Y
16
Eben was enjoying himself, and he found it despicable.
Bloody, beaten, his ears ringing from the constant shouting, Eben ducked to avoid an incoming blow to the head. He lunged in past his foe’s guard to strike him hard in the belly. His granite fist slammed against solid hullmetal. The red giant grunted but refused to decently fall down from a blow that, had it been delivered to a mere human, would have ruptured several internal organs. Instead, the Yn rolled with the punch, raked one hand out, and swiped across Eben’s nose. He closed in and wrapped his thick, meaty arms around the senior lieutenant and wrestled Eben to the crystalline Brahma floor, raining blow after blow into his tired face and chest. The men encircling the two combatants cheered, with the exception of a pinkly bruised and battered Sud, who groaned in dismay.
He groaned because it would be his turn next.
Eben twisted underneath his attacker. Futilely, he tried to lift his knee into the man’s groin. Against his more experienced adversary, though, he succeeded only in opening his own belly to a downward elbow crunch that, when it fell, roughly drove the air out of his recently transformed lungs. The world turned pink, then black, and Eben passed out, for a few seconds at least. Long enough for him to be dragged back to the edge of the circle, at any rate.
Wearily, Sud stood and took his place in the ring. Another fight started. Someone poured ice water on Eben’s face, shocking him back to awareness. The bright central illumination of the Brahma hangar shown above him. The crowd’s voices echoed in the vast, nearly empty chamber.
Spitting to clear his throat, shaking his head to clear it, Eben opened his eyes in time to see his friend and crewmate get hammered to the rowdy bellows of the men around him. And the worst part of it was, even still, he really was enjoying himself. Seeing the fight—being involved in a fight—was fun.
Sud’s latest opponent avoided the less-than-veteran crewman’s widely swinging fists and inexpert footwork. He poked at Sud underneath his chin, causing him to grasp his throat and choke. Sud wouldn’t last long, and then it would be Eben’s turn again. The rounds were getting shorter and shorter, the more tired and beaten they were. The two of them had been fighting since being awakened, upon finding themselves transformed into giant red Yn, exactly like the men performing their beatings. It had been hours. Bruises covered every centimeter of their bodies. Their bones ached. Their muscles were on the verge of surrender. Had they still been human, they would long since have succumbed.
And despite it all, Eben found himself really getting into the contest. It was horrible.
It was exciting! The fighting. The dueling. It made his blood roar! It made him feel powerful, manly.
The real reason it was so stirring, he knew, morbidly, was because he was now a Yn, and the Yn just liked to fight. These people are really fucked up, he thought, grimacing at the latest blow Sud received. Why they were being pummeled, why they were being forced to face one man in the ring after another, in painful succession, Eben had no idea. And to be honest, he didn’t care. At that moment, despite his injuries, it was Serry he was worried about, not him or Sud.
He had made her a promise. He had promised Serry he would never let her be transformed into a Yn slavegirl. And he had failed to live up to that promise. He had failed her!
He had failed her!
Somewhere, probably close by, transformed as he had been transformed by those big-breasted drone monsters, men like these—Yn men—were doing his God only knew what sort of horrible things to her.
Raw anger surged through Eben. Sud went down, and before they could drag him off, Eben lunged at the man next to him, kicking, hitting, biting even. He was no match for the trained warriors, and the pummeling he soon received was wicked. Despite that, the only thing on his mind continued to be his Serry’s whereabouts.
Where was she? And what were they doing to her?
At that exact moment, Serry was enjoying the most vivid, most erotic dream she had ever had. She was home again, on Beta Prime, in Saqlawiyah City, and she was riding down a public slidewalk when a man stepped in front of her, appearing from nowhere. It took only a second for her to recognize him.
“Eben,” she whispered. Her voice was heavy with desire.
He had been transformed. He was red; he was tall; he was strong; and at the sight of him, at the sheer sight of her handsome partner transformed into a Yn, an intense and overwhelming sense of physical lust consumed Serry, and she heard herself add, with utter servility, “My Master.”
