Window Shopping:
This journal entry details the way the main character of this site window shops.
* This entry is not yet dated.
This journal entry details the way the main character of this site window shops.
* This entry is not yet dated.
Himmler's Journal
Preface
"It is ironic that when police and military personnel of nations opposed to slavery stop human trafficking and incarcerate the ringleaders, they are still just enslaving other people to live a certain way, exactly like the slavers do. No matter which side you are on, both sides have slavers and slaves, and both sides imprison human beings in collars and cages." --Dr. von Himmler, Governor of Inisfree
"It is ironic that when police and military personnel of nations opposed to slavery stop human trafficking and incarcerate the ringleaders, they are still just enslaving other people to live a certain way, exactly like the slavers do. No matter which side you are on, both sides have slavers and slaves, and both sides imprison human beings in collars and cages." --Dr. von Himmler, Governor of Inisfree
逛櫥窗不花錢
Chapter 1: On the Job, On the House
Having built my true home at long last, I now had no chores to tend to myself whatsoever; full of many millions of loyal and loving, epicly lovely slaves, all my cooking, cleaning, driving, mending, piloting, sailing, sewing, and vehicle maintenance was done For me. Now I spent all my time either enjoying my many wonderful inventions in that home of mine, or using some of them as part of the fun of my resumed travels and adventures around my home planet and, now, around the rest of the Universe.
Strolling through the biggest cities and suburbs of all the appealing worlds I learned of, my home's supercomputer monitored what I saw and was aroused by, flash-cloning the perfected versions (bodies and minds; personalities, talents, and tendencies) of all the extremely beautiful and sexy girls I saw along the way, singing them into existence in its cloning vats in batches of 50, and beginning their training and educating automatically, that they be ready for me upon my return trips home.
At a tavern on one human-occupied world far out across my home galaxy, I, my assistant; the shockingly beautiful Nyria Serra, and a few other men from my ship (Brahan, Augustine, and Sasha), enjoyed taking turns snapping our fingers to summon nearby slave girls to our table's side, that we might see which among them best knew how to promptly serve and promptly please real men. Those who gasped or reddened, or were otherwise noticeably offended, having inappropriate pride and other inappropriate feelings unbecoming of a female, were bent over the table and very rudely, very roughly used right there and then; rudeness for rudeness, then casually commanded to stay like that, they they be casually fingered and re-used, again and again, at our leisure, throughout the rest of our drinking, dining, and discourse. Many dozens of girls, we tested and screened like this. Those who enjoyed this treatment, we directed to kneel between our legs, under the table, and suck on our cocks (in Nyria's case, lovingly licking her pussy while Nyria and I lovingly French kissed, side by side, above them), pausing only when we rose, feeling like making use of those who did Not enjoy this treatment, again rudely, roughly, fully making use of all the girls who took offense to our natures and irreproachable culture.
One girl in particular, I found entertaining. She had clenched her fists and almost cried out at times, almost sobbing at others, as she was put through her paces, being told to strip and hold her hair above her head, rotating on her bare feet to show us her entire body from every possible angle. We came all over her face, fucked her asshole without lubricant, then made her kneel, still sore and shamed for her evil reactions (rude responses to our desires), where she could see her sisters in bondage constantly sucking our cocks (and licking Nyria's pussy) under the table which she was the waitress of. We ignored her as she refilled our drinks, slapped and spanked her when she wasn't hurrying enough, then asked her who her best friends were here in the tavern; which of the other slave girls she liked or loved, extracting the truth from her as expertly as interrogation officers needing only mind tricks, never once having to twist her arm.
One by one, we signaled over her favorites, abused them much, and even whipped one down as she walked away, asking her, as we continued whipping her right there in the tavern, why she wasn't running to fetch us our ordered drinks. Anything less than running was unacceptable; rude in how slow it was, lacking duty, loyalty, and a sense of urgency which all females must possess in order to avoid the lash and much worse. Then we told the whole tavern, quite audibly and mirthfully, that it was she who had told us who to single out like that, probably alienating her from all her friends for the rest of her stay there.
"I would enslave you as my own, stupid worthless wench," I told the beauty kneeling before us, her face covered in overlapping lines of our cum clinging to it, "but I think it a more fitting hell for you to remain here, having been reduced as you now are, for now you are not only a serving slave, but one hated most by all your sisters in lowly bondage," I casually smiled to her, becoming aroused as she gulped, beginning to silently weep. We taught her well the meaning of her slavery.
