Hands trembling, she took the clear double cup and pressed it over her freshly waxed pussy mound. All of her body hair had been removed during her induction into the cult and she was kept clean and smooth—the better to boost her sensitivity, according to Sister Yancy.
She watched in sick fascination as the outer cup attached to her pussy mound and began to suck. But worse was to come. As soon as the outer cup was firmly attached, the smaller, inner cup extended and fitted itself over her clit. The gentle suction on this area was designed to sensitize her nerves and increase the blood flow, making her pussy incredibly sensitive, incredibly wet and hot…
And all so she would welcome the Breeding when it was time.
Never, Kyrin thought fiercely as she tried to ignore the effects of the three cups sucking her most delicate areas. I’ll never welcome it—never welcome him or accept my fate. I’ll get away from here somehow. I have to!
But even as she told herself she would never give in, Sister Yancy came up beside her and slipped a needle into her arm.
Kyrin gasped at the sharp little pain and tried to pull away, but the drug was already entering her system. She could feel it building up day by day, breaking down her defenses, making her weak and needy and desperate.
Making her hate herself.
“That’s good, my dear,” Sister Yancy purred as she watched Kyrin fight the sensations building inside her. “When the nectar starts to flow from your breasts, you’ll be ripe for the Breeding Ceremony. And that will be any day now, I’m certain. When you are strapped to the Altar of Breeding and Father Tr’Ayer comes to you, you will welcome him and beg for his blessed seed. And when your belly grows big, you will know hope for the first time—the hope that your child will have the hair of flame and eyes like the sky—the hope that he will be the messiah who will spread the light of our Lord Tr’Low throughout the galaxy.”
“Never!” Kyrin hissed through gritted teeth. “I don’t want that bastard anywhere near me!”
“But you must welcome him—he is partly metal, as the prophesy speaks of,” Sister Yancy lectured. “Therefore it must be that he is meant to be the father of your child. Unless another comes, one who more fully fits the description before the ceremony, it will be Father Tr’Ayer who breeds you.”
“Can’t you get it through your head—I don’t want anyone breeding me!” Kyrin snapped. “I don’t want anything to do with your sick, twisted religion! I just want to go home.”
“This is your home now, dear.” Sister Yancy’s voice was implacable, inarguable. “And never fear—soon the Breeding drugs we have been injecting you with will ripen your body and make you ready to carry a child. When that happens—when the Breeding Fever comes on you—your womb will cry out within you, begging for the seed of the right male. Nothing else will put out the fire within you. You will burn and beg and nothing will satisfy you but a thick shaft inside you pumping you full of life-giving seed.”
“Never,” Kyrin protested. “I’ll never beg for anything so sick! Just thinking about it makes me want to puke!”
“You say that now, but things will change when you ripen.” Sister Yancy nodded knowingly. “I’ve seen it hundreds of times with hundreds of novices. Despite your brave words, you’re not different from any of them. Biology is biology and no one can resist the Breeding drugs for long—you’ll see.”
“You’re lying. Never. I’ll never want that. Never.”
But despite her brave words, Kyrin felt the drugs working on her. Felt her nipples and pussy responding to the damned suction in a way that made her tingle and ache all over. She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the sensations but she couldn’t do it…couldn’t help the way she was beginning to feel.
What scared her wasn’t the fact that she might be trapped here on Breeder One for the rest of her life…no, what scared Kyrin the most was that Sister Yancy might be right and she would actually beg for what was done to her. That she would actually welcome it when the time came.
Never, she told herself again. Never, never, never!
But what if she was wrong?
Chapter Three
So the Tr’Low idiots thought their savior would be fathered by a metal man. Rich snorted to himself as Beacon Five filled the viewscreen of his long-range shuttle. He had more than enough metal. It was the man part that was still in question.
No, he reminded himself, he was a man.
