“Move, beauties,” we’re ordered, so we do, hurrying towards the exit from the hold. I’m trying to strategically position myself in the center of the herd, where I’m least likely to be attacked, but others have formed the same idea, so there’s a fair bit of jostling and elbows between us all as we vie for position.
We hurry until we’re out the hold and we’re being driven along a corridor, featureless except for directions in the alien language of Aghara-Penthay. Then the fear of what’s ahead begins to override the fear of what’s behind, for from somewhere in front, we can hear the sound of women screaming.
But we only slow for long enough for the females at the back to pay for the delay with their asses. Then some of us join the screaming – our cries terrifying in the small corridor. Naked women panic, and some try to run. I’m pushed hard from behind by someone trying to move up the group, and I fall heavily to the alloy floor. Suddenly I’m the one who is at the rear, and it’s my turn to feel the wand. I scramble to my feet, weeping with terror, but the guards are already on me, and my howls add to the noise of my companions. I’ve never screamed so much in one day in all of my life.
3 – Cells
Beyond the next junction, we discover the source of the rumpus.
A large holding cell with bars for walls has all the male captives inside. There are exposed cocks everywhere I look, but it’s not men’s bodies that’s the most terrible aspect. Some of the females taken from our ship have been put in the cell with the men, and the men are raping them.
“No!” I gasp, my horror very personal, for one of the unlucky ones in the cage is Trindii.
Five of the males are on her. So outnumbered is she, that between them they have easily lifted her from the ground. One man holds each leg, one her torso, and one each arm. Trindii is gripped in midair, rotated to a position as though lying on her side. The appetite of these beasts is urgent enough that a man holding one leg is managing to rape her even while she’s suspended.
“What are they doing?” I cry out in horror to the woman next to me. “That’s Trindii!”
“What do you think they’re doing?” my brunette neighbor hisses. “And don’t speak so loudly. Do you want them to do it to you?”
“But those men are Republican captives, like us,” I protest in a softer voice. “They should be better than that.”
I feel compelled to help Trindii somehow, but the guards are herding us onwards. We hurry on down the corridor, a river of naked female flesh, and the sounds of the orgy fade behind us.
“They’re lost, we’re all lost,” the brunette says once it’s safe. “No reason for those men to hold back. No reason to obey the law. And there’s a lesson to you and to us all about our new lives. Even being a male slave is better than being a woman.”
The Gods have mercy on us.
At successive junctions we turn left and right, and then we reach our destination. This new place could be mistaken for a pet store or zoo – a narrow room lined with rows and stacks of large cages, forming a grid. But it is a store for sentient women. Our captors are already forcing the females at the front of our group into the tiny boxes – one for each woman. On our knees, with the head down low so we’re almost tucked into a fetal ball, it looks as though there’s just enough room to squeeze inside. To a free woman it might appear like confinement would be another horror, but we’ve already learnt we’d rather be locked in there than out in the corridor with the men, or back in the cell with Trindii and the males. So no-one offers resistance, and when a guard opens a cage for me – one of the higher ones where I must make an undignified scramble up to get onto the shelf, I climb inside quickly and press my head to my knees, so I can tuck my body inside.
“That’s right, in you go, sweet-tits,” he says.
Once I’m fully within, the guard slams the door, and I hear the click of an electronic lock.
It doesn’t take long to examine of my new surroundings. The ceiling is only an inch above my arched back, so I can’t sit up, not even enough to rest back on my heels. The door – a wire mesh of alloy designed so I can’t hide from the corridor – is at my right, and the remaining sides are plain alloy. Each face of my box is only inches away, so there’s no possibility of shifting to a different position. And the only other feature in here with me is a disgusting thing that looks like a dildo – a pale pink artificial erect phallus, so realistic it even has veins and an opening at the tip. It’s so near to me I bump my face against it if I lift my head from my knees.
The noise in this prison gradually diminishes as the last captives are caged.
I can’t see enough from inside my small box to confirm when the loading is complete, but a guard gives us instructions.
“We don’t want pretties like you harming yourselves before you get your implants,” he gloats. “So the shipment cages have been fitted with AI. You will hear this tone:” and there is a loud single note sounds, “and you must drain the nutri-fluid from the feeding tube in front of you. Fail to take all the fluid, or refuse to feed, and this will happen:”
And yet again, they make us scream. Where my knees and feet touch the alloy floor it feels like the goad – an intense jolt of white-hot pain. Instinctively I try to straighten to evade the agony, but that only presses my back against the roof, which also burns like a sun. But as immediately as it arrived the pain is gone. I feel nothing – there’s no trace, even though it felt like my skin was burning away.
In the aftermath I can hear women weeping from the other cages, their sounds ranging from gentle sobs to near hysteria.
The pirate didn’t sound as though he’d finished speaking, but there’s no more word from the guards. None of us know if they’re waiting. We can each only see one small portion of the empty corridor through the mesh. It’s about five minutes before anyone dares ask, “have they gone?” and another female voice replies, “I think so.”
A daring soul calls, “Sir?” and no one answers.
“What are we going to do?” someone then wails, too loudly, and another voice snaps angrily, “We’re going to be quiet! Or you’ll end up bringing them back.”
“But what can we do?” another woman asks, more quietly, and the angry one answers this too, ”What do you think we’re going to do? We’re going to get implanted, and then what we’re going to do is get fucked by men. We’ll fuck every one they want us to fuck.”
She’s right. With a moment to think, the hopelessness of situation comes crashing in on me. Next thing, a big wet tear drips down my cheek and onto my bare knee. I’m locked stark naked in a cage, and I’m on my way to Aghara-Penthay. I’m lost. It’s only a matter of time before I’m raped. No! Why me? Why did I have to be a woman? Why did I have to be pretty? I can feel my full breasts squashed into my thighs. I’d been pleased to have that chest once, but now it’s just gonna bring me misery. I wish I could chop the things off. My bare pelvis is thrust out behind me, so my rear feels very vulnerable. My scorns rest on my naked back. I hope there’s not a camera in the back wall, or anyone peeking will get an obscene view of my holes. Needing to do something, I manage to shift my arm enough to try and rub away the demeaning mark the wrote on me, my forty-nine, but the ink seems indelible.