Her best friend was now running back, as our lashings had taught her in front of every patron and proprietor in her tavern, with the drinks we had ordered her to fetch us. I saw the fear in her eyes. She dared not spill a drop of any one of them. She was hurried and careful, more purposeful and alert than ever before. "Your drinks, Masters and Mistress," she smilled, showing us her loveliest side amidst equally lovely, almost successfully hidden trembling. I didn't bother to inform her that in my culture; the Inisfreean Way, because females of my species; the Inisfreeans, are extensions of myself, and because I just don't care much for the sound of the word 'mistress', we address our female leaders as 'Master Females', not 'Mistresses'. She didn't need to know such things yet. We accepted the drinks from her, waving her off to serve other patrons who'd grown impressed with both her newfound speed and the patrons; us, who'd stimulated it from her.
I emptied my entire mug onto the head of the most offensive waitress slave who was still kneeling at our table side, pouring its liquid contents down all through her luxurious hair, soaking her chest and belly, forcing her to sit in its spreading puddle as she blinked to regain vision, seeing only her sisters continuing to suck and lick our team's genitals; she was not, of course, allowed to direct her gaze anywhere but where we had told her to. The drink served me better when soaking and degrading her like that. I noticed she was continuing to battle her emotions; fighting back explosions of sadness, humiliation, and sobbing. I much enjoyed this, for she had earned all of it and more for her appallingly rude ways.
Waving to some patrons, and one barkeeper, who were occasionally looking over at us, the most demanding, yet also most casually in control, table in their whole establishment, we indicated our manners and friendliness, assuring them we meant no harm to any, save their slave girls, and had ample coin to compensate them for all we enjoyed and spilled upon their tavern floor. The barkeeper finally grinned, chuckling, and returned to his other patrons seated on the barstools before his countertop, and we, in turn, returned to enjoying the use of his enslaved waitresses.
"Slave," I said to the one most soiled; the girl, kneeling, her face covered in my team's cum squirts, "mop up that spilled drink with your pretty hair." I hadn't even looked her way when giving her this command. I heard her huff, almost choking down another wave of tears, and lean forward, knowing she must remain kneeling with her knees wide open, as we had not told her to change her position; only to begin mopping, thus meaning she must do so while still in that kneeling position. As she continued attempting to mop up all of my overturned drink with her hair, at least that which was not still clinging to her stripped body, I deigned to observe, and rested the sole of my boot on her back as she proceeded. We all knew she wouldn't succeed in mopping that way, but that wasn't the point. "Make sure you use your pretty slave whore face, too," I casually smiled down to her, and she began to. "No, no; really rub it firmly against the floor. Get the grime into your pores for me." She finally began to cry, no longer able to hold it in, and, of course, continued to obey me. I dropped a copper coin on her head, leaving my boot on her back as I resumed chatting with my team.
After we had partaken of the cooking and refreshments of the tavern to our hearts' and stomachs' contents, we made additional use of those same wenches in the more traditional places; the curtained booths, found in the back of all such taverns on countless worlds across the Universe, where heavy metal rings built into the walls and furniture help patrons of those wares to secure the girls for more frightening and complete usage. Nyria, our only female team member, was no exception; we traded places back and forth between these curtained booths, using half a dozen of the enslaved waitresses at a time, entertaining the sometimes cheering patrons back in the rest of the tavern with those collared and chained, bound and beaten, slave girls' cries and loud, frantic pleas for mercy. The rest of the tavern could clearly hear that we were using all of their holes, as well as choking, spanking, slapping, and throwing them around back there. Once we had each had our turn with each of these girls, we unchained them from the metal rings and allowed them to flee from behind our booths' curtains. They ran, tears streaming down their faces, into another wave of cheering and clapping and mug beating on the tables and countertop, back to the kitchen to be cleaned up for an immediate return to their waitressing duties amongst all those entertained patrons.
"Are any of your wenches for sale?" I asked the proprietor, who was still chuckling at our unprecedented use of his lovely wares.
"All wenches are always for sale," he reminded me; a common expression on all wise worlds; all worlds which keep their females in the bondage both sexes naturally need to feel good.