Doc Chambers, their leader’s lady-love, had worked diligently on all of them, removing the controlling subroutines that governed their CyBRG halves, minimizing the implants and restoring organics where she could. For some of them, those lucky enough to have taken minimal damage in the mine attack that had “killed” them, she’d managed to restore them to almost human appearance.
Of course, it was all on the exterior. She couldn’t remove the cybernetics that laced their insides, buried in their nervous and skeletal systems… but looking in the mirror and seeing a man, not a machine, went a long way toward peace of mind.
Rich caught sight of himself in the reflection of the shuttle’s control console and winced.
He hadn’t been so lucky. Like Captain Fisher, Drew, he’d been at the epicenter of the blast. He’d been less of a corpse on the operating table than a ragged mass of bloody flesh and bones. As injured as he’d been, he was one of the most enhanced of the rebel cyborgs. Only Unit 85 had more implants, the shaven-headed soldier—Josh Harper, Rich’s memory informed him—even now struggling to reconcile his new nature with his humanity.
Rich turned his head, studying the implants across his face. Then he grinned. The Tr’Low apparently had a prophecy about a metal man. A metal man that would father a promised leader to sweep them to victory across the galaxy.
Well… he was as metal as they were going to get. He just hoped they accepted him in time for him to find the admiral’s daughter. As though the thought of her had triggered his onboard processor, an image filled the left side of his vision. It was a picture of a young woman in an IPKA uniform.
Obviously an official portrait, her expression was severe and her flame red hair was pulled back tightly. But he wasn’t looking at that. Instead he saw the softness of her lips, even though she tried to pull them into a prim line, and the delicate curves of her frame even in the boxy and frankly ugly IPKA uniform. She was a beauty all right. No wonder the Tr’Low leader had wanted her.
Scuttlebutt he’d managed to pick up since he’d left Pierce’s ship had filled in the gaps in the Marine Corps intel. Tr’Ayer was the worst sort of “prophet.” Before he’d taken on Tr’Low’s cause, the cult was little more than a “harm none” peaceful group that had settled on a couple of colonies near to the outer rim. They’d believed in genetic purity and arranged matches so the resultant offspring would be genetically pure. Their holy books, such as they’d been, remarked vaguely on a coming savior who would lead them all to redemption.
Then Hank Ayers had joined them and begun calling himself “Father Tr’Ayer.” Within a year the little cult had claimed him as their prophet, and he’d had “divine revelations” from Tr’Low himself. Mostly about stricter breeding programs and the need to spread the word. The kidnappings and drug use had started about that time. Now, nearly a decade later, Tr’Ayer had remade himself into the image of their prophesied “metal man,” facial implants making him look more cybernetic than he was.
Rich snorted to himself. All that metal when it wasn’t needed. Cosmetic cybernetics were well advanced these days. Doc Chambers had used a hell of a lot of it rebuilding all of them… just some of them were too damaged for the cosmetics, or she’d advised waiting for upgrades.
“Unidentified shuttle, you are approaching Breeder One.” His comm sparked into life, a calm female voice filling the cabin. “Please state your identity and reason for approaching a sacred Tr’Low planet.”
He leaned forward, hands swift and efficient on the shuttle’s controls as he opened the channel to reply. The screen in front of him changed fro
m a view of the planet below to the face of a human female in black robes, all her hair shaved, apart from a strip dyed silver at the side.
“This is Unit 78, formerly of the Hast Marine Planetary Defense,” Rich said, his voice calm and level as she sucked a breath in, her eyes widening at the sight of him. “I’m here because of the prophecy.”
“Wake, Novice Kyrin! Today is the special day!”
Sister Yancy’s strident tones broke into the dream Kyrin had been having—a muddled, confused nightmare in which she ran silently through a maze, trying desperately to get out before an unknown monster that was pursuing her could eat her alive.
She didn’t have to be a psychologist to know the meaning of her awful dream. She was desperate to get out of here—away from the Breeding Compound and Breeder One. But she was trapped like a rat from Old Earth—caught in a maze she couldn’t escape from.
