by Trent Evans
Grunting with the discomfort she worked to free it, his fingers prying painfully at her tormented anus to pull the shaming phallus from the clutch of her body. Finally it was out, and she blew out a great, relieved breath.
But only for a moment.
Then he was behind her, those gigantic hands gripping her hips so hard she thought her pelvis might be crushed under the power of those unbelievably strong fingers. His cock pushed inside, her groans and his moans becoming one. The fit was so tight she was sure she would split. She was sure her pussy would begin bleeding around him again, just like the first night he’d taken her — only this time, the pleasure was so great, the stretching such a mind-bending soul-destroying experience, she didn’t care. She would have gladly bled for him, gladly split for him if only he would keep going, if only he would take her to that pinnacle, if only he would let her come.
She knew he might not allow it. He knew she knew that at any moment he could deprive her of that release. He could demonstrate yet again his power over her, his absolute power to control every aspect of her existence. Her pain, her pleasure, her satisfaction, her frustration, even her meaning.
She rode back upon him, each deep stroke bringing that huge head of his crashing against her cervix, making her cry out. And each time, she pushed back even harder, as much as the fierce grip on her hips allowed. He smacked her ass as he fucked her, cursing at her, using her as an abject animal in truth.
“Squeeze that cunt, girl! Squeeze my cock,” he growled it, the tone of his voice at that moment so alien, a sound no human male could make, like two stereo channels not quite synchronized – one deep, the other deeper – the timbre of it rattling in her chest. And then with a long rumbling groan, he was even deeper. As deep as he could go.
And she was panting.“Yes, yes, Oh God, yes!”
“Say it, girl! Say it, cunt!”
“Yes, Master! Yes, Master! Oh God, yes!” His fingers played upon her clit as he reached down, pinching and frictioning it brutally, his rough fingertips circling it, then crushing it again, making her cry out. She was so close.
So close!
Then he fucked her with a speed and ferocity that took her breath away, his fingers working her clit now at light speed, and she flew over the edge, screaming as loud as she could until her voice was gone. Until existence was gone. Until she was nothingness.
As she came back to the land of the living, he groaned once more, his grip growing even harder, pure pain now as he slammed into her. She panted and cried, fresh tears pouring down her face, tears of relief and agony, joy and fear, as he emptied himself into her. She could feel every spurt, the fit so tight as his seed poured out of her, the hot stickiness running down her legs, dripping on the ground beneath her.
Then he quieted, though his grip on her hips was still as brutal as it had been before. “Minkala, Rose.”
She collapsed to the grass, her huge, alien captor following her, laying over her, encompassing everything around her, cradling her body against his.
As they laid there, their breathing ragged and labored, the sweat pouring from their bodies, that word slipped from his lips over and over again.
“Minkala, slave girl. Minkala.”
Chapter 22
It seemed that once Kosha had posted Rose’s personal information, medical stats and various mathematical data related to her health and her physiology, other members of the little secret network appeared to get their own ideas, a few of them sending in similar data specific to the particular humans that they held. A sort of inside joke had developed that other “owners” still needed to submit their own “Rose Report”. It was clear the owners had spread the word about this resource, this network, and that the ability to share information in this way was available. And it was beginning to be utilized.
For Kosha, it became another part of his daily routine. Between training, disciplining, and fucking his slave girl, he’d put her in her cage and come into the communication suite for an hour or two, loading the null disc to see who’d posted what that day. It seemed every day held a new surprise. From finding out one owner kept his slave girl – a lovely young blonde from the island of Tasmania off the southern coast of Australia – continuously lactating, even though she, to her owner’s knowledge, had never had a single child. It was the second time Kosha had seen a reference to such a thing, and each time it made his cock twitch, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.
The entire mammalian class of creatures on Terra produced milk for their young, just as Yaanfahris did, so the concept itself was far from strange. What Kosha found himself questioning was why it elicited this particular… reaction in him. He’d never seen it in an erotic light, but there was no denying as he read the accounts of how this girl was kept, it was dripping with eroticism. He remembered the remark Torval had made during Rose’s examination — which at the time had seemed to be in passing — about checking her breasts for suitability for lactation. Was the doctor serious about that? Did he think Kosha would be interested?
There was no denying that he was interested. More than he’d expected. But he hadn’t the faintest idea how to actually do it.
One day, as he perused the latest installment of the Stables Chronicles, another owner account – a rather detailed one – of how not one, but two Terran slaves were kept as little more than farm animals, essentially beasts of burden. He even raced them occasionally, promising to post a holo in the future of one of the latest competitions.
The idea held a strange allure to Kosha, though admittedly, it was even more esoteric than the appeal of making a Terran slave girl’s breasts express milk.
An incoming call flashed on the screen as he read the last part of the Stable Chronicles. He clicked over. Torval’s image filled in the screen instantly. He appeared to be in his office, still wearing his formal staid doctor’s uniform. He never understood why the medical professionals still used such a thing. Everyone knew what they were – well, except perhaps in Torval’s case. They probably didn’t really know what that man was actually capable of. But Kosha knew.
