by Rayann Marse
The male bent down and tried to flip her onto her stomach. She knew what would happen if she let him do that. Her pants would go, and her underwear. The plump treasure of her ass, which she gave up only rarely to men who treated her right — or when she was just painfully lonely — would be bared to this alien air. He would force himself into her whether she liked it or not.
Staring into his eyes, she saw a certain animal simplicity there. She knew right away that this creature, despite how human he looked in many ways, lacked any idea about the concept of consent. To him, rape had no meaning. He would see nothing wrong with it. He wouldn't even give it a thought.
"No!" Stella shouted, reaching up to smack him in the face.
He was surprised more than hurt by this. He drew back, letting her feet go, and touched his cheek. He stared down at her, his single-minded beastly lust replaced by a certain dumb curiosity that was almost endearing. Almost.
"No," Stella repeated. "No."
She crawled away to a safe distance, then stood up and pressed herself into a wall. There was nowhere to go. He was standing between her and the only door.
Reaching behind him, he pulled a translator off a shelf and held it out, nodding to her.
"No," she said again. "You can't just stick that thing in me whenever you want. First of all, I don't agree to it. Second, you might kill me. I mean, look at my body. I'm small. And look at you. Got it?"
He waited, listening to the alien words that issued from the translator, and smiled. He grabbed his cock, waving it in the air toward her.
"You want?" he asked.
"No," she said again. "I don't."
"Why?"
"I just told you why. Small me, big you. Me get hurt. Ow! Okay? Get it now, caveman?"
He stared at her a moment longer, grinning devilishly, and she realized that he knew exactly what she was trying to tell him. He was just being a smartass.
He went to the door now, sticking his head out and calling something into the hall. He returned to where had stood before. A moment later, two females walked in, wearing tiny underwear, the alien equivalent of g-strings. Their breasts were bare, heavy, and plump, the big lilac nipples stabbing the air and swaying from side to side. They were excited, these two; goose bumps prickled on their shoulders as they approached the male.
One of then bent over in front of him. The other knelt and grabbed his heavy cock in both hands, jerking it off, bringing it to full engorgement. She then guided the tip of it into the waiting cunt of her companion. With one hand, she reached around and cupped the male's ass, giving him a gentle push. He stepped forward, sinking into the other female.
While the kneeling female massaged and fondled his balls, the male began to slowly fuck the other. He stared at Stella, smiling and sometimes laughing at the various expressions that must be passing over her face.
She watched, face and neck burning in embarrassment. The female seemed to be enjoying this; her tits swung, crashing together and bouncing apart. Her mouth fell open, and she started to groan, reaching back to squeeze the arm of her fellow female.
"This will be you," the male said, patting the lower back of his concubine. "Soon, it will be."
He started pounding her hard then, shoving the other away and then grabbing her by the hips, slamming into her with such force that she fell onto her face. Like a living wheelbarrow, he fucked her across the room until her head was banging against the wall between Stella's legs. The male stared down at her, but she refused to meet his eyes. She stared off into space, her mind fleeing to some safe zone far away.
When it was all over, she came back to herself and saw that the male had gone. The females were still there, lying and cuddling and giggling together like young sisters on the floor. A bed had been set out for them, blankets and pillows and everything.
It looked terribly comfortable, a good place for Stella to go comatose and forget everything that was happening to her, but she didn't want to get anywhere close to those concubines. They seemed to her like lost souls, captives in the full swing of Stockholm Syndrome. There was something stunted and immature about them and their mannerisms. They were broken, manic girls whose only purpose was to fill the sexual desires of the brute that held them in thrall.
Stella did not want that. She had grown up under good parentage, a mother and father who had taught her to respect herself. To never sell herself short or let herself be commanded by lesser minds, lesser souls... And what was that brute of a male, but less than her in every way but physical size?
This was a living nightmare that she needed to wake from. But that wouldn't happen on its own; she would have to bring herself out of it by force.
She made a circuit of the room, dragging herself numbly along the wall, thinking.
He had taken the translator. Or it was hidden somewhere. Stella could not communicate with the other concubines. Even if she could, what help could they offer her? Much like the male didn't understand the concept of consent — or he did, which made him even more evil — these two blathering idiots didn't understand the concept of slavery. They were deep inside of it, so deep they could see nothing else. And they were probably past the impressionable age, at which all their ideas of the universe and their place in it had been formed.
What could Stella do? She could do nothing for them, that was for sure. She could only worry about herself. Yes, only herself.
If she managed to save herself, then she could try and save the women she had come here with. Though she hoped very much that they didn't need saving. Perhaps the males who had picked them more were more gentle, more understanding.
But Stella doubted that. She had come willingly into the worst society imaginable. Suddenly, she didn't feel so bad about past eras of human history; she'd give anything right now to go back in time on Earth, to be treated like a child or a treasure on a pedestal, never to be seen by the outside world.
Escape. That was the only option.