“Get up, I said!” Sister Yancy insisted.
“Why?” Kyrin demanded as she rose slowly from the small, sterile white cot she’d been assigned.
Because of her red hair and connection to the prophecy, she was considered special enough to have her own little room—a tiny corner area that might once have housed an office in the huge, echoing dormitory where all the fertile females were kept. But she wasn’t special enough to have anything to sleep in. Keeping the novices naked during the evening hours was just another way the Tr’Lows kept them from trying to run away. So Kyrin shivered as she got out from under the thin covers and rose to her feet, nude.
“What’s so special about today?” she asked the nun, who was frowning down at her. Goddess, she was almost as tall as a man—nearly two meters. No wonder Father Tr’Ayer trusted her to keep order in the dorms and keep special watch over Kyrin herself. How could she do anything—get away with anything—with the massive, vigilant nun watching her every move?
“You have only to look at your breasts and nether-mouth to know why today is special.” Sister Yancy was grinning unpleasantly, as though she had a secret she might share if she was begged enough. “Just look at yourself, Kyrin.”
Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, Kyrin looked down at her naked body, pebbled with gooseflesh in the chilly morning air. To her horror, her nipples appeared to have grown and darkened. Not just a little, either—her once pink nipples had gone a deep red.
Down below, it was the same story. Her pussy lips were swollen and red as though she’d just been spanked there. Both areas—her breasts and her pussy—were incredibly sensitive and painful to touch. Kyrin knew because she attempted to touch one of her nipples and drew back with a hiss of pain.
“What is this?” she demanded, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “What’s happening to me?”
As if you didn’t know, whispered a dark little voice in her head, but Kyrin pushed it away desperately.
“Why, you are ripening, my dear—just as I said you would.” Sister Yancy was practically gloating with glee over the prospect. “Today you will be given one more shot of the breeding compound and then tested by none other than Father Tr’Ayer himself. If he deems you are ready, you shall be a given the special Lust Serum all novices get in order to prepare them for the Breeding Ceremony.”
“I don’t want any special serum!” Kyrin protested. “I just want to get out of this hell hole and go home!”
Sister Yancy clucked her tongue. “How many times do I have to tell you, my dear? This is your home now. And once you are bred by a worthy male—maybe even Father Tr’Ayer himself—your belly will swell with a holy child. A child that will lead us all to the stars and beyond!”
The light of fanaticism was in her eyes again and Kyrin knew there was no use in arguing with her. She stared miserably down at herself. Her nipples and pussy were red and ripe and throbbing—already so sensitive that even the cool breeze of the circulating air was nearly unbearable. And now Sister Yancy was determined to give her something else—some horrible serum that would rob her of her free will and make her desire what would be done to her.
It’s too late, she thought dully. It’s time to stop hoping—no one is coming for me. I’m trapped here…I’ll never get out now.
She wished she was dead.
“Come, come!” Sister Yancy trilled excitedly. “It’s time to go to the sensitivity training area! Time to test you for ripeness!” She was practically clapping her hands she was so excited. “Oh, the fulfillment of the prophesy is finally in sight! If Father Tr’Ayer can bring the sweet nectar from your breasts, we will know it is time. Hurry, Novice—hurry!”
Kyrin put on the long, silver novice robe, which the nun was holding out to her. Even though the material was silky smooth inside, it still rubbed painfully against her sensitive nipples.
As she followed Sister Yancy with the heavy steps of a doomed convict going to the gallows, she thought with dread of what came next. She had seen the novices who had reached the final stages of ripeness—so sensitive and ready to be bred that they couldn’t even bear to close their robes. They walked around with the long silver robes held open, their swollen nipples protruding, and their ripened pussies on display for anyone to see. Everywhere they went, the breeding males followed them, practically salivating like dogs, sniffing after their scent as though they were bitches in heat.
And things only got worse once the ripened novices were given the Lust Serum. Then they really were like bitches in heat, begging any male in the compound to take them. That was why the guards were eunuchs, she was sure. Otherwise there was no way they could have resisted the erotic sight of a fertile female begging to be bred.