“How’s your girl coming along?” A grin played at the corners of Torval’s mouth.
“She’s not coming very often, that’s for sure.”
Torval laughed at that, giving him a slow, knowing shake of the head. “I was thinking about something you posted on the network about”—Torval tapped his chin with a long finger—“using the information on this network as a sort of... catalog. It’s never been done before, but it might be useful, even from a medical standpoint. Perhaps we should make it a more or less permanent thing?”
“Do you think there’s something that we’ll learn from this or is this simply for us to… enjoy?” Kosha chuckled, fairly sure he already knew the answer.
But Torval was serious. “Of course our enjoyment of it is still the primary reason for its existence, but there’s definitely value in having all this information in one place. A census, you could say. It might allow us to find patterns.”
“What kind of patterns?” Kosha marveled at the way his friend could find an interesting scientific angle to almost any subject, even one as prurient at this one.
Torval thought for a moment. “Well, the number one concern I’ve had is how human females react to, let’s say, their new partners. Physically, I mean.”
Kosha laughed. “I’d say they adapt with difficulty. Is there anything we need to know more than that?”
Torval’s eyes grew solemn then. “You’ve never heard, have you?”
“Heard what?”
“It appears a few Yaanfahri who have less than a full respect for our laws — well, they’re not the only ones who’ve borrowed human females.”
Kosha sat up straighter. “Oh? We’re protectors of their world. We surveyed it. Who else would?”
And then he knew it before Torval uttered the words.
“The Luthien,” Torval said. “We don’t have confirmation, of course. It’s mostly just rumors. But it’s been
heard enough times from enough different sources that it’s most likely true.”
Though it did make his blood run cold for a moment, Kosha thought hard about it. Was it really that surprising? The Luthien and Yaanfahri were essentially cousin peoples, physically were virtually identical with small sometimes very subtle differences, but their cultures couldn’t be more different. Where the Yaanfahri were scientifically based and contemplative and deliberate, and at times, yes, even bureaucratic, the Luthien seemed to take particular delight in flouting the values that the Yaanfahr held dear. They were passionate, warlike, and extremely dangerous. Though they could easily be mistaken as being barbarians, they were anything but. Their technology was at least as advanced as the Yaanfahri, but they seemed to make a point of deemphasizing their own technological prowess, instead, allowing things like religion, and philosophy, and spirituality imbue meaning to their people, their culture, and even their military.
But there was one way in which the Luthien were very much alike regarding their Yaanfahri cousins, and that was sexuality. They were — in ways the Yaanfahri didn’t like to admit — voracious. It wouldn’t surprise Kosha at all if the Luthien had located Terra and realized what a treasure trove it actually held. Though he should have been offended — and at first, he was somewhat shocked — as he thought it over, he realized not only was it not surprising, but he could understand in a sense what the Luthien were likely thinking: Why should the Yaanfahri only benefit from it? Why not the Luthien, as long as they stayed in bounds?
The Luthien don’t stay in bounds, Kosha. That’s the problem with them.
Of course, that was correct, and he was sure it was part of why he had been assigned to the Liaison’s office. Though the Luthien were a problem and could be incredibly dangerous — and certainly were during the short, sharp Yaanfahri-Luthien war — there was definitely much more to be gained by peace. And even, eventually, a friendship.
Which was where his role came in.
Torval continued. “If we collect all of their relevant medical data, their measurements, basic physiological information such as height, weight, hair color, blood type, age, that can all be put into a database and the AI can analyze it for us, we should be able to discern patterns almost immediately. With enough subjects — there are dozens in this group alone, and we think there are probably more who don’t even know this group exists — we might be able to draw some meaningful conclusions. But for all this to serve a true purpose, all the owners would need to include the information on their slaves and contribute financially to both maintain a database and perhaps enhance it someday.”
“What do you mean by enhancing it?” Kosha asked.
“Well, once we have the basic information, we can include, let’s say more in-depth profiles of each of the captives.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call them that.”
Torval’s eyebrow arched. “You wish I wouldn’t call them what they actually are?”
Kosha cursed under his breath. “Go on then, doctor.”
“Once we have this more in-depth information, it can be used to enhance their stay with us.”
At this, Kosha did laugh, for the statement was both ironic and dripping with double meaning.
“And perhaps we could…” Torval looked away, the holo flickering for a moment.
“Go ahead. I know you want to say it. What is it?”
“There is one more thing. Perhaps we could figure out why not all pairings are infertile.”
Kosha’s jaw dropped open like a trapdoor. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Torval waved a hand, looking away again. “Let me think about it. I’m not sure it’s right to divulge this yet. There’s more on this subject, and there’s so many unknowns. We need more data. But yes, there are some... mysteries. There’s some indication that what we thought we knew about human-Yaanfahri fertility... may not be fully accurate.”
