The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Three Ladies

Part Two—Lady Dueynna

Lady Dueynna watched dispassionately as the three Soldiers before her twisted, turned, and were systematically transformed into a trio of identical, mindless pleasure drones. It was like watching snakes shed their skin in reverse: not discarding their loose coverings but entrapping themselves within, in effect, cocooning themselves for the transformation yet to come.

The warrior-women writhed within their transparent shells. Their efforts to tear the enveloping pink material from their bodies were not only futile but at least partially contributory to their dilemma. They succeeded only in spreading the molten film even further along their soon-to-transfigured bodies. An already existent pleasure drone stood on the opposite side of the wardroom against the wall. Like Dueynna, she too calmly watched the metamorphosis in progress. Like Dueynna, no expression whatsoever was apparent on her pretty, pink, and vapid face, just as there were no thoughts in her pretty, pink, and thoroughly vapid head, merely programmed routines and mechanical responses.

The difference between them: whereas the pleasure drone didn’t have the capacity to care one way or the other about the three Earth captives, the Thane noble could. She just . . . didn’t.

Quite deliberately, Dueynna yawned to show her utter contempt for her captors.

A gaggle of profoundly bodysculpted women had come in earlier with the transforming slave films. The least of them had had a bosom three times the size of the aristocrat’s own. They were clad in skintight, translucent bodystockings that had displayed every contour of their highly exaggerated figures. As Dueynna watched, the women had approached the powerless Earth Soldiers, stripped them of their white uniforms, and, one by one, slipped them into pink slaveskins. They could do nothing to resist.

The famed warrior-women of Earth: Dueynna was thoroughly disgusted. Like her, the Soldiers had improved strength, stamina, and reflexes. They also had a legendary ability to resist pain. They were supposed to be merciless and unfeeling; their only emotion was supposed to be loyalty to their superiors. Even so, they had ended up pleading with the ultra-feminized women not to be “droned.”

Pathetic. Dueynna was not in the least bit frightened she too would end up a pleasure drone. Had the Priapoids intended that, four women would be rolling and writhing about on the floor instead of only three. No, it was clear her captors had a different fate in mind for her, not that she was concerned about that either.

After a few more minutes, the Soldiers stopped struggling. After some violent thrashing about, the three women had begun lying gently on their backs, arms outstretched, legs open and wide, appropriate given the tasks they would soon be undertaking. Unlike their dissolute counterparts, the Citizens, the Soldiers of Earth were universally frigid. It was thought to be deliberate on the part of their genetic engineers, conducive to their famed battle fury. Inborn or not, this trait would soon be a thing of the past.

Agitatedly, the redheaded Thane noble turned her attention away from the soon-to-be living fucktoys.

She hated waiting. She was a Thane! She waited for no one! Infuriated, Dueynna tapped her well-manicured nails against the curving bulkhead behind her. What was taking them so long to talk to her!?

She was still on board Matrieylla’s yacht in the central living area that took up a majority of the ship’s life system. She had woken up there, head and jaw aching from both the stun gas that had been pumped into the hull as well as the neural inhibitor she had found attached to the back of her neck. The hard, plastic module felt like a tumor. It was impossible to remove, and whenever it buzzed, such a great lethargy came over Dueynna that it took all her considerable strength just to stay on her feet.

She was not alone. Contributing significantly to the Thane’s irritation was that not only had she been confined, she had been confined with inferiors and slaves. Didn’t they know who she was!? With her, of course, were the three gestating Earth Soldiers—some bodyguards they had turned out to be!—along with their treacherous male counterpart Kul and the entire ship’s complement of Drey serfs, Dueynna’s stable as well as her partners’, Andreuola and Matrieylla. She didn’t count the pleasure drone or the two worker drones there as well. Of her fellow Venusians, she had seen neither since waking up.

In addition to the ship’s complement, two exceptionally broad-chested males with the largest phalluses Dueynna had ever seen shared her makeshift cell. Like the women earlier, both were clad in skintight bodysuits from the necks down, one a vivid yellow, the other a light brown. Their hair was long, pony-tailed, and the same shade as their coverings. They were obviously slaves and there to keep watch over them. Neither was armed, but any time Dueynna or the Soldiers had made a move to attack, their inhibitors buzzed and reduced them to inactivity, the Earth women considerably more so than she.

How weak the Earthlings were!

As if to prove the validity of her opinion, Kul moaned again, causing Dueynna’s eyes to roll upwards dramatically. A great change had come over the Earthman since she had last seen him, discounting their brief laser encounter. Gone was the usual Citizen superciliousness and pretensions of grandeur. Kul was pale, sweaty, and trembling. His eyes darted this way and that constantly. His whole demeanor suggested a desperate, all-consuming arousal. Several times, oblivious to the Venusian and the Soldiers observing him, the Earthman had attempted to masturbate, fruitlessly each time, Dueynna saw. The fraught Citizen was clearly unable to climax, and with each failure his desperation grew more apparent.

What had the Priapoids done to him?

Why hadn’t they been to see her? Hadn’t they noticed by now they couldn’t undo Kul’s sabotage?

Dueynna’s sharp ears heard a noise. She turned, and a few moments later another pair of tightly-wrapped, muscular male slaves drifted into the lounge, their movements soft and dreamlike in the weak artificial gravity. One was in a light purple bodysuit; his companion was in a dusky green. Like the female slaves, their sexual characteristics were exaggerated to the point of lunacy. They floated over to their equally endowed friends and nodded to them. They in turn reacted as if the newcomers were expected. The yellow and brown slaves smiled, then glided over to the Dreys all grouped together.

““This group, come with us, please,”” the yellow slave said. Dueynna had to stifle a laugh. The man sounded like a child’s toy: high-pitched, silly, and artificial. Even the docile Dreys looked at one another in confusion. Do we obey or not? their eyes said.

““Please,”” the slave repeated. He didn’t look in the least offended or embarrassed by his childish voice, and that confidence went a long way in establishing control over the well-trained Venusian serfs. The Dreys got up, their flat, moon-like faces full of fear and anxiety. The Thanes had been breeding the slave caste for generations. Dueynna could tell exactly what was going on inside their heads just by the way they moved and reacted. They were fearful but also confused, not sure why they were being treated with such respect (“Please?” The word was hardly in their limited vocabulary). Dueynna herself was slightly confused herself. They were Dreys, mere cattle to be used and discarded when they could no longer serve a purpose. The yellow and brown slaves herded them together, and in a group they left the lounge, leaving Dueynna and the Earthling alone with the newly arrived Priapoid servants.

Purple and Green had their eyes on the transforming pre-drones. Their soft bodies were filling out and becoming a match for the pleasure drone standing by the wall. Trying not to draw attention to herself, Dueynna pushed herself toward one of the lounge’s chemiprocessor terminals.