She went to the door and tried to open it. In her mind, it was already a foregone conclusion that it would be locked. So she was deeply surprised when it slid open. She stepped into the hall, expecting to be barred by a guard, but there was no one here. The corridor was empty.
"Okay," she said. "Now what?"
Now she should explore. Or maybe hiding was a better idea.
***
At one point as she walked, she was pretty sure she smelled a fellow human. It was a smell of sweat and body odor, a bit of lip gloss, a tang of shampoo. She searched around, trying to find whoever it was, but they were gone.
This ship was huge. She thought back to the figure the US Army had estimated. Which had then been confirmed, more or less, when Tide had first seen the ship. Five kilometers in length, at the very least. Which was a little over three miles. And that was just an estimate. As Stella wandered, she started to think that three miles was on the low end of probable.
Three miles long, at the very least, by however many wide. She wouldn't know that for a while yet, if ever. Assuming she would be able to freely roam for the duration of her stay here — which she had a sneaking, grim suspicion would be a very long time — she could eventually map the place out.
She assumed it also had multiple levels, above and below her, which she didn't yet know how to access. Essentially, then, the ship was a like a city, completely indoors and anchored in this backwater of the solar system. She could wander for a long time, become hopelessly lost, and maybe she'd be free of her brutish captor by virtue of that.
A girl could dream.
Putting aside her fear and growing hatred for this society, she was impressed and amazed by the ship itself. Every corridor was different, every room seemed to possess some mysterious and eternal purpose that she couldn't hope to decipher.
Eventually, she was found by a patrol of several males, who intercepted her and carried her back through the ship. She was delivered back into the arms of her captor, literally, and the cycle of terror continued.
She h
ad to fight him off twice more that day. Finally, blessedly, he fell asleep, nestled between his other concubines. There were six of them now, and the two Stella had seen earlier were not among them.
She had to wonder how many females he had. A lot, obviously, and that was good for her. They would always be there for him to fall back to. They were an easy fuck when he got tired of getting slapped and kicked at and evaded.
But none of them had her brown skin, her dark hair and eyes, her dimples. The male eternal thirst for exotic pussy would eventually win out. There would come a time when he was no longer discouraged by her fighting.
God help her, there could come a time when she no longer wanted to fight him. She hated herself for that, but it was true.
Chapter Three
Aurora was in love.
She awoke in the middle of the night and heard Ignu snoring beside her. Slowly, gently, she crept up and straddled him. She looked down into his sleeping, peaceful face, then she balled her right hand into a fist and punched him.
He woke in a fury, shouting his anger and throwing her away. She hit the edge of the bed, nearly fell off, but caught herself on his leg. Then he was on top of her, choking her with one hand while he shoved his cock into her with the other. He fucked her like he wanted to kill her, and she kept hitting him, clawing at his back, punching him in the side of the head, biting his lips and tongue.
He retaliated, flipping her onto her belly and pulling her by the hair, forcing her head back painfully, and gnawed on her neck. She moaned and screamed and came, again and again. She spasmed and kicked her legs violently, overwhelmed with sensation.
This was so good, she thought, it must be a dream. She'd wake up soon in that shitty little tube back on the ship and find the other women standing around groggily and waiting for someone to tell them what to do.
"Hit me," she said and heard her words being translated. "Hit me hard."
He did what she said, wracking her body with painful blows. She grunted and growled and knew that this was real. It was really happening.
***
They lay together afterwards, half awake, their skin burning with scratch marks and drying sweat.
"I will challenge another male tomorrow," Ignu said.
Aurora nodded. She knew Ignu liked to kill. And she understood the purpose of these fights. They were the ultimate move of power, because they only ever ended in death.
"You'll take his concubines," she said.
Ignu nodded.
"But you won't copulate with them," Aurora said. It was not a question or a hopeful statement. It was a command.
"No. I won't. Only with you."
"You're goddamn right," she replied. "Only with me. Hold me tighter."
***
In the evening, she got to witness Ignu's fighting prowess first hand. He challenged a younger male, who barely had any scars at all and only two concubines. The fight lasted a surprising amount of time. Ignu drew it out purposely, letting the younger male hope. Letting him think he had a chance in hell.
Finally, Ignu got bored and lopped the other male's head off. He picked it up by the hair and showed it, dripping with blood, to the small crowd of observers. A female somewhere was crying.
Aurora stared at the severed head, frowning. She did not find the sight altogether pleasant, but the joy at seeing her beloved victorious helped to suppress her negative feelings. Violence, to her, was a perfectly natural phenomenon that all races must learn to curtail. This race simply hadn't gotten to that point yet. This fact was at odds with their technology, which obviously outstripped that of humankind, but that was a quirk rather than a sign of inferiority.
She let Ignu have his fun. When he tried to touch her, with his bloody hands, she let him. As much as she didn't want to. She understood how power-centric this society was; it wouldn't do for the rest of the ship to see the real dynamic of their relationship.