“You are a slave and a slut,” Eben told her. “Take off those clothes at once.”
As he approached her, and as she stood in adoration of his Yn magnificence, Serry’s clothes dissolved and fell as dust at her feet, all save her uniform bra, which she had to remove and hand to him.
Serry observed the smooth red skin of her forearm and the humungous cup size of her support, and she knew that she too had been transformed. She was a Yn. She was a Yn sex slave.
And her precious Eben was a Yn male.
“Position!” Eben, her Master, commanded her, and obeying at once, Serry bent over and grasped her ankles, spreading her legs wide, instinctively knowing what he (He!) wanted. She displayed her cunt and her ass. Eben used her huge bra as a rope and wrapped it around her waist, binding Serry tight.
It felt utterly delicious, being so helplessly bound.
Serry was hot. Serry was moist. She was other things too, but her heat and her moistness were the most immediate things. People passed them on the slidewalk. Hovercars floated by. Nobody was upset. Nobody reacted at the sight of these two red aliens in their midst. The citizens of her conservative homeworld reacted as if this was the most ordinary of occurrences.
“What a fine slut you have,” a man said in passing, arm-in-arm with his wife.
“Make her scream,” the woman said, smiling. “Make her beg.” The couple left, singing.
Eben put His hands on Serry, and His touch felt so good, so absolutely right.
Serry’s Master held her with the makeshift cord, and, suddenly as naked as she, His hardness long and powerful, He thrust Himself in her exposed pussy and began pumping, using her, filling her with His mighty girth, and she screamed in absolute pleasure and submission: “Oh! Oh! My Master! Thank You, Master! Thank You!”
She squirmed, thoroughly, joyfully penetrated. “Oh yes, oh yes, my Master! Oh yes, Master!”
Serry could feel the Yn cock inside her. She knew she was dreaming, but she could feel the Yn cock inside her anyway, forcing her to climax, filling her with humiliating ecstasy, an ecstasy that demonstrated clearly that she was nothing but a helpless, mewling slavegirl. The setting of her vision changed, shifting with the deceptive rapidity of a dream. From Saqlawiyah, Serry found herself on a circular platform, still being used by her Master, only now they were surrounded by her friends and family, the crew of the Centauri Independence, her captain, everyone in fact that she had ever known. They stared at her.
And still she continued to cry out her submission.
She was their entertainment, for she was nothing but a slave.
“Oh Master, oh Master! More! Please, my Master, more! Please don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”
He was using her. It felt so good to be used!
“Your slave begs her Master to never stop!”
And then, unbearably, she was forced to stop, to wake up, for a man’s hand was in her hair and pulling her into an upright position. For several long seconds, Serry forgot that she had been imprisoned, forgot that she had been subject to an unwilling transformation, and she cried out involuntarily.
“Please, Master, don’t stop!”
The man, a Yn, yelled at her in the common tongue of Y. Serry understood it, and the shock and the sudden verbal onslaught caused the tears to flow. At the same time, the steamy presence of the strong, handsome man renewed her raw hunger for sex.
Hers was not the only female voice she heard crying. Blinking back tears, Serry looked about and found herself in a large, dark room dimly lit by oil lamps. The walls and ceiling were made of the smooth crystalline Brahma stonework. The floor was covered with straw. Two large pillars—fat stone columns adorned with chains and a variety of wicked-looking metal instruments—were paired at either end of the murky chamber. Serry tried to move, and that was when she felt the collar about her throat, connected to a central chain draped along the floor and linked with identical metal ribbons holding a dozen other naked, shrieking red Yn women sharing her predicament.
Yn men in yellow and black tunics stalked about the crouching women. They shouted and pulled the women into an organized formation. Serry had a brief and utterly insane flashback to her basic training days on Muniqi. Then her own collar was pulled up, and she cried out again. She couldn’t help it.
She felt incredibly weak and helpless.