If I can get to it . . . .

Her neural inhibitor buzzed. The strength fled from Dueynna’s limbs, and she felt an immediate urge to close her eyes and fall asleep. Gritting her teeth, though, she summoned her Thane vigor and grabbed the wall rung next to her, holding herself upright. After a few moments the buzzing stopped, and she straightened again. She looked around. The two Priapoid slaves were looking at her and smiling.

Dueynna said nothing, merely glared and snarled. It had been worth a try. She had tried twice earlier with the previous pair of watchers, and she would try again later. She would escape. She would!

“You’re fortunate,” Citizen Kul said unexpectedly. He had been silent since Dueynna’s awakening despite some attempts made earlier by the Soldiers to engage him. Dueynna hadn’t bothered.

Dueynna was a Thane. It was beneath her to say, “Huh?” or “What?” Moreover, it was unnecessary; despite the abruptness of the comment, and the surprise that came with it, she had heard it perfectly and appreciated it. As such, she turned to the shivering Earthling and asked sternly, “Why?”

“Because the Priapoids don’t hate you like they hate me,” he replied. “They’ll use you somehow. Make you into something that will please them.” He sniveled. “They’re going to leave me . . . alone.”

He made the comment sound like a death sentence.

“Who were you working for, Kul?” Dueynna asked. She couldn’t have cared less why the Priapoids now might have ‘hated’ the man. “Who was your contact?” She wanted to know who to kill later.

He shook his head miserably. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over, it’s over.”

The Thane made a move toward him—to throttle the information she wanted out of him—but her inhibitor buzzed briefly, sending a warning faintness streaming through her. She sighed. All right, she thought. A change of tactic. Her eyes unfocused for about two seconds, her mind behind them processing a list of suspects. She blinked and turned her attention back to the weak Earthling.

“The Solon do not have the resources of the Thane,” she said, dangling a lure. “I can match whatever they offered you and double it upon our release.” The Earthling looked up, and Dueynna saw at once from his eyes and body language that that wise old ruling species of Mars had not been involved. Inside her head, she crossed off a dozen related suspects. Probabilities danced in her mind. In a way, it was enjoyable, this listing of her own and her people’s enemies. Life belonged to the strong, yet how did one measure one’s strength in life? The Thane way: through the enemies one gathered.

Dueynna herself had dozens. She spoke again, holding out other Congressional rivals to gauge Kul’s reactions. Slowly, she narrowed the probabilities until finally the Citizen of Earth screamed at her.

“Don’t you understand yet!? The Priapoids are going to make a slave of you!”

Dueynna laughed. “No one can make slaves of the Thanes, Earthling. We are rulers, not serfs. We were bred to command.”

The Citizen made a noise halfway between a sob and giggle.

While they were talking, the three Soldiers had disappeared. In their place were now three common pleasure drones. Their blank and golden eyes popped open simultaneously. At the urging of one of the Priapoid slaves, the new drones climbed gracefully to their feet and went to stand with the other already standing there. They were identical, the four now. The green slave nodded to the purple, spoke to the assembly of drones in a squeaky voice, and in a group the six of them, including the two neutered workers, left with him.

If she wasn’t sure her inhibitor would stun before she could get halfway across the room, Dueynna would have launched herself at the last remaining Priapoid slave. The Earthman had lapsed back into his semi-comatose state, only occasionally releasing the faintest moan of despair.

Dueynna abruptly decided to be direct. Enough of her time had been wasted. “Summon your masters, slave,” she ordered Purple. “I would negotiate for my release.”

Aggravatingly, the slave shook his head. ““I’m sorry, ma’am. I cannot do that.””

His childlike voice was extremely irritating. Dueynna could have cheerfully strangled him until his eyeballs fell out. It wasn’t easy, doing that, but she had managed before once with one of her older Dreys nearing his age of mandatory retirement. She was sure she had the knack of it down. The slave must have seen the murder in her eyes; he backed away though he wasn’t in any real physical danger.

Frustration galled the aristocrat.

She soothed herself with thoughts of the torture she would inflict on the Priapoids when this was over.

* * *

Lady Dueynna’s invitation to Matrieylla’s wedding had been made less in the spirit of friendship than in recompense for the fact that it was Matrieylla the one getting married and not Dueynna. If things had gone the way she had originally planned them, it would have been the redheaded Thane representing her species to the rulers of Titan and consequently earning the respect of the new Basileis alliance.

Solarian internal politics were nothing if not complicated.

The Body of Earth in the Congress of Species was a rubberstamp, but the Body of Sol was a riotous group made up of several competing neosentient species, from the fire princes of Mercury to the ice lords of the Kuiper Belt. The Thanes of Venus and the Basileis of Titan competed as well, constantly jockeying for position, influence, and control over the Empire’s population of inferior, non-Congressional neosentients and old humans. But deals could be struck. Dueynna had learned that within the smaller but no less competitive arena of Thane politics, outwitting and destroying her rivals and rising from a young and inexperienced girl to a Cytherean Landholder and Serf Owner in her own right. Cut to the chase, the marriage she had devised with her Titanian counterparts was a business transaction, nothing more. In exchange for the cargo of goods in the ship’s hold—that was Andreuola’s contribution to the compact; she had irritatingly kept their contents a secret—and an agreement to lend Thane influence to a number of Basileis projects—that was where Dueynna’s expertise in negotiation and persuasion had proven useful—the Titanians would vote in a new bloc with the Thanes, shifting the balance of power in their house of the Congress of Species.

Dueynna’s nuptials to a high-ranking Basileus would have cemented the alliance. Somehow, though, the wealthier Lady Matrieylla had stepped in with her higher political connections, and before Dueynna could fully understand what was happening, the Thane Hierarchy was backing her engagement to Archon Tyro Elate. Dueynna had been upset, but, in a way, relieved at the same time. She had never met this Archon Elate before in her life, though little things like that in a marriage were irrelevant. It was a wedding in name only, of course; she had had no intention of spending the rest of her life on Titan.

Dueynna had still earned herself considerable profit from the deal. Still, she would have liked the symbolism as well, the prestige of having the eyes of the entire Empire on her as she was wedded. She could live without the fame. But if the Priapoids ruined what was left of her arrangement, she would make them suffer as no creature had ever suffered before. No one fucked with the Lady Dueynna.

No one and lived to tell about it!

* * *

Twenty minutes after the drones were removed, the objects of Dueynna’s rage finally visited her.