Chapter 23
Of all the things a girl like Rose — even setting aside her obvious predilection for twisted, painful, and at times, nonconsensual, fantasies — thought would happen to her, becoming used to and even comfortable with the routine of her captivity and training was definitely not one of them. And yet, it was true.
She’d come to expect and even feel some comfort at the regular routine, despite the fact he seemed to go at her harder now than he ever had before. It was degrading, dehumanizing training, and yet, she struggled more and more with the strange conflicting emotions she was beginning to feel.
At that moment, she was in her familiar position – locked in her cage, looking at him. He was sitting across the room, gazing at a screen that was mostly facing away from her, preventing her from seeing what he was watching. It cast a ghostly white glare over his sharp, angular features. Even that seemed to enhance his handsomeness.
He’s not handsome. He kidnapped you, Rose.
Why would it matter if her kidnapper was handsome? She thought it was better to have a handsome kidnapper than a hideous one, though it probably wasn’t politically correct — or sane — to say such a thing out loud. In the comfortable, dehumanizing confines of her cage though, she could entertain such thoughts as long as she wanted. She knelt up until the top of her head brushed against the bars above her. Grasping the steel — as much as her rubberized paws would allow her anyway — she pressed close, her breasts squeezing though the bars until her nipples, hard and impudent, projected out. All he had to do was look.
Oh God, please look.
She knew it was a virtual guarantee she would be punished if he caught her doing such a thing. She knew now that such forward behavior was not what one expected or approved from a pet, but still, she did it. She wanted his attention — any attention. Even if it hurt.
Especially if it hurt.
She didn’t dare make a sound though, and it wasn’t just because he left the translators on effectively full-time now. She found it to be a blessing and a curse both, for though now she could understand what he was saying, he seemed to take great delight in saying almost nothing around her, in giving her as many commands as possible via non-verbal means.
Just that morning, immediately after he set her into her cage, her bottom burning and aching from a brisk spanking over his lap, he stood above her, not a stitch of clothing on, watching her in silence with that strange, preternatural light in his eyes, towering over her. His cock was partially erect as he watched her and she hoped more than anything to see the big penis extend straight out like a weapon readying itself. But before it could, he turned away, a sly smile on his lips, and left her to her thoughts, to her solitude, to her imprisonment.
She caught herself daydreaming about him more and more now, picturing his fist coursing up and down that huge shaft, the veins a fine tracery she felt she’d almost memorized by now. And she often caught herself wishing the hand she pictured was hers.
It was during these moments of solitude that she began to wish he would simply get it over with. He was preparing her for something, but she didn’t know what. Was it simply just to make her abject? To make her into literally an animal? How much further did she really have to go before even she would believe that was precisely what she was?
Then she looked over at the strange new platform he’d set up next to her cage. The heat bloomed in her cheeks as she remembered the first time he’d set her atop the thing. Visually, it looked like… well, it looked like a container that held a smooth uniform level of… dirt. It even felt like that too — at least she thought so, considering how little her paws and shin guards actually allowed her to feel.
But it was what he made her do on this platform that made her blush anew, for it seemed her little sojourn out in the strange coastal open space she thought of as some strange, wild park, had been a turning point of sorts for her captor. Forcing her to urinate outside had sparked something in him, and now it was a regular part of her routine.
When she had to go, rather than take her to the bathroom as she’d
become used to, he took her to this platform, forced her to kneel — or in some cases crouch to improve his view, no doubt — knees always apart, and empty her bladder upon the platform. The fascinating thing — a rather sick fascination, actually — was that her urine seemed to be absorbed almost instantly by whatever the material was. It wasn’t earth per se, and it wasn’t sand, but it was something akin to it. The liquid simply vanished as soon as it pooled upon the surface.
She’d never seen him do anything such as change it, or adjust it, or touch it at all. She had no idea how it worked. Perhaps there was some sort of energy field inside of it that eliminated everything that was absorbed by that soil. Whatever it was spared her the indignity — and the mess — of what she would have thought would be the worst shame of all — a human-sized litter box.
She could still picture it, how the litter would stick to her, how messy it would be. She could imagine him spraying her down over her grate afterward, giving her a shaming shake of his head and a scowl, and she’d hang her head in embarrassment, knowing she’d disappointed him by being messy, by being dirty. It wouldn’t be her fault, of course, but that didn’t matter. Disappointing him was what was important. She didn’t want to disappoint him — even in that.
Yet, this platform spared her that at least, though it didn’t save her from the humiliation of exposing herself completely to his gaze each time she had to urinate. He made sure to watch every single time. And he made sure she knew he was watching. Thankfully, he seemed to have no interest in her other duties of ablution, allowing her to go to the toilet and void her bowels in peace — blessedly alone
Thank God for small favors.
He stirred in his seat, then glanced over at her. Her breath caught in her chest and she thought of pulling back from the bars, but it was too late. He’d already seen her. If he was going to punish her, there was nothing she could do now to prevent it. He stood up from his chair, his eyes narrowing as he watched her.