Serry looked at the back of her hands, at the color of her skin, at her black-as-midnight hair, long and flowing about her face. She saw no difference between her and any of the other prisoners. They were all extraordinarily beautiful, but so was she, now. She was no longer human. She was a Yn woman.
For a long, timeless moment, all she could do was think about sex. All she could do was experience her newfound and insatiable craving for cock, feel her craving emptiness inside her, feel herself growing hotter, growing needier, wanting to have sex, wanting to be fucked, wanting to wrap her lips or her cunt around a big and meaty Yn shaft. Her desire fed upon itself. It grew stronger with every thought of her aching pussy, of how good it would be, how wonderful it would be, to have a cock moving inside her, sliding deeper and deeper inside her, and she squeezing her muscles around it, cherishing it, loving it, pleasuring a man, a master, an owner, her owner.
“No,” she cried out. “No, please, no!” I have to resist, she thought, sniffing back tears. I have to resist.
Through gestures, barked commands which she now understood perfectly, and men’s hands constantly on their shapely bodies, Serry and the other Yn women were lined up in rows and matching kneeling positions, leaning back on their heels with knees spread, their massive bosoms pushed forward, and their hands lying palms up on their smooth, fleshy thighs. Serry saw one woman receive a gag in her mouth when she tried to repeat some contrary mantra: “The mind is my own. The mind is . . !” The woman was quieted, her ebony locks falling over crazed and disbelieving eyes as she was touched.
Serry understood all too well what she felt. The fear of what these burly and manly giants could do to her small, soft body, of what they could make her experience in their arms, had the Centauri officer petrified in a way she could scarcely acknowledge. But fear was only part of the equation. Along with her fear was another unwelcome feeling: a warm, wet sensation that pulsed outward from her sex in wave after humiliating wave. Her nipples were tight. Her breath was quick from more than mere terror.
Her skin felt horribly alive and receptive.
Serry was aroused. She was undeniably, unmistakably aroused and in need of a man. Serry had never felt so, so . . . sensitive. So sensuous or so beautiful. Never before had she been so conscious of her essential femaleness. Never before had she given so much thought to her breasts, her thighs, her burning sex. Serry felt incredibly soft and helpless, so very weak and submissive, and she liked it.
She liked it!
How could she like it!? It was degrading. It was shameful. What she felt looking at these handsome Yn men made Serry feel utterly powerless. Try as she might, Serry could not summon forth any of the nerve she remembered once having. She was terrified. And horribly, intensely aroused.
She thought about Eben.
After several minutes a consensus among the men was reached. With shouts and hands on their precious bodies, hands that felt so good, so right, the kneeling women were ordered to crawl. Serry was in the middle of the feminine formation. They were moved into an adjoining chamber, ostensibly similar to the first but with several ominously glowing braziers scattered here and there.
Fastening their chains to heavy rings set in the floor and walls, the tunic-clad men disconnected the first two girls from the group and led each through separate alcoves. There were several in the room. In a few minutes, Serry heard the rude and joyful sounds of women surrendering themselves to men.
“Oh! Oh Yes!! I had no idea! Aaaaiiiihhhhh!! Yes! Master!! No idea!! Ohh! Ohhh! Yes!!”
The women screamed in ecstatic submission, their cries ringing higher and higher the lower and lower they became. “Please, don’t stop! Fuck your slave! Fuck your slave! I was born to be a slave!”
Serry felt like she was going to be sick. She heard the sound of someone vomiting behind her. This can’t be happening, Serry thought, as she watched two more girls selected from their group and pulled into another room to be fucked. They can’t do this. They can’t just use us like we were animals.
But they did. They were. And shortly enough Serry felt a man grab and take her into the next room.
“No, no!” she screamed. The giant Yn let her carry on, unconcerned. There was no chance of escape; there was no way to break his monstrous grip. The man didn’t even bother to refasten her chain. He simply unlocked her collar, and his huge hand wrapped itself round her tiny wrists with every bit as much strength as steel. He pulled her through the alcove as if she weighed nothing. The floor was cold and smooth beneath her ass and feet.