Two Priapoids entered the lounge, drifting in like the shiny animated balloons they resembled. They were both females; one was a light orange, the other a remarkably pristine ivory. They were heavyset women, with big rolling hips and even larger breasts. They were hairless and entirely naked. It was the first time Dueynna had ever seen Priapoids in person, they were so reclusive. She had been reviewing what to say to them, though, since almost that first moment she had recognized their ship outside the lounge window and had had their identity confirmed by the now-gone Soldiers. At last, she thought.

Before Dueynna could say anything, the Earthling Kul jumped ahead, whimpering.

“Please, please!” he begged, falling to his hands and knees before the orange female Priapoid. The Citizen put his head down at the creature’s feet and began kissing them desperately while stroking her with his hands. The Priapoid’s face was as unmoved as stone.

“I’ll do anything for you! Anything!” He blubbered. “I’m so, so incredibly sorry! Please, please, forgive me! I . . I need you!!”

He touched his groin. He put his face against the Priapoid’s smooth and shiny legs. The luster of her skin’s surface was so polished Dueynna could see a partial image of the Citizen reflected back.

The creature blinked slowly. Her eyes, unlike the blank gaze of the pleasure drones she resembled, had pupils, though in her case they were but little circles of the purest orange surrounded by white. She lifted her hand and got the attention of the purple-clad slave.

“Take the Citizen to the ship, please, and confine him to the quarters assigned.” Her voice was machinelike, utterly impersonal. “Then you may join the others off duty, Lani.”

The ivory Priapoid spoke in exactly the same way, almost as if in continuation of the first Priapoid’s thoughts. “You may wish to acquaint yourself with the new addition to the crew.”

The purple slave looked excited. ““Yes, ma’am. Thank you both,”” he squeaked. He went over to Kul and picked him up gently but firmly by the shoulders. ““Come along with me, sir. It’s this way, please.””

Kul left without a struggle, though he continued to snivel and beg like the craven creature he had become. “Please, Fa. Please, I beg you.”

Dueynna could continue to hear him pleading for some time until he left the vessel. It somehow seemed appropriate until he was out of earshot to wait to speak, and then the Thane was alone with the two Priapoids. They looked at one another from opposite ends of the lounge.

The Priapoids held each other’s hands.

The silence was oppressive, so Dueynna broke it.

“I am the Lady Dueynna of the Thane. You have transgressed highly against my person.”

“We are aware of your identity, Lady Dueynna,” the ivory Priapoid said. “It is meaningless to us.”

Dueynna smiled wickedly. “It won’t be. If you want to get out of here alive, you will release me at once, reunite me with my fellow Thanes, and prepare to pay reparations for the pains I have endured in your custody.” She lifted her chin arrogantly. “I understand you lost one of your own during the fight to take the ship. That’s good. His death is ample revenge. Perhaps I can be persuaded to leave the rest of you alive.”

The creatures’ faces remained unchanged. Eventually the ivory female spoke again.

“Your demands, as your identity, are equally meaningless. Your position is precarious. We confess to curiosity as to how you intend to carry out your threats, Lady Dueynna.”

Dueynna laughed shortly. She drifted over to a table and chair and sat down, allowing her beautiful red hair to shake about grandly. “I have the weight of the Thane Hierarchy behind me, you bitches. Within a short time our scanners will determine our location, and a warship will be sent to destroy you.”

She leaned forward. “If you beg prettily enough, I will let you leave with your lives.” This was a lie; Dueynna had no intention of letting these loathsome creatures go anywhere but into a pain amplifier.

Again, the Priapoids were expressionless. This time it was the orange female that said something. “By the time your people could pinpoint our coordinates and marshal a ship capable of destroying our own, we will have long since left this void. Your threats are without substance.”

Dueynna knew they were bluffing. “Really?” she said lingeringly. “Is that so? Well, why haven’t you left then? Is it because you’re having trouble with your negative-matter drive?” She gave a short, unladylike bark. “I blocked your system. You’re not going anywhere soon.”

The orange and ivory creatures finally looked at one another. It was a momentary glance, and then they returned their remote gaze back upon the Thane aristocrat. She still couldn’t read their expressions, but she didn’t need to. She held the upper hand. Thane drive and intelligence always won out in the end.

When the dizziness from the pirates’ randomizer pulses first struck the yacht, Dueynna had been with the ship’s owner in her cabin. She and Matrieylla had shrugged off the effects within moments and with genetically-enhanced speed and acumen had come up with a retaliatory plan. They knew the ship was going to be taken; they would just make sure the ship was taken on their terms. Getting the yacht’s access codes from Matrieylla, Dueynna had gone at once to the negative-matter containment pod while Matrieylla worked the problem from her end. Negative matter was the most valuable substance in the universe; it was hard and expensive to manufacture and equally hard and expensive to keep from disintegrating once it was manufactured. Yet it was the vital element in virtually all space travel since its space-bending properties—unlike normal matter, it repelled mass instead of attracting it—were key in creating synthetic, non-spin-generated gravity and, even more importantly, the warped space that allowed ships to travel at the speed of light in massless light envelopes. Without negative matter, space travel would slow to a crawl. Instead of traversing the solar system in mere hours, without negative matter it would take months or years for even the fastest ships, and interstellar travel would be totally impossible. Since it was so crucial and so expensive, therefore, Dueynna had known the pirates would immediately head toward the containment pod once they had taken the ship and add the yacht’s slivers of negative matter to their own. It was the standard thing to do once any enemy vessel was taken.

Kul’s sabotage to the pod had been relatively simple. Dueynna’s, despite the fact that she and Matrieylla had had only minutes to devise and implement it, was brilliant. A virus infection within the chemiprocessor circuits would not only keep the yacht’s negative-matter systems offline, it would infect and do the same to any other containment pod to which it was linked. Dueynna leaned back in her chair, enjoying the low spin gravity produced by Coriolis effect. With the ship’s size being what it was, it was barely perceptible, and it was all that they must have. She knew the Priapoid ship too now had to be floundering, attached as they were. No matter how much speed the Priapoids could get out of their engines, it wouldn’t be enough to get away from the inevitable Thane ship sent to investigate why Matrieylla’s yacht hadn’t arrived yet. Finding ships in space was easy, if you knew where to look.

Dueynna predicted they would have Venusian company within the next four hours, three if the Hierarchy already had a long-range patrol ship out. The Priapoids wouldn’t dare do anything to her.

The creatures stared intently at the Thane aristocrat. She wasn’t in the least bit intimidated. She leaned her long, black-clad legs in front of her and crossed her ankles.

“First,” Dueynna said, “I want this infernal device removed from my neck. Second, you will escort me aboard your ship to a more comfortable waiting area. You shall make communications equipment ready so that I can contact my fellow Sons and Daughters of the Thane and save your miserable lives.”

The Priapoids just stood there.

“Now,” Dueynna said sharply, and they moved.

