The gang comply, and quickly I’m pinned down by them onto my back, one man pressing hard down on each of my shoulders and arms. The pressure from their weight is like a vice. I’m kicking wildly and shaking my torso from side to side, trying to dislodge my assailants, but I might as well have concrete blocks on top of me.
I scream again. They’re not holding me with my head resting at the top of the bed, where a pillow would be. My head is halfway down, so my hips are almost at the lower edge of the mattress. They’re holding me so my core is left accessible.
The two men who aren’t trapping my arms move into position, aiming to restraining my legs. I thrash out my feet, trying to strike my attackers with a heel, and I manage to land a decent blow to the unwashed man’s hip.
But the other one, the big man, catches my right ankle, and with it my right leg is suddenly gripped tight. I jab with my free heel at his hand, hoping to hurt him enough for him to releases me. Taking the offensive is a mistake, as it allows the unwashed one time to close in. He seizes my left ankle, and next thing I know my knees are being spread wide, and then I’m trapped in a pose where I’m so terribly, terribly open. My core, my sex, my most private place, is on full view to them.
Unwashed one waits between my legs. I’m still thrashing around, bucking so my hips lift from the mattress, but he’s closing and I’m going nowhere.
I scream again. The smell from him is nauseating.
“Hold her other ankle as well, Corrick” unwashed one says to the giant. My legs should be stronger than this Corrick’s arms, but he’s able to secure one ankle in each hand, and flail as I might I can’t break free. Thus, Corrick stands between my spread feet, keeping my legs apart, one man pinning down each arm / shoulder, and the unwashed man moves even nearer between my knees. He’s so close now that every time I twist and turn I’m brushing against him. Helplessly I’m looking down my naked body at him, and I watch him extract his penis from his loose pants.
“No, please,” I beg him. Don’t let it be this way, please. Of all the men in the universe to claim me first, not one of these animals. Not this foul creature, unclean and unshaven.
He’s already hard. His organ is the most repulsive thing I’ve ever seen, pointing out at me like some eyeless worm. The crown is engorged with blood, turning it a deeper shade than his shaft. He’s anointing it, lovingly smearing his shaft with some kind of glistening oil. So Slavers carry round lubricant for these occasions.
“Yeah, cunt!” he declares as he sees my wide eyes.
I’m still bucking and rolling my hips – the only part of my body where I have much movement remaining to resist. But it’s easy for the unwashed one to use his bodyweight and pin my abdomen to the mattress. Then I feel the head of his sex pressing against my nether lips. That’s the second time today I’ve been in contact with a penis. But with Jurong, I was able to hit him with the sculpture and save myself. This time I’m…
I scream as he buries himself into me, going deep all in one thrust. The pain feels like something has just ripped apart inside me. There’s nothing remotely pleasurable about it. But the unwashed one groans, as though for him the connection between our bodies is the best experience in the universe.
“Oh, that’s good,” he tells his buddies. “She’s so tight.”
I couldn’t imagine the suffering I’m enduring might get worse after that first stab, but then he starts drawing his hips backwards and forwards – thrusting into me and retreating, thrust and retreat, and each time it’s like enduring a sword between my legs. I tip back my head, my eyes rolling. The psychological pain is almost as bad as the physical. I don’t want to give these men pleasure. I hate them. And yet they’re enjoying me anyway, enjoying my flesh, enjoying my downfall. We’re mating. Having sex. Fucking. He’s raping me. Each thrust which forces me to cry out is an absolute victory for them and a humiliating defeat for me. So complete is the unwashed one’s power he’s able to pin down my pelvis with only one hand on my abdomen, and start using the other to explore and enjoy me. My breasts are his main target. I struggle to try and evade him, in spite of the increased pain any movement induces between my legs, but I don’t have enough freedom to escape the hands. When he touches me, he squeezes my chest as though the swellings are lumps of dough, and he pulls at my nipples, triggering further intense stimulation.
I scream again, but no one comes to my rescue. There’s no one on a Slaver ship that would save me anyway.
“So, bitch, how’s about showing that attitude of yours now, huh?” groans the unwashed one. Why must he be so cruel? There’s no need to taunt me. Please stop – I surrender. I can feel his penis probing deep inside me. He slaps my face, shocking me, and then even worse, he strikes me across the breasts.
The Dystyr are a peaceful people, and violence is rare among us. It would seem inconceivable to a Dystyr to take pleasure from another’s suffering. But the humans don’t seem to be wired that way. The unwashed one even seems to like the way I cry out when he slaps me across the breasts. Perhaps it’s my display of such unbearable torment which, a moment later, pushes him over the edge, or maybe it is the prolonged friction from my vaginal walls against his penis. Either way, I witness the moment when this rank, disgusting male cries out and presses his pelvis as hard as he can against my pubic bone, and holds himself there. His whole body seems to be tensed, and the expression on his face is hideous. Inside me, I feel his rock-hard penis make a lurching movement.
Unwashed male keeps that position only for a few seconds, then he gasps, half-slumping over me as though he’s going to faint. I’m not too innocent to understand.
Before the Slavers I was a virgin, but that vile human has just orgasmed inside me.
“Gods, that was a spectacular fuck,” he groans to his friends. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a woman that fresh.”
With that pronouncement he withdraws from me, and once again I shriek. The slicing pain of him exiting is almost as bad as the penetration. I can feel a hot wetness dribbling out after him between my legs. Blood, semen or both, I don’t know.
I, Coora of the Dystyr, have just been raped. Each year it happens to so many women across the universe, but this is different. It was my body that was defiled. My life has divided in two forever – into the time before I was raped, and the time afterwards. Before, I was Coora, the woman. Now the Republic defines me as Coora, the victim.
“Who’s next?” says the unwashed one.
Next? He can’t be serious?
“No!” I plead, beginning to twist and turn anew.
“Me,” says the giant. None of the men care that my life has been ruined and I begin to cry, such is the depths of my despair. I’m kicking and struggling, but the unwashed man still easily swaps places with the giant who was holding my ankles. Unwashed man’s grip is almost as strong as his colleague, and freeing myself is equally impossible while the giant, Corrick, takes his place between my thighs.