I‘m going to be raped, Serry thought. I’m going to be raped as a new slave girl.
She knew enough from her months on the icy planet to understand exactly what that meant. Her mind began wrapping itself around the concept, stunning though it was. She was a slavegirl. She was no longer—in any sense of the word—free. She could no longer pretend even remotely that her old life could somehow be restored. What she had been was gone, gone forever now. She was no longer Serry Garrant. Serry Garrant, the woman she had been, no longer existed. In Serry Garrant’s place now knelt a mere slave girl on Y. I’m a slave, Serry thought, dragged along. Nothing but a slave.
First, her ship and her life had been destroyed. She was imprisoned for months. She was transformed into a Yn. Now, she was about to be raped; she was about to be turned into an object of pleasure for men on another world. “No. No.” She shook her head in disbelief. In fright. “No. Noo! NOOOO!”
She screamed, and soon many of the women behind were screaming along with her, some realizing like Serry that they were no longer what they had been, others still dreading that awful confirmation. As she left, more yellow-clad men came into the room, one for each of the newly made slave girls. They looked unsurprised, as if such hysterical occurrences were an everyday thing to them. They came not in response to the sudden cries but as a part of their schedule. They came when the screaming started, always. Serry found out about this later. There were still many things that needed to be done to these newly made slaves. The men gathered round the women, unhooked them, and half-carried, half-dragged them away. Each was taken to a separate chamber.
The room Serry was taken to was smaller but still made of the Brahma stone. Serry had the feeling they were deep underground. Her captor dumped her in a cell atop a thin covering of straw. She recovered in time to see him approach with a canvas mask. She yelped as the material was fastened over her eyes, rendering her blind to the things next he would do to her. Serry felt herself pressed to the floor.
The commander screamed when her legs were pried open.
She felt the tip of a Yn cock brush against her pussy lips, and then her rapist was pushing inside her, and Serry’s body was stretching wide to accept his member. She screamed again as he penetrated her, driving what felt like a long rod of steel inside her. Serry tried to push him off, but her hands shoved against the Yn’s rocky chest with absolutely no effect. It was like trying to push away a heavy statue; it was like shoving an oak. She was too small and helpless; his weight pinned her down, and he was upon her, thrusting mightily.
“God, NO!!” she yelled. His cock slid deep in and out of her pussy; the friction was impossible to ignore and impossible to resist. Serry hissed in involuntary pleasure.
Yes, pleasure. Try as she might, she could not deny how good her rape felt. Her Yn slavegirl’s body was genetically engineered to be raped.
She writhed against him. Serry’s back arched. Against her will, she thrust her hips upon his, meeting his advance. Their stomachs met. She felt his sac slap between her legs. “No,” she cried out again, digging her nails into her unseen rapist’s back. The experience was virginal; the Yn was so big, it was like Serry’s first time. The pain and the pleasure it brought was delicious, monstrous, beyond reason.
She felt his hand at her pussy. “No,” she whimpered.
She felt him pinch at her clit. Waves of sensation pulsed through her. She was so hot. She was burning up! Serry pushed her newly expanded, enormous breasts against the man’s chest. She arched her back again, in ecstasy. Her hands clung to him tightly. “No.” Her head turned from side to side.
She moaned, in pain and an expanding pleasure.
Serry spread her thighs wider. Her rapist withdrew, and for a moment she thought it was over. Then, suddenly, the Yn was savagely thrusting forward again, burying himself in her warm, moist flesh, and Serry screamed, and he came, and an enormous wet pressure filled her pussy, and she screamed yet again, this time because she was in a state of absolute rapture.
“Oh God! Oh NO . . NOO!!” Serry’s mind and body contracted in pure bliss. An exultant tremor rushed through her. An eruption of energy consumed her. She shuddered all over. She felt the Yn’s hands take her by the arms and hold her down, for it was like having a seizure. She shook in a mindless spasm, the pleasure rolling through her without end, a crushing pleasure that reduced all before it to nothing, a pleasure that took the place of everything, that drove every other thought from Serry’s head.