Letting go of the other’s hand, the orange Priapoid approached Dueynna, who leaned forward in anticipation. She felt very slick, very silky hands caress the back of her neck and take gentle hold of the inhibitor. There was a pop! sound, and just like that Dueynna was free. She stood and stretched, her muscles curling with restored Thane power.

She waited expectantly. The orange Priapoid tilted her head and then gestured that Dueynna should follow her. The three of them left the lounge, Orange in front, Dueynna following, Ivory behind.

Matrieylla and Andreuola will owe me much, the Thane aristocrat thought, gliding through the yacht’s central corridor. She could see the results of the seizure and Kul’s tantrum with the laser; there were ominous creaking noises, and Dueynna felt the pressure was still off. Perhaps I should reconsider the terms of my original contract. Saving the treaty with the Basileis should be worth at least another twenty percent. Her eyes gleamed watching the orange creature ahead of her. And you, she continued, you shall be the first to experience what life will be like in my “special” cell back home, the one I keep all my favorite toys in. The Sensory Scrambler. The Acid Writer. The Nerve Unraveler. She was looking forward to that latter especially, remembering the look in previous guests’ eyes when the numbness wore off and they felt how the . . . . Dueynna stumbled over her own feet.

She stumbled because she felt something unexpected.

She felt . . . weight. Acceleration. A familiar pull in the back of her legs.

What she felt was gravity, in other words. A steadily increasing amount of gravity as they walked through the rotating connecting tube joining the two ships.

But that can’t happen, Dueynna thought. That can’t . . . . She stopped thinking and raised her hands to attack. She never got the chance. An ivory hand touched her bare neck, in almost the same place where the inhibitor had been secured. A split second later she was frozen stiff, every muscle locked.

NO! Dueynna thought, anger and alarm sensitizing her to everything. This . . is . . impossible!

The gravity in the tube had to be at least a third Venusian standard gravity. It pulled on every portion of her flesh. The air was warmer coming from the Priapoid vessel. The pressure felt perfectly normal.

No! No! No!

The ivory Priapoid, still keeping one hand to the Thane’s neck, came alongside Dueynna and took her hand with the other. The creature’s flesh was tingling. She let go off Dueynna’s neck. Dueynna tried to attack but couldn’t. Ivory walked forward, and Dueynna, moving stiffly, followed like a robot.

The gravity increased as they climbed into the pirate vessel. By the time they got to the tube-like airlock, it felt just like home’s. They stopped. The orange Priapoid turned to face Dueynna.

This can’t happen! This is flatly impossible! Yet it was happening. Dueynna couldn’t deny the horrible reality. She tried to think of a way out of this situation and couldn’t. She was trapped!

“When a Thane ship arrives at these coordinates,” the orange creature calmly said to her, “its crew will find only debris. We will have long since departed.”

Beside Dueynna, Ivory looked questioningly at Orange. “Why do we delay, Fa?”

“This one made a disparaging comment about my Ri.” She strolled to a chemiprocessor terminal.

“Ah,” the ivory female replied. “Yes, you are right. Proceed.”

Orange’s hands sank into the soft console. It chirped. ““Yes, ma’am?”” a squeaky male voice sounded.

“I regret disturbing the crew’s introductions,” the Priapoid said sedately, “but I require Uola’s presence at the airlock, please.” The squeaky voice replied and said she would be sent down.

Within a couple of minutes a tightly green-clad and buxom female slave joined them.

The new arrival looked about nervously, then lowered her head before the two Priapoid females.

““How may I please you, ma’am?”” she squeaked in a childlike voice. Despite the oddness of it, something sounded familiar.

Dueynna’s head was turned toward the slave. Her eyes, still under her own control, widened. She saw the bright green hair tied back in a ponytail, the emerald lips that looked so wet and inviting. The tight and transparent bodysuit seemed as if it were only barely holding the girl’s ultra-voluptuousness in check; her huge tits swung back and forth precariously, the huge nipples taut beneath their covering.

And yet, despite the strangeness of it all, there was an unmistakable likeness of countenance as well.

This slave . . . it . . it was Andreuola!

Dueynna could scarcely believe it. Her senses reeled from the overload. It was Andreuola! The long blond-haired Thane was barely recognizable from her previous self, yet it was clearly her all the same.

The face, altered, but still hers. The figure, radically transformed, expanded, ballooned! And the voice! Squeaky, helium-filled, yet the basic tenor all the same.

A Thane could recognize a Thane. It was her partner and sometime competitor, Andreuola!

The orange Priapoid got Dueynna’s stunned attention. “This is Uola, a newly created toy. Uola, do you recognize this Thane?”

Shuddering, the now green-haired slave nodded Her breasts were simply enormous! ““Yes, ma’am. This is . . this was my partner, Lady Dueynna.”” She lowered her head again. Orange lifted her chin with her hand until she was once more looking at Dueynna. The brief touch seemed to excite “Uola” somehow.

“Tell her Ladyship the contents of the cargo the Lady Andreuola brought aboard with her.”

““Yes, ma’am. I . . she brought rare and expensive substances for the Basileis bribe: tailored microorganisms, Epsilonian flowers, other artworks, and . . and negative matter.””

Negative matter! Dueynna’s eyes widened even further. It was all the expression of shock allowed her. NO!! You stupid bitch! Why didn’t you tell us! Why didn’t you tell me!

As if in reply to that unspoken question, “Uola” said, ““The Hierarchy put together the collection. Many high-ranking Thanes contributed to it under measures of the utmost security. Lady . . the Lady Andreuola was not permitted to talk about it.””

“Thank you, Uola,” the orange Priapoid said. She turned back to Dueynna. “It may please you to know that your plan in its elements was a success. Your virus thoroughly corrupted our containment pods.”

“My companion is regrowing the damaged chemiprocessor components as we speak,” the ivory Priapoid holding Dueynna added. “Nonetheless, we expect to be leaving within the hour.”

“We indeed lost a fortune in negative matter,” Orange continued. “The pods in Lady Andreuola’s shipment, however, contained more than fifteen times the total mass from the yacht and our vessel put together. It was exactly one microgram, in fact, more than enough for our needs.”

An entire microgram! A sovereign’s ransom! But it’s ruined me, Dueynna thought. Ruined!

“You may return to the others, Uola,” Orange said to the former Thane.

““Th . . thank you, ma’am,”” the slave peeped shyly. She turned to go, then stopped to glance once more at Dueynna. ““I’m sorry, Dy. I’m . . sorry.”” She then minced away rapidly, her huge bosom leading the way.