I smiled and nodded a bit. "Would your business be able to continue in stride this day if I purchase some of them?"
The man grinned, again chuckling a bit, appreciative of my concern, and a bit entertained at how I phrased things and carried myself; half regally, half comically, and nodded 'yes'.
"Then might I summon my selections... and square away our tab?"
Nodding once more, he went to fetch the tab from farther down along his countertop.
My team readied to depart, Nyria making her rounds along the tables to see if any of the men or women wanted to make use of her before she left. They beamed, thrilled at the prospect, and asked her how much. To their further delight and thrills, she beautifully smiled and shook her head; there would be no cost to them this day, for her master; me, had set her price to free.
The girls we had used behind the curtains had begun to come back out from the kitchen, their heads down, more rounds of drinks in the pitchers they carried out for the other, less shocking tables and less demanding patrons. When they saw us still in the tavern, watching them with knowing smirks, they looked away, horrified, and tried to seem hurried, purposeful, and busy. We snapped our fingers once they had served their tables, being polite to the other patrons, who raised their refilled mugs to us, smiling in thanks for that courtesy, and their waitresses then hurried back to us, trembling again, wondering what we could possibly want next from them.
"What is your price?" each of the men on my team, and I, asked them once they had reached us, dropping to their knees before us in the polite slave girl waiting position.
"One copper coin, Master," each girl would whisper, thinking we meant her price for sexual usage behind the curtains of the back booths.
"For owning you," we would clarify.
Each girl then began to tremble, lowering her head a little bit more, keeping her eyes downcast from our own, and trying not to shake her pitcher with her increased trembling. "That is for my Master to decide, Master," they would then say, almost choking down another wave of dread and tears, knowing their new slaveries would be even more difficult than the waitressing they were already straining to adjust to.
Moans of pleasure and smacks of palms on bared flesh filled the tavern as Nyria mounted, and was mounted by, one table of patrons after another. No one was lining up for her, but only because she had assured each table interested in using her that she would get to them all before her Master finished purchasing some of the waitresses. Being born an Inisfreean, it was impossible for her pussy to get loose or droopy, so I was much enjoying her always enthusiastic, super-nymph performances as the background music (and visuals) to my slave purchasing work up near the bar and door.
I politely told the proprietor returning with our tab which of his waitresses I'd selected. He gave me a bulk discount, as I'd chosen nine; five of the good girls (the ones who'd been eager to be degraded; who we'd then kept sucking our cocks and licking Nyria's pussy while we finished our drinks and meal) and four of the bad girls (the ones who'd thought themselves able to get away with rudely expressing emotions indicating offense at being used however we pleased). One of those four bad girls was the one we'd abused (punished) the most; the girl who had been kept kneeling at our table side after we'd cum all over her face, and who had had to keep looking directly at her five fellow waitresses who continued to suck our cocks and lick Nyria's pussy beneath that table she was kept kneeling beside, and who had then been made to mop up the drink I poured on her and the floor with her hair while I rested my boot on her back. She was particularly terrified, trembling more than the others, her neck tense, her eyes shut, her head to the side a bit, her shoulders up and forward, waiting for her next mistreatment at the hands a true master, knowing that anything less than instant obedience and acceptance would mean a brutal beating from her previous owner, the proprietor of the tavern, and suicide for her if she failed to respond that way to her new owner; myself.
Handing the proprietor a small bag of coins equaling our tab, plus the discounted price of the nine waitresses, plus a handsome gratuity, I looked over to see Nyria grinding on another of the male patrons, straddling him tightly, and encouraging him to grab her tits and ass and throat even more firmly, helping him to get all of his cum out and up into her depths. I estimated she would need another five minutes to finish off the last of the interested patrons that well, so I told all of the bought waitresses to kneel in a row before me. They hurriedly did so, moving more quickly than ever before, kneeling as female pleasure slaves are taught to, and making a much more professional show of it now, having been so well taught by my methods.
My teammates; the three crewmen of my Spaceship, stepped back a bit, grinning, and watched the nine girls from off to their row's side, waiting to see what I'd do next. Nyria, in the background, was eyelocking with the latest man she had mounted, whispering into his panting lips, "Cum for me, baby. Cum deep inside mami. Deeeeep inside me. I want it all."