She became lightheaded. The world became serene, heavenly. Then, unbelievably, her assaulter began once more his silent caresses—he had said nothing to her so far—and as his lips brushed against her sensitive, throbbing nipples, as his hands reached down between her moist legs, as he inserted himself once more inside her, stroking her, Serry’s heat blazed forth anew and even stronger than before.
It was comparable to eating a great meal, then reclining back and being surprised to find oneself starving once more, of in fact being even hungrier than at the start. “Oh no,” she sobbed, in dismay. It wasn’t at all fair, not after being so thoroughly raped. Her nipples were painfully stiff. Her pussy was still wet—wetter now!—and longing. Her clitoris was pulsing. Her sudden inner heat radiated throughout her body. The man withdrew, and she moaned. Her body ached for his. She squirmed on the floor, feeling like she was going to set fire to the straw beneath her. A deep, yearning need had been opened up inside of her, and it was quite plainly the worst thing she ever experienced. Serry felt so dreadfully, so completely empty without her rapist’s cock inside her, she felt like she had become an empty shell.
No. Not empty. Not empty at all. Serry felt suddenly as if she was filled with fire: a hot, blazing inferno that cindered every vein, boiled every drop of blood, plagued her nerves, made her hands itch, made her heaving breasts sweaty, made her nipples ache to be touched. Having just been raped, she was in an instant aroused again beyond any previous definition of the term. If she didn’t get a cock inside her, if she wasn’t fucked, she would implode. The hot vacuum inside would implode, and all the matter of the universe would be dragged into the black hole that forever after would mark her existence.
Serry squirmed on the floor.
Her rapist had released her. Now, as she panted, the Yn massaged her intimately. She tensed up at once. She didn’t want him to touch her, but the pressure and the need pulling upon her was more than any mortal woman could withstand. Serry’s will vanished in the wake of it. He grabbed her legs again, parted them, and with one hard thrust entered her. She gasped as his cock once more filled her utterly.
“Oh, God, Yes!!” Hands pulled on her hair. Serry released another ecstatic moan.
The Yn kissed her mouth; his tongue caressed hers. He brushed his hands across her nipples; he took one hard nub between his fingers and pinched at her. All the while, he pumped deeply inside her, making the commander squeal joyfully.
Serry’s second orgasm shook every fiber of her being; it rocked her very soul. And it was in this rapturous, almost religious state that her rapist spoke to her, finally. His voice boomed in her ear. “You are a slave. You were born to be a slave.”
The words echoed in her soul. Serry’s mouth opened widely. Her lips quivered. More than anything else in her life, she wanted to believe him. “No,” she said, and her heart seemed almost to burst.
“You were born to please men.”
“No.”
“You want to please men.”
“No . . never.” She grit her teeth. The pleasure was so intense. She was still holding onto him, helplessly, her arms wrapped round his back, her legs wrapped round his waist. “I . . I am not a slave.”
Willfully, she dragged her arms away. Once more, she pushed at the great, unmovable mass atop her.
“I am not.”
“You are a slave,” the Yn said, a bit more sternly, and she shook her head, blindly. “Go to hell,” she told him.
Serry felt a wetness at her mouth. She felt fingers trace the outline of her lips, felt them pull and gently pinch at her lower lip, felt them introduce a warm, pulpy substance to her tongue. It was delicious.
She wanted so much to swallow.
“No,” Serry whispered. “No.” That’s not true, that’s the addiction talking, she tried to convince herself. “That’s just my fucking basal ganglia,” she hissed. She spit out the Yn’s narcotic cum.
Apparently, this action proved offensive. She heard the man atop roar in anger and withdraw. His dick pulling out of her was like a snake pulled out of a hole in the ground, it was so big. A second later, his or another man’s hands—she thought there might now be two men in the cell with her—grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up. Serry fought, but she was just a little doll in a male Yn’s hands.