Nothing more was said. The orange Priapoid took up Dueynna’s other hand, and like a trio of school children, the three women strolled out of the barrel-shaped airlock. The sensations roiling through the Thane were intense. It was like an electric current was passing from one nude Priapoid to the other with herself acting as a conductor. Where her forced movements before had been mechanical, robotic, they became fluid and natural while under both females’ control. They came to a lift and entered it. A few seconds later the door slid open, and they were in a room filled with chemiprocessors and control panels. Occupying the back half of the space were two large cubes, one a solid black a couple of meters across, the other an even bigger chamber made of transparent plasmetal. A long console faced this latter cube. The ivory Priapoid let go of Dueynna, went over, and sat down in a chair before it.

Dueynna tried to resist the mysterious control, but even with one Priapoid it was too much. There were fleshy holes in the long console at waist level. The ivory Priapoid gently caressed one such opening. It vibrated and turned inside-out, forming a long and curving phallus, which the female creature mounted.

She fucked the control. The side of the transparent cube irised open. Dueynna was led inside by the orange Priapoid. A plastioid column grew in one corner of the cube’s inside, its expansion very much reminding the Thane of an expanding cock. She was turned around and put to her back to the column.

Another electric shiver ran through her. The Priapoid let go, but Dueynna found that she still couldn’t move. She was held to the column as if glued to it. The orange female left the cube, which resealed.

Dueynna found that she could speak again. “What are you bitches planning to do to me?!”

The ivory Priapoid spoke. “Your Ladyship is no doubt familiar with pleasure drones.” Her voice was unfailingly polite, without a hint of sarcasm. She was using the honorific as precisely that, an honorific. “Since their introduction decades ago, pleasure drones have only increased in popularity and population. Nonetheless, we Persons do not like them. We find the mindlessness of the Earth model unattractive. Therefore, we have begun experimenting with new designs that combine the best qualities of the original with greater intelligence and personality.”

“You shall be transformed into one of these new models,” the orange Priapoid blandly and bluntly stated, settling onto a control phallus of her own. “Rest assured, no matter your design’s final disposition, you will find a home in the Titanian brothel to which we intend to sell you.”

She turned to face her equally stolid associate. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes.” Ignoring the torrent of invectives Dueynna hurled against them, the two Priapoids began to gyrate their hips sexually. Immediately the chamber began to fill with a colorless, pulpy gel that streamed in from apertures beneath Dueynna’s confinement column. It was warm, this gel, the same temperature as her body, and as it enveloped Dueynna, the Thane had the alarming sensation that her skin and jumpsuit were merging with the coagulating fluid, so hard it was to tell where one ended and she began, the warmth and textures being so similar. The liquid rose quickly. In moments it wrapped around Dueynna’s legs and thighs, swept over her bosom, and ascended over her mouth and head. She had to swallow, yet as the thick transparent gel filled her panicky lungs, she found she could still derive oxygen from it with only a minimum of strain, though it otherwise prevented her from speaking. Soon the cube was filled to capacity, top to bottom. Dueynna’s vision was unobstructed, however. She could still see the two utterly serene Priapoids through the gel and the plasmetal material. The Thane glared hatefully at them. They, in turn, studied her with what was apparently cold indifference.

Dueynna’s jumpsuit, a black, formfitting outfit suited for space travel, broke apart into minute fragments and dissolved. The Thane’s crimson hair spread out in a lovely corona around her head. Prompted by an internal impetus, the aristocrat spread her legs and lifted her arms straight out until her posture resembled that of an anatomy-class model. Her shapely breasts bobbed up and down in the fluid environment. I’ll kill you, she thought, over and over. I’ll kill you, I’ll Kill You, I’ll KILL YOU!!

The Priapoids rotated their hips, pressed their hands into squashy chemiprocessor displays. Dueynna could hear beeps! from the console. The gel, if nothing else, was an excellent acoustic medium.

A second column identical to the first erected itself across from Dueynna. The gel pressure shifted.

Before the Thane’s amazed eyes, a replica of herself materialized out of the thick substance, its form and figure an exact duplicate of her own. The same red hair floated around her head. The same eyes glared. It was like looking into a mirror; no, for a mirror rendered a mirror image, and this image was perfectly her own, side for side. It was like staring into a clone’s face. Dueynna was astonished.

She looked so helpless! But that was impossible! She was a Thane! A Thane!

She was frustrated she felt she would go mad.

“Biolacrum established,” one of the Priapoids said. Their voices were so alike, even Dueynna couldn’t tell them apart, her attention so riveted on her doppelganger. “Beginning neural mapping.”

A second figure formed out of the thick gel, floating near Dueynna’s body. To her horror, it was . . . incomplete. A disembodied brain with floating eyes connected by optic tissue, a human shaped-nervous system spread out and joined to a descending spinal cord: that’s all it was. It stared back at Dueynna without benefit of eyelids or expression. It was beyond disgusting! It filled Dueynna with a sense of horror. She couldn’t tell whether it and her more intact doppelganger were solid creations or merely holographic images. Either way, she was looking at a technology unfamiliar to her.

As if waiting just long enough thoroughly nauseate her, the “incomplete” image of the Thane—she knew she was looking at her own nervous system—changed. The cord, nerve strands, and, thankfully, the staring eyes faded away. All that was left was the floating gray matter, and as Dueynna watched that matter shifted hue from gray to mostly green. Her sharp perception noted a sliver of red at the very top.

Incrementally, the red started to expand. Neural mapping, Dueynna recalled the Priapoid saying. They’re charting my neural structure, pinpointing exactly where they can make changes. The red, she concluded, was the extent of the map in progress. When her brain’s image went entirely red, the map would be complete, and the Priapoids would be able to make her think anything! Anything!

“Formatting pleasure model 500119,” one of the Priapoids said. Again, it was impossible to tell which from which when Dueynna wasn’t paying attention. “Commencing initial figure sculpt, hormonal adjustment, and metabolic reset.”

Dueynna saw and felt something strange. Interest shifting from her disembodied brain to her identical clone again, the clone began to change. The waist was the first thing: it began to narrow, as if being bound up in an invisible corset. As the double assumed her new hourglass set of proportions, the breasts uplifting, the hips and thighs growing shapelier, less athletic, more curvaceous, Dueynna felt her own figure restricting, as if she was the one changing form and not the clone. The replica’s breasts ballooned, increasing several cup sizes. Simultaneously, Dueynna’s own breasts felt bigger, rounder, sexier. The sensation was an illusion; the Thane could move enough of her eyes to see that it wasn’t she who was the one transforming. Nonetheless, everything that happened to her twin, the bodily sensations were at once experienced by her. They were connected somehow, nerve impulse by nerve impulse.

Dueynna raged. Her double was becoming something grotesque!

