in what seemed like a maze of doors and hallways. The rough treatment aside, the sec men seemed a little too casual about guarding her, slinging their longblasters over their shoulders instead of keeping them trained on her. Krysty considered spinning, slamming the heel of her hand into the nose of the one behind her and taking his blaster, but she doubted she'd be able to do much after that. Even if she could chill the sec man in front of her before he chilled her, she had no idea where she was in the building, and she'd need an escape route.
"Second door on the left is your room," the sec man behind her said.
The first sec man opened the door for her, then stepped back to let her enter the room.
There was a bed at the far end, and a large window covered by steel bars overlooked the common area in front of the main building. Closer to the door were two large, comfortable looking chairs and several pieces of furniture with doors and shelves that could be used for storage.
The sec man who'd been behind her followed her into the room and switched on the lights. Krysty was startled for a moment by the light from the electric bulb, but retained her composure.
"There's running water, too," the sec man said. Running water and a hot bath would be nice, Krysty thought. She was on her way to the bathroom to try the faucets there when she heard the door close behind her.
And the lock snicked into place. She spun on her heel to find the sec man standing in front of the door, a grin on his face. "What do you want?" Krysty asked. "There's two kinds of breeders on Fox Farm," he began. "Smarts and stupes."
"Is that right?"
The sec man nodded. "The stupes put up a fight and wind up in the basement for nine months chained to the wall."
"And the smart ones?"
"They rut with anyone who wants to, sec men especially." He unslung his longblaster and pointed it at Krysty.
"Sec men like you?" Krysty asked.
"I knew you were a smart one," the sec man said, replacing the longblaster on his shoulder.
"What do you want me to do?"
"You can suck my cock for a start," he said. "My friend's, too."
> "Sure." Krysty better understood the predark theory now. If she cooperated with the sec man, he'd put himself in a vulnerable position. Already the man had his blaster over his shoulder instead of in his hands and pointed at her head.
"Well, all right."
She walked to the bed, sat on the edge and beckoned him with a curl of her right index finger. The sec man joined her, undoing his belt, which held a hunting knife and several boxes of ammo, and unbuttoning his pants.
"Let me see it," Krysty ordered, feigning breathlessness.
Without hesitation the man let his pants fall, allowing his erection to bob and waver in front of her like a flagpole in the wind.
"Do you like it, bitch?"
"Uh-huh," Krysty answered.
She reached out with her hands, taking hold of his cock with her left hand and hefting his scrotum in her right. "What's my reward for doing this?" she asked.
"For starters, you won't get beat as bad as others do."
"Oh, that sounds fair."
"You bet."
And that's when Krysty simultaneously squeezed and twisted her hands as if she were wringing water from a damp towel.
The sec man let out a yelp, his body snapping straight and unable to move.
Krysty gave him another hard twist, the force of it lifting him onto his toes. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and tears leaked from his eyes. She let go of his scrotum and reached down with her right hand to pull his knife from its sheath. It was a four inch hunting knife with a serrated edge on one side and a straight edge on the other. She came up with the knife quickly, slashing it from right to left, slicing off the tip of the sec man's cock.
He screamed.
She let go, pushed him away with a hard shove and slid the knife under the bed.
He stumbled backward, then reached down between his legs to grab hold of his severed member. He tried to staunch the flow of blood with his hands, but it still flowed freely through his fingers and down the insides of his legs.
"Rad-blasted slut!" the sec man screamed, holding himself with one hand and trying to pull up his pants with the other. He finally let go of his pants and brought around his longblaster.
Axler, James - Deathlands 61 - Skydark Spawn Page 9