A couple of the women are weeping. I feel close to crying again myself.
I press my fingers again on the lump. How long do I have before it works? How long before I lose my free will?
“It’s not fair,” one of the newly-marked women moans. “They said processing would be in the next room. We weren’t given a chance.”
Have the other women captured from the transport already been implanted, just like us? Trindii? Cliria? Thirty-nine? So many of us…
Cliria wished me slave luck. The guard on the landing platform said we were the lucky ones. It doesn’t feel like I’m lucky, so far.
7 – Pens
If I was to choose the person I hate most in the universe, someone who didn’t know me will might expect I’d have gone for the men who gang raped me on the transport, or Jurong, who tried to violate me during the pirate raid, believing he’d be safe because I’d be seized, and wouldn’t have chance to report him. But no – it’s Trygg, our slave trainer.
Trygg is the male with responsibility for maximizing our value before we’re delivered for auction.
On Aghara-Penthay, Slaver society is divided into factions – four tribal groups under a chief, or faction leader. The transport carrying me, and the unlucky others, was raided by pirates from the faction of Jackran-ad-aktar – known across the universe as “The Alien”. Trygg works for him. So do all the men who live in this particular Slaver settlement. On the arm of Trygg’s soiled uniform is a badge, bearing Jackran-ad-aktar’s livery.
Before being captured, I’d hoped for a rewarding career in the service of the Republic, travelling in a series of postings to liaise with the governments of pleasant, civilized, planets. I’d studied hard, learning about political theory; sociology, history; math.
None of these skills are useful in a sex slave. All that matters is the skills relating to pleasing men, and making myself as arousing as possible to them.
Under Trygg, sometimes literally under him, is a female – Alurri. She is a rare thing – a slave who resides permanently on Aghara-Penthay. Alurri’s responsibility is to teach us all the things which we need to understand for our new lives. In exhaustingly long days, we learn how a sex slave serves food and drink; how to walk and move; slave poses, and rituals for how to present ourselves; how to wash a male; how to dance – not the cultural movement forms like I learnt in girlhood, but obscenely erotic styles of choreography. We discover how a woman should act while in restraints.
Then there is the sex theory. I find out more information about the penis than I could have believed existed. There are also other pleasure spots on the male body, and I must memorize them all. I learn the places on a woman’s body – other than her obvious holes – where she can also bring a man to climax. By squeezing the penis between the breasts, for example.
Some men like to see woman with woman, or enjoy watching a woman in heat, so I am instructed by Alurri how to arouse myself, and other member of my own sex.
Most insidious are the lessons in slave psychology. I’d believed that the implant was all that was needed to break a captive, but no. For hours at a time on my knees, repeating mantras that men are superior to me; that sexual slavery is the only place for females; that I exist only to please men; that my body is all that matters about me. These are crude techniques, but it’s hard not to start to believe it when it’s hammered in so relentlessly.
When Trygg and two of his underlings first brought Alurri naked into our pen, I thought she was another unlucky captive being prepared for sale. For the three men came in armed with goads, and without explanation they goaded her, and goaded her and goaded her with those hateful batons that stimulate the body’s pain receptors. For a full five minutes, we were ordered to watch without looking away, and to listen to her screams, and to picture ourselves in her place.
When it finished, and Alurri was left gasping and weeping on the floor, we found out the reason for the demonstration. Alurri was to train us, Trygg said. She would shortly be given her own goad, to help motivate the females in our pen, and to help teach us to truly fear those in authority. Any time when our progress did not sufficiently please Trygg, or if Trygg considered that Alurri wasn’t brutalizing us enough, the goading we’d witnessed would be repeated on Alurri.
Sure enough, Alurri was handed one of those hateful weapons which had just been used on her own body, she was privileged with being handed a slave wrap, to emphasize her superior status over us, and she was left to begin. It quickly became clear that Alurri had no intention of enduring that torture a second time, and we have been paying the price ever since.
I hate Trygg above all beings in the universe, but the one I fear the most is Alurri.
I will do absolutely anything to please that female, and all my endeavors are focused on earning her brief nod of approval.
But my all is still not enough. She is not just imparting skills – she was ordered to teach us fear, and she does. Most of the punishment we receive results from a minor slip or transgression in the day’s exercise, but sometimes we’re goaded in order to teach us a slave can be goaded without a reason. Just because the one with power wishes it so. There are those out there who find it arousing to cause pain to others, and many like to see females suffering. One such is Trygg. Sometimes he orders a slave to be tortured merely for his pleasure, and we are made to watch along with him.
There is nothing I can do to escape this horror. We soon discover that the control of our implants over us is absolute. If one of the Slavers orders us to endure some fresh torment, we run to them, docile and inert, ready for it to begin. We are ordered not to flee, so we don’t. Besides, where is there to flee, anyway? Slave implants can be tracked. Anywhere across the galaxy, my owners will now be able to follow me. There is no escape, unless incredibly good fortune places me at one of the few sanctuaries, where implanted women rescued by the Republic are guarded from their own compulsions.
My implant is linked to a record they created of my personal and private information. Not just my name, species, history. All my sexual history and preferences are recorded there. In the most humiliating interview of my life, Trygg probed me for every detail, beginning from the earliest fumblings and experiments in my girlhood. I didn’t want to discuss such matters, but I found myself answering truthfully anyway as soon as he commanded me. They like to rape our minds, as well as our bodies. Trygg discovers I particularly dislike anal penetration, so those who wish to use me are made aware of this fact. Trygg learns that the Dystyr are conservative and shy, and I find it particularly humiliating to show my sexuality in front of others. Next day as a result, I am ordered to arouse myself in front of the group, and then I am raped, while under compulsion to climax during my own violation.