I grinned at this, watching it for a few seconds as the man was clearly starting to reach the point of no return, and then cast a cold, dark, merciless gaze down upon my nine new pieces of property. They shivered at this, feeling my gaze's foreboding vibe as much as seeing it, while the man in the background shivered with Nyria, who was now licking well inside his ear, helping his legs to shake as he erupted his seed all the way up into her pussy, splashing and grinding it against her G-spot, to which she moaned out a loud sex cry, which made the man cum all the more, making his final squirts even harder into her. It occurred to me that this was being paired in these nine waitresses' subconsciouses, making them associate what I was putting them through... with the finest and most thrilling of co-climaxes; simultaneous, mutual orgasms. This was good, and no coincidence, I also realized.
"I am going to whip each of you once, right here where you now kneel; five of you for doing a good job serving me --you know who you are," I interjected, grinning to the five girls who had sucked and licked my team under the table while we had enjoyed sport with their sisters in bondage. All five of them blushed and fought back smiles, keeping their lips sealed, and clearly showing excitement even for the lashing they were each about to receive. I looked back to the four girls who had been offensive; displeasing to me, "--and four of you for doing a Bad job." Those four visibly trembled again. I gazed down upon them a second longer to let them know how much fun I was going to have with that counter-abuse; that response to their abusive choices; the way they had chosen to take offense to what I expected of them.
One of the men working at the tavern came over, mug in hand, for a closer look; he was interested in front-row seats for his spectating. I nodded once to him, taking the coiled whip off my belt hook again and letting the nine girls hear its tight flexing before walking out of their fields of view; behind them, where I let the whip fall to the floor, giving a few of them another visible shiver and tiny jolt. It was clear they knew the hot kiss of the whip well, for girls who don't... tend to cry and beg more than silently tremble at its anticipation.
I looked over to see Nyria now mounting a man who was sitting at the edge of one booth in the corner, his knees out over the leather cushion, his feet on the floor past the table, keeping their placement wide so that one of his friends could stand behind Nyria's back, inserting his cock into her asshole while he fucked her pussy. Nyria relaxed for both of them, taking the double penetration expertly, and beamed a lovely, inviting, genuine smile over to another of their friends, eagerly waving him over to fuck her mouth at the same time, making it triple penetration. I knew she would get them all to cum in her near the exact same second, for she was just that good; she was an Inisfreean girl; best nymphs in the Universe.
My whip, masterfully crafted by still other of my Inisfreean girls, fell viciously, and with a loud pop like the report of lightning, upon each of the nine bought waitresses' bare backs, one at a time, taking my time between each one as I got the perfect distance, angle, and stance. They cried out, each girl falling forward and gripping piteously at the floor as she fought to remain kneeling, rather than just roll over into a ball; the fetal position, and rock herself as her whipped back began to burn along the pink line swelling across it.
One of the girls; one of the good ones, of course, lost her composure and left her kneeling position, almost in a frenzy. I was about to charge her and beat her back down into it, literally hitting her in the face as my other hand got a fistful of her hair and yanked her head violently around by it even as I returned her down into that kneeling position, but I noticed she had tears of love in her eyes as she hurried to me, and that, even before I could react, she was dropping back down into that kneeling position right at my very feet, almost frantically, with hands trembling in eagerness rather than fear or pain, making ready to open up my trousers to get out my cock and return to sucking it, as she had when ordered under our table before.
"Master!" her eyes were bright, she knowing herself finally, truly, fully owned by a real man who would work her charms out well and best of all, like never before. "May this lowly, worthless slave girl beg to taste your great cock one more time, here and now, that she might honor herself with the swallowing of your seed in hungry, greedy gulps? Master, a girl begs it! This girl begs to earn some honor as a good female in this way, Master!" She was serious, through and through. Had she been trying to avoid punishments, she would have been slain; fucked to death, and in no way she would enjoy.
I smirked, it becoming a very pleased, very surprised, very entertained grin, and nodded once to her.
Her hands, still trembling with need, closed upon the sides of my trousers about its zipper, like the talons of a starving bird of prey finally clutching at its long sought after fish, and in no time at all, she had expertly, carefully, yet quickly produced my cock from behind that fabric, and sucked it all the way to its hilt into her mouth and throat, making that gulping motion to slide her tongue back and forth upon its most sensitive part; its underside. I knew I would cum again in no time, and that she would swallow it all, almost inhaling it with her feminine want; her insatiable craving, having been found out, selected, and purchased by a truly great master.