Flipped over, her ass cheeks spread, Serry felt a massive cock slowly ease into her asshole.
“God, no!” she yelled out and tried to repel this latest humiliating invasion, but her strength was utterly inadequate to the task. She screamed in agony as she was stretched open. It was like being torn in two. The man began to pump her, and she moaned, this time in as much intense pleasure as intense pain.
His hands were at her hips, holding her steady. Her feet dangled in the air. Somebody’s else hands—there were two of them!—began stroking her full and precious breasts. Serry’s moans became louder. As the fellow in rear, literally, forced himself further and further inside her, filling her bottom and seeming to intrude straight into her abdomen, the man in front kneaded her tits like bags of raw dough. His fingers squeezed her nipples, stiff and throbbing, painfully erect, and when he licked them, one at a time, Serry couldn’t help but push herself against his mouth as much as she was allowed.
It felt so incredibly good!
Serry gushed from her pussy. She felt her rear intruder’s balls slap against her thighs. She squeezed and relaxed around her rapist in the rhythm he established, matching each of his thrusts with a sliding push of her own. She was so full, she felt like she would burst. She was so soft, and he was so hard.
The man in front pressed what felt like a meter-long dick against her stomach. He slid it down her tummy, and then he pushed it up and inside her. She moaned. Serry was sandwiched between two giant men, both of their giant dicks deep inside her and digging deeper, fighting one another, it felt like, rubbing against each another on the thin flesh separating the two. Serry screamed convulsively.
They came inside her. Two pressurized hoses filled her with their contents.
More crushing sensation enfolded Serry. Waves of excruciating intensity coursed through her. The waves promulgated from the dueling dicks inside surged through her like a tidal event and left her all the more helplessly needy for the next one, the next explosive climax. Her body was held motionless, helpless, and it was good.
I can’t. I can’t. I have to fight this. If I give in . . . oh God, that’s good, that’s a good one . . . no! If I give in, if I give in . . . oh, ahhh . . . I am Serry Garrant, Chief Life Support Officer of the starship Flags of Centauri . . oh, oh my, oh my . . . it’s coming, I can’t take, I have to take . . . yes, no, yes, yes, yessss. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhhh! The power crested and broke, and a part of Serry broke with it. She wanted to be a slave, if by being a slave meant she could experience such rapture again.
The men pulled out of her wetly and laid her down. Serry became lightheaded again. The world tilted, and she was on the verge of graying out. “You are a slave,” the man in rear whispered into her left ear.
“You were born to be a slave,” the man in front said into her right.
Serry squirmed. She tried to twist away. “I . . am . . no, no!!” She wanted so much to say it. She wanted so much to admit her slavery. One of her tits was manhandled, and she moaned like a slut.
“You were born to please men.”
“You want to please men.” Their voices were so deep, so deep and powerful. She believed them.
“I want . . I want . . to please . . no, please, I don’t . . .” Once more, Serry’s lips were probed at with semen-coated fingers. Without thinking, she slurped the noisome material down, finding it more delicious than any possible ambrosia. Her heat rose, blazed, became an even greater conflagration.
She groaned in an absolute frenzy, in an unconditional fervor. Blindly, she clutched at her rapists as if they were lovers. “Please,” she begged. She pressed her tits against someone’s hands. She hated herself for pleading, but the immediacy of her need overwhelmed all other consideration. “Please.”
The catalytic reaction affects them like a drug, that Solarian bitch had said. Once started, their need becomes a never-ending cycle: the females are fucked, the fucking accelerates their need to be fucked again, et cetera. et cetera.
“Oh, no, please,” she begged, hating herself, despising her immediate, selfish weakness.
The men disengaged, and Serry fell to the straw floor. She was pressed onto her tender backside. A man atop her began to fuck her, again.
Serry’s world became nothing more than just this fucking. There was nothing beyond this sensation.