Aurora had him wrapped around her finger. She had done this so effectively, so brilliantly, that he didn't even know it. He thought he still had power over her, but in reality he was her slave. It would be easy, almost too easy, to guide the course of her life on the ship.
After the fight, back in their room, Ignu laid out a plan that he had apparently been contemplating for a long time. A takeover of the ship, using his superior combat ability. A burn through the ranks, a quest to gain ultimate power. He would have the greatest collection of concubines the Menin had ever seen; he would be guaranteed a slot on the Mindseat, where he could become a king.
And Aurora would be a queen. The real source of power, the real leader. She liked the idea very much. It was a chance to show the universe what she was made of.
They began the next day. Ignu challenged two males at once, fighting them back to back, and won each fight handily. Without a scratch on him. Aurora was already starting to get used to the sight of flying blood, of body parts severed and guts spilling into the open. She almost began to like it, creating an association between the gore of the duels and the rising star of her power.
Her life eternal, out here in the stars. A new goddess. The First High Lady of Space, she might call herself...
Chapter Four
Stella's male, whose name was finally revealed to be Agron, had become incessant. He simply would not stop. At one point, he had all his concubines hold Stella down while he explored her body with his hands. When he finally touched the place between her legs, he frowned and shook his head.
"Dry," he said. "You are of no use to me. I should kill you. And the rest of your weak race."
He then proceeded to have an orgy basically on top of her. He smelled of blood and sweat, and his concubines submitted to him completely. One of them stared into Stella's eyes, a warning glimmer flashing there; give him what he wants, you idiot.
There was solidarity, finally. A brief hint of it. Stella knew these females couldn't help her, because they wouldn't risk endangering themselves, but it gave her a tiny bit of strength knowing that they had struggles of their own.
Finally, as a last ditch effort to save herself, Stella decided she had to give Agron something. So she woke him the next morning with a handjob. He stirred, lifting his head to watch as her tiny hands ran up and down. He did not move or say a word and soon erupted like a volcano, spewing a flood of hot cum over his belly and down her arms. Some even splashed into her cleavage, settling in sticky dampness that soon went cold.
She drew away, holding her hands out to the sides and wincing like they were covered in the most disgusting substance known to man. He reached out, grabbing her shirt and pulling her back in; he put a hand to the top of her head and tried to force her down, perhaps so that she could clean him off, but she panicked and jumped away, letting out a little squeak of terror.
She couldn't help but react in this way, and his disappointment and anger were plain to see. He got to his feet quickly, standing over her. This time, she met his eyes. She knew this was the end. It must be. There was only so much he would accept before he broke like the beast she knew him to be. He'd lose his calm and hit her. A blow from him, so huge and heavy with muscle, would be greatly damaging. It might even kill her.
He put a hand over her chest, splaying his fingers, and shoved her backward with surprising gentleness. Away from him. Then he walked over to where a bucket of water stood and washed himself. Stella stood, numb and frozen, watching as he went through a sort of cleansing ritual; he then opened a closet and donned the same armor he had worn the first time she saw him.
He left the room without saying anything. By then, a few of the concubines were awake. They sat up, rubbing their sleepy eyes. They did not look happy, not one bit; one of them leered at Stella, shaking her head in disapproval.
"What?" she asked. "What's happening?"
Though the translator was still there, and it gave her words to them in their native tongue, none of the concubines answered.
***
Not too long after, the door opened again, and a male
stepped inside. He was not Agron, though he was similarly covered in scars. There was something rather more civilized about this one, despite the multitude of wounds both fresh and old. He was out of breath, obviously in pain, swaying a bit as though he might pass out and collapse at any moment.
The other females, upon stirring from their whispered conversations and looking to see who had come into the room, began to wail and lament. There were so many voices, wracked with sobs and drawn out syllables, that the translator could not keep up. It gave Stella only bits and pieces, disconnected and meaningless, and she could barely hear it, anyway.
The male stepped inside, followed by a few others. He looked around, said a few words, pointed between all the concubines. Then he looked over at Stella, frowning as he did so, staring at her in deep concentration for a time. Then he seemed to make up his mind about her. He said something quiet but decisive to the male beside him, then turned and left the room.
The other males approached, gathering up the concubines and leading them out of the room. One male stayed behind, waited until everyone was gone, then walked over and picked up the translator. He came to Stella, remaining at a respectful distance. He almost spoke, several times, but sighed and gave up on each abortive syllable. Finally, he held the translator out to Stella and raised his brows.
"What happened?" she asked. "What's going on?"
The male nodded in relief that she had given him a starting point. He was obviously confused by this Menin to Human discourse.
"Agron had challenged Slych," he said.
"Slych?" asked Stella. "Was he..."
"The other male you just saw, yes. Slych won the duel."
"What about Agron?" she asked. "I'm still very much in the dark about your customs. He really never spoke to me or tried to educate me in any way."