The three men of my team had begun getting fistfuls of the other bought waitresses' hair, lifting them up by it, and attaching tethers and leashes to their collars; girls were tethered in pairs by a chain, then led around by both a leather leash and a fistful of their hair, kept to heel those three men close at their sides, walking and stumbling, bend over into awkward positions so that their heads were below those men's chest levels. Each man easily controlled two of the nine girls; six girls in their charge, with the one girl who still had our cum all over her face, and my drink all in her literal mop of hair, tethered to the girl who, with her, Nyria would take charge of. The ninth girl was mine to march back to our Spaceship back in the parking lot a block away from this tavern. She got no tether, as I could already tell she would be one of my latest heart slaves; one of the girls who loved me so much that she was, as Goreans like to say, tethered to my feet; unable to leave or hate me.
My cum began to flow out onto the back of her tongue, filling her throat, and she continued sucking and bobbing her head with pride, want, hunger, focus, heart, and skill, looking up at me only to see if I wanted her to swallow it right away. I nodded once, casually observing her from my lofty position above her. Her hands gripped the sides of my legs, just below my hips, steadying me and herself to help her do a perfect job, and she, with her eyes still gazing up lovingly into mine, began to gulp down the pool of my sperm still flowing out and collecting in the back of her mouth. Her eyes rolled up and back into her head as she swallowed it, and I could tell it was involuntary; she really was what, on Earth, they affectionately call a 'cum whore'.
Meanwhile, I could tell Nyria was finishing off her last group of interested patrons. Once their cum was inside her, she made her rounds again, passing by every table who had enjoyed her services, giving them high fives, hugs, passionate French kisses, and a few more quick pokes to enjoy being inside her before she hurried back to her master; me. The patrons raised their mugs in toast to her, cheering three times and waving, and she blew them kisses and giddily returned to me, interlacing her fingers with my own, and covering our joined hands with her free one, giving me a peck on the side of my jaw, her eyes alight with that freshly fucked look, and her skin aglow as she fought to keep her hair and the irises of her eyes from flashing and rapidly changing through all the visible colors; the natural Inisfreean reaction to sexual love; something Outlanders were generally forbidden from seeing, as our species was still a big secret.
"I just got fucked by 50 guys!" she beamed, almost choking on her words, she was so happy and satisfied.
"I love you, sweety," I told her.
"I love you, too, daddy," she squeezed my hand in both of hers, turning her bubbly gaze down to the new heart-slave who had now finished swallowing my sperm and was now waiting for my signal to permit her to stop sucking my cock.
I nodded to the girl, waving her up to stand before me, and she hurriedly did so, unable to stop blushing and beaming that winning smile of hers. She was remarkably beautiful, like all her sisters in bondage who I had just purchased, and she stood a head shorter than me; my favorite height for a girl. With light and overflowing love in her eyes, she maintained perfect posture, proud of her nudity and usage, and, perhaps, even prouder of her new master, as she eagerly received my leash to her collar; the only two things she now wore.
As my team of five, with our nine purchases, stepped off, as one, toward the tavern's door, the proprietor raised his hand, but not to wave us goodbye; he was asking us to wait a moment. "My friends," he said smiling, clearly having enjoyed the show, "because you put on such a good show, even servicing 50 of my customers with your own slave slut," (that was a deep compliment to Nyria, who blushed and beamed a thankful smile to the man for choosing such flattering words so treasured by her and all her kind), "please allow me to give you one more girl of your choosing, on the house."
My team smiled, and I smiled, perhaps, the most to him. "You are a friend, indeed," I told him, "and a great one, at that."
The men of my team snapped their fingers and pointed at the floor in front of the nine bought waitresses, all of whom immediately fell back to their knees, waiting like sitting dogs, though in the Gorean equivalent positions.
The proprietor clapped his hands twice loudly, calling over the din of the tavern to the males who worked for him, "Line up all our girls!"
Another two dozen waitresses, as well as kitchen wenches, and a few new girls who had not yet even been trained to wait on tables, were hurried out from all their places in the building, joining the hostess, all of which were in diaphanous silk exposing all of their beauty. All of them had metal slave collars on, thin but unbreakable by their kind, and all of them were quite lovely.