He took his time. He spread her legs—they in fact spread on their own, he merely needed to touch her there—and stroked her pussy lips. Serry squirmed up and down. She writhed upon the fingers entering her. She felt a man’s tongue penetrate her, felt his breath heavy upon her lower body.
The other man was slowly massaging her nipples, kneading the bountiful flesh of her chest, rubbing between her breasts. He pinched and pulled at her. He placed his mouth upon her tits, one at a time, and as he licked at her, and as her flesh slid between his teeth, she shuddered in sensory overload.
She couldn’t help twisting and squirming. Her breasts felt so heavy, and yet they were perfectly formed, plump, and vital. The Yn’s hands as he squeezed at her, his fingers sliding across the sweat-slick flesh of her, testing their firm yet massive consistency, was painful yet incredibly, marvelously delightful.
It felt so good. “You are a slave,” one of the Yn said. Serry shook her head, though whether she was protesting the command or in disbelief at the amount of pleasure she was receiving, she was uncertain.
The man between her legs thrust long and deeply into her pussy. His tongue lightly licked at her. His teeth nibbled at her overly sensitive, blood-engorged folds. The other man placed his hands on her belly and rubbed in a circular rhythm, over and over. “You were born to please men,” he said.
Serry said nothing. She was totally engrossed in the enchanting feel of such powerful hands and tongues on her, inside her. The man rubbing her belly drew his hands up, ran them around her huge breasts, squeezed, and then let his fingers descend into the sweaty valley between, stroking her breastbone itself.
Once again, a dick slid against her nether lips. Once again, she filled with an enormous Yn cock.
“Oh God!” Serry exclaimed, in purest relish. She squeezed her cunt around the man’s firmness. The man in front rubbed his hand against her lower belly again and pushed firmly onto her pelvic bone. The motion somehow enhanced what she was already experiencing. She climaxed hard, like a missile firing.
The world turned fuzzy inside her head. Serry was no longer exactly sure where she was.
“You are a slave,” a powerful voice told her in the darkness. She couldn’t see. Was she wearing a blindfold? She couldn’t remember. “You were born to be a slave. You were born to please men.”
She felt a deep instinctive need to respond.
“I . . I am . .” the girl whispered. She was what? She was searching for an answer. She needed to find it. She felt the hot, hard cock penetrate deeper into her belly. The man atop her was rocking her harder, deeper. He was thrusting with ever-increasing vigor.
A cock was drawn across her fulsome lips. Serry licked at the blessed cock, kissed it, swallowed it.
The smooth, rich texture of that exquisite piece of meat was immediately enthralling. She ran her tongue against its thick veins. The man’s fleshy scrotum flopped over her nose—he was fucking her mouth upside down!—and its warmth and texture delighted her.
And the taste . . ! The taste was beyond her words to describe. When the man came inside her mouth, she swallowed eagerly, fairly disbelieving how good it was. Serry didn’t want him to withdraw. She didn’t want to have to breathe! She slurped at the man’s cock as he pulled out of her, letting his member slide along her thick lips. She kissed the tip of him as it was exposed, and when he offered her the opportunity to lick him clean, she did so fervently.
The mix of fluids, his cum and her saliva, made for a very rich, very intoxicating cocktail.
Someone, a man, was continuing to fuck her, using her. Someone else, another man, cradled the back of her head in his crossed legs. Serry wished she could see them. The man in front was rubbing her temples; he was massaging her face and her semen-stained lips. At the same time, she was pushing her hips upward, matching the thrusts of the man inside her, using her, making her his slave. She felt an inexplicable anger but pushed it aside. She was being used. She wanted to please these men with her body. The man fucking her cummed, and Serry climaxed again. Everything slipped into a daze.
The man beneath inserted a finger inside and tickled her intimately. She kept climaxing, over and over.
“You are a slave,” Serry was told, and she believed it. How could she not believe it?
“I am . . . not!” she groaned. Her words were words spoken in the darkness before the universe formed. They were words spoken in a state of complete denial. Serry held onto them for dear life.