The breasts continued to expand. Simultaneously, the replica’s nipples tightened, and as they did, automatically so did Lady Dueynna’s, adding a delicious yet unwanted heat and tightness to her already difficult dilemma. Closing her eyes, she shuddered in involuntary delight. The Thane grew aroused.

It was all-encompassing, full bodily electrical. It vibrated throughout her body, suddenly radiating from her hot, burning sex. Her blood was on fire! Her skin felt enflamed! A great pressure formed within her. Images of previous sexual partners and the playthings Dueynna had had passed through her mind. They were fucking, and she needed to be fucked, and as the memories climaxed, so did she, the pleasure rippling through her like a floodtide.

Her eyes burst open. At once she saw that her clone’s eyes were open as well. They were staring into one another’s eyes, and the same pleasure was mirrored there, the same ecstasy, and this perception in itself was enough to drive Dueynna into yet another explosive orgasm, the second in as many seconds.

As her blood burned and her thighs quivered in rapture, the changes continued. The doppelganger’s legs grew shapely. Her buttocks tightened, became softer. Her heels rose, and Dueynna felt like she was standing on her own tiptoes, that she had to stand on her tiptoes because her arches were lifting.

Though her breasts had stabilized, they had become so huge. They were huge, but the weight felt good, so full, and her lips felt thicker, too, they weren’t but her lips felt thicker, so Dueynna’s did as well. She was hot, and so Dueynna was hot, and they were both hot, and she climaxed a third time, explosively.

In the aftermath, Dueynna barely had the strength to listen to the Priapoids talk about her.

“Yellow skin,” one said. “Yes,” said the other. The replica’s flesh began to assume a new color, a metallic gold about the face, along the shoulders and arms, down the sides of her legs. The finish faded inwardly to a pure white about the double’s breasts and belly, almost making it seem as if she were wearing a swimsuit. “Scales,” a Priapoid said, and the other female agreed. Very small, very dense serpentlike indentations formed in a fluid pattern down the length of the doppelganger’s form. The tiny, delicate serrations were densest where the gold polish was deepest, fading as the color did likewise. It paradoxically rendered the replica’s body softer in appearance, not harder; she appeared more sinuous, more graceful and flowing. The effect also further emphasized the soft, colorless of the front, the huge breasts and moist pussy. “Hair,” the ivory Priapoid said. “I concur,” her orange counterpart replied.

Dueynna saw and felt her red locks grow. Her hair became straighter, more luxurious; the color likewise more vivid, less natural, more metallic. The same shade of color was applied to the double’s lips and her nipples. They became impossible to ignore; the sexual promise they made was blatant.

“Eyes.” “Yes.”

Dueynna’s/the replica’s eyes changed from their original green to a matching metallic red. Their orbits expanded. The new size was not unnatural, but they made the double’s face look softer, more feminine, open. Nothing could be hidden within such eyes. No secret could be kept. Every thought, every feeling would be clearly displayed. As Dueynna watched, her replica’s cheekbones further shifted, becoming less Thane aristocratic by the moment, expanding the soft simplicity of the new countenance.

In a matter of minutes, it was completely altered. Where minutes earlier she had been staring at a Daughter of the Thane, she now gazed upon a golden doll, a genetically-engineered sex toy.

That’s . . that’s me, Dueynna thought, and it was only by constantly returning her vision to her own static form that she was able to remind herself that it wasn’t her who had changed. She was still a Thane, she would always be a Thane! But she felt everything! The shapely body; the plump tits; the cool, flexing scales, hard and soft at the same time; and, above all, the heat, the monstrous, pervasive heat! Warm and wet sensations pulsed from her sexualized double in wave upon humiliating wave.

Dueynna’s nipples were as tight as her counterpart’s. Her gel-filled breath was quick from more than mere anger. Her skin felt horribly alive. There was no denying it. She was aroused. Undeniably, unmistakably aroused and in need of a man. It was degrading. Try as she might, the Thane noble found she could not summon forth any of her old nerve. Her anger toward the Priapoids felt muted, dulled, impotent. She no longer felt hard. She felt horribly soft, and she was dismayed at the thought of what a man—Revered Ancestors, but she wanted, needed a man!—could now make her feel in his arms. She wouldn’t be able to resist his control at all. She would be helpless, and a Thane was never helpless!

I am still a Thane! she rebuked herself. This is just an illusion! Think, damn you, think!

Find a way out!

But there was none. “Let us incorporate a corkscrew design to this model’s vagina,” the orange Priapoid said. She bucked against her control rod; a vulva-shape formed instantly in the gel, a plump pussy floating without body, lips spread, the clitoris large and erect. “Male penetration will be forced slightly to one side during coitus, thereby increasing vaginal pressure by fifteen percent.”

The ivory female agreed. The floating vulva disappeared. A second later the internal adjustment must have been made to the clone because Dueynna felt her own insides turn in upon themselves.

Her warmth, if anything, only increased further. The first inklings of fear crept into Dueynna’s heart.

“Tongue next?” the ivory female asked. The changes went on. The Priapoids made their alterations to Dueynna’s doppelganger as if with one mind. Barely a word or two passed between them. Only toward the end did they disagree, and even then their difference of opinion was handled with the cool, calm collectedness of a formal debate.

The ivory Priapoid started it by saying, “We should reduce the subject’s intelligence to twenty percent of current capabilities.” Dueynna’s eyes widened in horror behind the transparency.

What? She looked to her floating brain. While preoccupied with the feelings of change coming from her now totally unrecognizable clone, the red had all but swallowed the green model of her brain.

“Present your argument,” the orange female said. The two creatures touched hands.

“This model at present retains the heightened intellectual capacity of a Thane noblewoman. Reducing that capacity to twenty present, coupled with behavior modification, will not only ensure the subject’s compliance but reduce the threat of her planning either an escape or a violence directed at her brothel keepers.”

“I disagree,” Orange said. “The model’s new erogenous sensitivity and hormonal levels will ensure obedience based on her desire to achieve satisfaction. If she is not pleasing, her needs will not be seen to by her owners. Moreover, an eighty percent reduction in the model’s mental prowess will result in a personality loss antithetical to our experiments.”

“The subject has a Beta-level intellect,” Ivory countered placidly, as if she and her associate were discussing a planet’s weather. “Regardless of her appetites, she will still be capable of higher dimensional reasoning and remain a potential threat, especially in the loose social environment of a brothel.” The female Priapoid slanted her bald head. “As for our experimental goal, our aim is to produce a mass-marketable pleasure slave with intelligence and personality, not necessarily one with superior intelligence and a sophisticated personality.”

Orange considered that as Dueynna was horror-struck. You can’t take my mind. You can’t take my mind! In her desperation, she fell back onto grounds totally based on ludicrousness.

You promised! A drone with intelligence! With intelligence!

Finally, Orange responded.