Of course, every attempt was made to keep these ripened novices away from the breeding males—at least until the Breeding Ceremony. But the nuns weren’t always successful and it wasn’t uncommon to see a couple rutting furiously in the corner, no better than wild animals in their mindless need to breed and be bred.
And soon that’s going to be me, she thought bleakly. No matter how I try to fight it, it won’t matter. I’ll get down on all fours and beg for it like the rest of them. I’ll even beg Father Tr’Ayer, that son of a bitch! I hate him but my body won’t care once they make me drink the Lust Serum. Sister Yancy is right. I won’t be able to resist.
Goddess, it was going to be pure hell. She’d had some hope, as long as her body wasn’t responding to the daily injection of Breeding Compound, that she might escape the ugly fate that awaited her. But now that she was exhibiting signs of ripeness like any of the other novices, she knew her hopes were false.
I can’t go through this—I can’t! she thought desperately. But what other choice did she have? She was stuck here and there was no one coming to save her.
Kyrin was trapped and there was no way out.
Chapter Four
The shuttle touched down with the slightest of bumps, a testament to Rich’s skill at the helm. A small dust cloud kicked up and obscured his view of the small landing strip for a second. Small for a colony of this size—he would have expected it to be packed and frantic with traffic. But… nothing. There were a few old cargo ships, but they looked like they’d been dirt-side for decades, their landing gears no doubt rusted into place.
There was also no sign of the Tranquility. He’d been scanning for signs of the IPKA vessel since he’d entered the system, but there was no sign of it, not in the visual scans of the probes he had in orbit, nor was there any response from it on any frequency. And he’d tried them all.
The Tr’Low must have broken it down so completely, even its component parts couldn’t be recognized, he mused, as the airlock behind him began to whir and cycle. It gave him enough time to secure the controls with an encryption protocol. He didn’t trust fanatics of any description, especially not the Tr’Low. So he intended to make sure even if they managed to get in here in the first place, there was no way they’d actually manage to do anything. Let their weird-ass god try and break CyBRG level multi-adaptive encryption. That should keep them busy for… oh, about a mille
nnium?
The airlock finished its cycle with a whoosh and a hiss. Rich stood motionless as the door rolled slowly to the side, fitting itself into the space between the interior cabin and the hull.
He’d dressed in the latest cyborg fashion… that was to say, he’d done everything he could to maximize the amount of metal he had on show. He’d forgone his combat armor, all neatly packed and locked away in one of the containers under the deck-plates, each of the seals double encrypted. A tight t-shirt stretched across his wide chest and shoulders, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the implants between his ribs, and he’d cut the sleeves away to show off more of his arm. His combat pants were likewise cut off at the knees to display his replaced lower legs and two pulse pistols were holstered for an easy draw across his hips.
The door rolled aside to reveal the robed welcoming committee beyond. Within a second, he’d analyzed the group waiting on the perma-crete surface of the landing strip. They were arranged in a semi-circle, three rows of black and silver robed women with the same shaved and dyed hair as the woman who had hailed him. They didn’t move, not even when a blast of desert heat blew a gust of sand and air across the strip. It had to feel like being shot-blasted but not one of them stirred.
They were all tall, well-built women but not one of them had the delicate curvy figure of the female he was looking for. But then, he realized as he looked at them again, well-built wasn’t the word. None of these women matched the physical profiles of those who had been abducted.
These weren’t the breeding females. They couldn’t be. These were the fanatics, the nuns who controlled and ran the breeding facilities, among other things. He shuddered mentally at their hard faces and the gleam in their eyes as they softly chanted. Behind them were males in black. Tall and broad-shouldered, they’d obviously been picked for their size and intimidation factor. He dismissed them immediately. They were all organic. Not a threat to him.
UNIT 78: RESCUED (CyBRG Files Book 2) Page 3