“You were born to be a slave.”
“I was born . . . free.” How hard it was for her to say that! She wanted to be fucked again. She needed desperately to be fucked again. But at what cost? The men abruptly stopped touching her, and almost immediately her body’s dreadful appetite for them came screaming back, stronger than ever.
Serry moaned. Her lips quivered. Her hands reached out for male contact. She did not want to be a slave on Y. At the same time, she very much did not want these men to leave her in such an aroused state. Lust consumed her every thought. Rather than feeling sore and full from her multiple rapes, Serry’s body yearned for even greater depravities. She wanted—needed—someone to fuck her.
She heard one of the men sigh. “She continues to resist. She has a strong will, this one.”
“It matters not. She’s been kindled now. I say let her simmer, and in the morning she’ll beg us to complete her slavery.”
No, please, she sobbed to herself. I can’t . . I can’t spend the night like this. Her flesh was on fire! Insects were crawling through her veins. She had been raped. Raped repeatedly. She felt the sticky remnants of cum on her mouth, and she licked at it eagerly. She wanted more. She needed more.
Serry was on the verge of begging to be raped again.
The men pushed her away, and Serry could barely think, so in dire need was she. She lay on the floor like a thoroughly used toy. Minutes later, she was carried away floppily, her feminine weight barely noticeable to the giant performing the task.
The hood around her eyes was removed right before being dumped into a chill vat of water. Hands held her down in the water. Even had she the strength to resist, she wouldn’t have done so.
She was totally passive. She needed another orgasm!
Slavegirls, laughing, naked, and beautiful, were in the pool with her. Using soap and ointments, Serry allowed herself to be bathed as a handsome male supervisor stood on the cement edge and watched.
Serry found herself squirming at the sight of him. It took all her strength not to crawl before him and spread her legs. Within minutes the new girl was dried by the slaves, and, when finished, her hands were bound behind her. She was pulled along a corridor to a girl-sized holding cell and left there.
Serry had no way of knowing how much time had passed since her transformation. She was still very foggy. She was naked, and chains held her to a stone wall. That was all she knew. Her long and damp black hair pressed coldly against her crimson skin. Between the raging lust ignited between her legs and her tranquilized inebriation from so much Yn semen, it was a wonder she could form any thoughts at all.
Her ideas came sluggishly. It occurred to her that her life had once more been turned upside-down.
She was a slave. She had been born to be a slave. She had been born to please men. “No,” Serry sobbed, holding her hands to her eyes. But it was true. She felt it. She knew it.
She was a sex slave! Serry cried for a long time, the horror and humiliation of her submission eating away at her soul. She had been raped, yet some horrible, submissive thing inside her had enjoyed it!
Serry shuddered in memory of the sensations provoked in her. She cursed her rapists, recalling how low they had made her feel, how helpless in their arms. Their skin had been so hot and sweaty and delicious. She had been used . . . and she had screamed in pleasure at her use!
Once she started thinking about it, Serry’s sexual restlessness became only increasingly pronounced.
Serry dwelt on her rapes until it dawned on her that she was reliving them because the memory made her excited again in a sexual way. She was fantasizing about it being done to her. Her nipples were tight. A blazing wetness grew with each minute a little bit stronger between her thighs. She sobbed.
Serry lowered her head to a corner and moaned, feeling dizzy and nauseous. She would have to wait until morning to be raped again; she was already shaking in withdrawal. The Yn were eventually going to reduce her to a submissive slut of a slave, if they hadn’t done so already: a girl begging to please, a girl wanting only to lick, a girl whose eyes were constantly pleading for a good and healthy fuck.
A girl whose only measure of happiness would be the erections she inspired.
This was the life intended for her. And there would be no escape from it. The men of Y would not permit it.
Serry pulled on her chains for many hours, her inborn addiction to semen incited, her hot body simmering as a result. She tried to deny it, but it was with mounting eagerness she awaited the morning and the rapings that would surely come with it.