“I concede your point.” (NO! NOO!!! Dueynna thought) “But even with her existing augmented abilities, an eighty-percent reduction is too much. I propose a sixty-percent reduction instead.”

“That is an acceptable compromise.” The ivory Priapoid thrust her hips against the control. “The subject’s brain-mapping is complete. I shall modify the appropriate programming.”

No, please, no! But already Dueynna felt something happening. Her anger—muted, muffled, yet so much a part of the Thane’s personality that it was as comfortable as an old piece of clothing—drained away from her. Her righteous fury grew cold; her resentment toward the pretty colored women outside the window slipped through her fingers, though she tried really, really hard to hold onto it, not knowing why, just knowing it was really, really important (well, kind of important) to have . . . whatever it was.

Replacing the . . the . . . anger, that was it! (But why am I so angry?) was another kind of heat, a nice heat, a blissful, blazing heat. With the heat were pretty colors . . . pretty, pretty colors.

Dueynna found herself swimming in the colors . . . a great multicolored ocean, with waves of purest pleasure over and through her. Her body throbbed with the delicious ecstasy of it, and uncontrollably, she climaxed again, again and again, the pleasure-filled spasms washing out every corner of her mind.

An image of a huge phallus filled the girl’s mind. Pretty! she thought. So pretty!

She hoped she would be fucked soon.

She liked being fucked. Being fucked was . . . being fucked was really, really good!

The girl—she had a name, it was on the tip of her tongue, that name, but it had a lot of syllables, and that made it kind of hard to say and to remember—looked around. That icky brain was fading away. It was all red, and then it was fading, fading away. The girl looked over at her other self, the self that now felt like herself, that felt right, but it was disappearing too, and she was sad to see it go. It was pretty.

Without it, she felt unnatural. She felt strong and hard. She wanted to feel soft and weak.

She hoped she would be fucked soon.

A pretty voice spoke. The girl turned her eyes toward the sound. It was Orange Mistress.

“Model 500119’s altered genetic signature confirmed as stable. Signature is being routed to the neowomb for processing.” The girl remembered. 500119. That was her. She was 500119.

Orange Mistress and Ivory Mistress had done something to her. Something bad. Or maybe something good. She couldn’t make sense of it. Anyway, they had done something to her mind.

500119 found she didn’t mind what they had done to her mind, though. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t upset. She did feel kind of strange, though, like something wasn’t right. Her body didn’t feel right.

She wanted to feel right.

She hoped she would be fucked soon.

The pretty cube drained of gel. It flowed all away without leaving a bit of wetness behind. As it slipped down past her face, 500119 took in a deep breath, choking only a little. Behind her, the big rod also slipped away, and 500119 found that she could move again. She waited until Ivory Mistress came for her, though. It was right. The door opened, and the pretty person took her by the hand—her hand felt really nice—and led her to the other big cube in the room, the black one. It opened like a box.

“Climb inside the neowomb, dear,” Ivory Mistress said.

“Will it make me feel right again?” 500119 asked. “I don’t feel right.” She looked down at herself and cupped her really tiny breasts. “I feel so small. I should be a lot bigger. And my skin isn’t right.”

“Your mind has been configured to your future genetic profile. You will feel better after you have been processed.”

“Oh. Okay.” 500119 climbed inside the big black box. It closed on top of her, and for a few minutes it was really scary, like she was being drowned in blood and turned into a liquid, and it was bad. But then the lid of the box opened, and almost at once 500119 felt better. Better than better, actually.

She felt right.

500119 climbed out of the box and looked down at herself, and it was right. She was very pleased with how pretty she now looked. She was all goldy! She stretched out her arms in front of her, admiring how lithe and feminine they looked, not all muscular and athletic like before. She was goldy and scaly, the way she should be goldy and scaly. Her boobs were as big as they had been in the cube.

Her hair was all the way down to her butt. It shimmered. She shimmered.

She was sexy. And hot. 500119 felt very, very hot.

She hoped she would be fucked soon.

Orange Mistress stepped in front of her. Feeling it was the right thing to do, 500119 started to go to her knees, but Ivory Mistress clutched her from behind and said that that wasn’t necessary.

“You will be sold to a brothel,” Orange Mistress said.

“Yes, ma’am,” 500119 said respectfully. “I remember. You told me. I’m going to be a slavewhore.”

“You are a slavewhore. You are slavewhore 500119.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” She frowned. “Will I be fucked soon? I really, really feel I should be fucked.”

The two pretty females looked at one another. “Her former serfs are with their colleagues in the open cell,” Ivory Mistress said. “It would be appropriate giving her to them,” said Orange Mistress. “It is agreed,” they both said simultaneously. They brushed hands, then Orange Mistress took hold of 500119’s and walked with her to the lift. Moments later they were outside a door.

Orange Mistress touched it. It slid open.

Inside was a large group of men. The first thing 500119 noticed was that they were all naked. The sight of their cocks made the slavewhore even hotter than she had already been, and she began to squirm needfully. The second thing she noticed was that they looked vaguely familiar. There was something about their moon-shaped but handsome faces that she knew. I used to give orders to their kind, 500119 thought, and she giggled. It was true, though. She had. She remembered, sort of.

The last thing she saw was that they all looked scared.

Orange Mistress took her inside, and the door closed behind them. “This is a slavewhore,” the pretty female said to the people in the room. “She is for you. Use her, if you wish.” She lifted her arm, and 500119 walked toward the handsome men.

They looked at one another nervously. “We will obey you,” one of them said to Orange Mistress.

“We beg to be allowed to keep our lives,” another spoke. Their voices made 500119 feel even hotter.

“We will serve you as we served the Thane.”

“We desire neither your lives nor your obedience,” Orange Mistress said. “You will be set free on Titan.”

They looked at from one to the other in confusion. “Free?”

“Yes. In the meantime, you may enjoy yourselves with this slavewhore. She is eager for you.”

Going to her knees this time was appropriate. These were men. 500119 did so. “Please, I really, really need to be fucked,” she begged. “Please, fuck me.”

Because they still looked confused and frightened, Orange Mistress eventually had to walk among them, brushing each in turn with her fingers. Every time she did so, a look appeared in that man’s eyes, and soon they had all turned their burning gazes upon the slavewhore. She welcomed it, and them.

500119’s first user grabbed her hips and pulled her toward him. His penetration was awkward, swift, vicious, and painful. The slavewhore felt something tear inside her, and then the alien presence of a man’s glorious penis in her heretofore untouched, and, so to speak, brand new vagina eclipsed all other sensations. Her back arched uncontrollably. She gave herself to the Dreyman. Her amateur ravisher pumped her body thoroughly, easing in and out of her in a tormenting rhythm. 500119 felt herself grow wet, lubricating herself for her prime function. Sweat covered her golden skin. Weakly, she began squirming, feeling hopelessly overwhelmed by the unbelievable sensations induced in her scaly body.

Finally, finally she was being fucked. It was just what she had been waiting for!

Automatically, she tightened her coiled vaginal muscles about the organ inside her. She groaned as her red, rigid nipples were stroked and massaged, even further enflaming her. Her engorged clitoris was subjected to unfamiliar yet increasingly delightful demands. She moaned deeply. The first intruding cock withdrew. Seconds later the slave felt herself flipped over and her hips pulled up. She realized what was going to happen only as it occurred. For a moment she felt the organ press against her anus.

The men ignored her weak pleas. For the first time in their lives, they were in charge. 500119 twisted and writhed like the serpent she resembled, never before feeling so utterly used.

She liked being fucked, even ass-fucked. Being fucked was good. It felt . . fucky.

Fucky, she thought, and giggled.

She became aware of a growing force inside her, a powerful complex of sensations that seemed like a slowly swelling ball inside her loins that threatened to burst at any moment. The feeling began to frighten the new slavewhore with its intensity, with its complete and overwhelming power. Semen erupted inside her. Without a word, the first man withdrew. She was given no chance to recover before a second took her. She felt his cock brush along her bald, yellow pussy, and she moaned in pleasure. He forced himself inside her. 500119’s snug channel opened as a flower to receive him.

Rapidly, the moon-faced man used her. Each stroke elicited further and further strange sensations inside. Her hips jumped up and down as if of their own accord. With each masculine thrust the force within the slavewhore grew. She had only been brought her to the brink of a euphoric release by her first user, and, so far as she was able to think about it, she hoped her second would finish the job.

Madly, 500119 began sucking and licking as another man’s penis tickled her mouth. Men, many of which she no longer could recognize as her own former serfs, surrounded her, grasping and pawing.

Her body was boiling hot. She squirmed. She groaned and writhed. She felt the second man again slam into her. The whole length of his organ filled her tight and inviting confines. The slave felt herself stretch to accept him. Moments later, when he pulled himself from her, there was an audible pop! as they disengaged. The third man to use the new whore did so more slowly than the others. More willfully. He teased the slut’s sensitive nipples and clitoris. He stroked her buttocks and inner thighs.

Fucky! Fucky! she thought. 500119 had never felt so complete, not that she remembered that much about her former life. When the Drey moved his attentions away from one part of her body to another, the slavewhore felt herself lift in hope he would resume touching her. She did not try in the least to suppress her moans of submissive delight. There was no resistance as her legs were spread again, as she felt herself penetrated a third time. The pressure mounted. It peaked. A monstrous convulsion—an earthquake of sensation—whipped through her manipulated body. It was a pleasure like a corporeal thing unto itself, a fever spreading tendrils of purest ecstasy through her body, from the burning and desperately sore center of her reshaped female sex to her soft breasts and buttocks and lips and skin.

500119’s pussy clenched around the shaft inside her

She ached to pull even more and more inside, ever deeper.

Every nerve-ending in 500119’s body was shocked by pleasure, and she climaxed a second time, this time from the simple awareness that she had enjoyed her first orgasm. She felt like she was melting.

She screamed joy to her abusers. “Yes! Oh Fucky, Fucky! Yess!! YESSSS!!”

The men leaned over the slavewhore’s spasming body, sucking on her red-hot nipples. She twisted like a frantic animal. The slavewhore arched and tightened as she was rode, her hands scraping on the hard floor behind her back. Sweet, warm fluid spurted within her womb, and she climaxed a third time, this time obviously at the command of the men using her, the power theirs alone, the delight something totally induced at their direction, the satisfaction taken from their slavewhore without her control.

She was their slavewhore. She was fulfilling her function! Fucky!

500119 had become totally an instrument of another person’s pleasure, and the climax this realization provoked was so far beyond the previous two it was like entering a new dimension.

“Oh, please, oh please, YES! Oh fucky! Yes! Yess!”

500119 submitted herself a slave. She would always be a slave. She could only always be a slave.

Being a slave was good. It was fucky.

Dimly, as she was passed around again, 500119 saw Orange Mistress walk to a soft glowing square on the wall. She touched it. Lots of pretty words and numbers flashed in front of her eyes. A squeaky female voice spoke. ““We have reached the communications drop point, ma’am.””

“Align a tightbeam relay, please,” Orange Mistress said. More signs streamed over the glowing square. 500119 was mildly curious about what was going on—it seemed awfully complicated, though—but what she really wanted was continue to be fucked. She squirmed a bit as someone licked her.

A face appeared in the glowing square. It was a male face—500119 perked up—ruddy featured, and topped with naturally curly, purple hair. The image seemed familiar to 500119, like maybe this was somebody she knew, but she couldn’t remember the name or context. For a moment the slavewhore was frightened—what if she was expected to do something for this man!?—but then she was tranquil again, soothed both by the touch of the men around and on top of her as well as by the awareness 500119 had that the only thing she was good for was fucking, and that if somebody wanted to fuck her, she would be fucked.

Fuck, she thought dreamily. I feel fucky.

The image of Purple Hair Man spoke. “Greetings, Fa. Status report, please.”

“Despite some mishaps,” Orange Mistress said, “the Lady Matrieylla’s yacht was seized, and her Ladyship is confined to a cell aboard our vessel.” She touched the glowing square again; a second picture appeared next to the first, this one showing a beautiful, black-haired woman in a small room. 500119 thought she looked familiar too, but since she was a woman, she didn’t—really, couldn’t—pay as much attention. Besides, she was being fucked. “Due to the death of one of our own during the seizure, we will be keeping the entirety of the negative-matter shipment in compensation.”

Purple Hair Man, who had been staring at the orgy behind Orange Mistress, looked momentarily upset at this news, but then he shrugged. “Accepted. Condolences for loss.”

“Thank you, Archon Elate.” Orange Mistress touched the image of the woman. It disappeared. “We shall meet at the agreed upon rendezvous coordinates.”

“Acknowledged.” The terse-speaking Purple Hair Man’s image disappeared then too.

For the first time in 500119’s life, she felt at peace. The slavewhore knew she hadn’t always felt this way, though it was hard to put into words. She had been angry all the time, and she had, for some reason that no longer made sense, tried to take her anger out on everything and everyone around her.

Now, everything was peaceful and serene. She had found what she had been looking for. All she needed—all she needed—was to be fucked, and now she was being fucked. Fucking was good.

Maybe Screen Woman will be fucked too, the simple slavewhore thought. That would be nice.

Then 500119 forgot all about that person, and she resumed her true purpose in life.

She was fucked.

. . . to be concluded