I complimented the proprietor, "You have an eye for beauty, and I'd buy them all if it wouldn't bring your business this evening to a screeching halt."
He chuckled and nodded his thanks to me from behind the bar where he observed my review of his wenches.
Nyria took the leashes of the last two tethered waitresses we'd already bought, making ready to yank them to their feet to heel her, she, too, making quick use of her fists to hold their heads of hair.
I stood before the two dozen girls standing in a row, silent, obedient, before us all. I looked over each one, inspecting each of them the way one inspects a weapon or an archaeological find; I felt every muscle group, fingered their pussies and assholes, held open their lips and cheeks to see how their teeth looked, examined how bilateral each of their faces and hairlines were, and even checked to see if I liked the way their ear lobes were shaped. As I did this, my city, lightyears away, used algorithms, like Pandora music would, to determine what I would find to be the perfected versions of each of those girls standing before me here on this distant world, and it began to mass-flash-clone their perfected versions, that I might not have to pick and choose between them here; that I get to enjoy them all --and much more so than I could have enjoyed an imperfect original out here in one of the human realms.
Returning to stand in front of one of the tan, blonde, dark eyebrowed, blue eyed girls, I canted my head, making my decision. "I choose this slave," I said, keeping my eyes looking casually piercingly down into hers. Hers went wide, and she fought a smile, loving having been selected, and loving the overwhelmingly masculine aura I gave off. She was basking in it. She was already getting wet between her legs, I could easily tell. "This little Barbie doll shall be mine."
She gulped, tearing up, wanting so badly to throw her arms around me, even having seen how completely I had used and abused her sisters in bondage. Such was the nature of females, and such a huge part of what I loved about their gender.
The proprietor nodded to his male staff, who hurried the rest of those two dozen girls back to their stations, and called across his bar to me, "She is yours. Enjoy, good sir."
I smiled and nodded to him, producing one more tether from my small backpack, which Nyria then put on to carry for me. Tethering this tenth girl to the one who had so hungrily sucked me off a second time, I nodded to the men on my team, and we, our party, now of 15, merrily marched back out of the tavern, waving again to the proprietor and his staff, as well as to the patrons, who again cheered, and loudly, for us all, but especially for our lovely Nyria, literal sex goddess of the team. She beamed and blushed and waved happily to them all, blowing kisses on her way out the door, having maintained the leash for her two girls, and one fistful in one of their head's of hair, as she did. The bar door finally closed behind us, and we were back on way across that downtown street toward the parking lot of our Spaceship.
A few minutes later, we were marching our purchase (and the gift which augmented it; the tenth girl from the tavern) up into the tailgate ramp into the cargo chamber of our Spaceship, the Firefly I'd named Persephone, in honor of the original sex, love, and beauty goddess, also known as Venus, Freyja, and Aphrodite. We told the ten girls to assume that same kneeling position we all knew and loved, which they promptly did, some with dread in their eyes, others with overflowing love and thanks, and locked them to one wall of this chamber by chains connecting their collars to the rings bolted into its surface. They were now ready for shipment.
Having built my true home at long last, I now had no chores to tend to myself whatsoever; full of many millions of loyal and loving, epicly lovely slaves, all my cooking, cleaning, driving, mending, piloting, sailing, sewing, and vehicle maintenance was done For me. Now I spent all my time either enjoying my many wonderful inventions in that home of mine, or using some of them as part of the fun of my resumed travels and adventures around my home planet and, now, around the rest of the Universe.
Strolling through the biggest cities and suburbs of all the appealing worlds I learned of, my home's supercomputer monitored what I saw and was aroused by, flash-cloning the perfected versions (bodies and minds; personalities, talents, and tendencies) of all the extremely beautiful and sexy girls I saw along the way, singing them into existence in its cloning vats in batches of 50, and beginning their training and educating automatically, that they be ready for me upon my return trips home.
At a tavern on one human-occupied world far out across my home galaxy, I, my assistant; the shockingly beautiful Nyria Serra, and a few other men from my ship (Brahan, Augustine, and Sasha), enjoyed taking turns snapping our fingers to summon nearby slave girls to our table's side, that we might see which among them best knew how to promptly serve and promptly please real men. Those who gasped or reddened, or were otherwise noticeably offended, having inappropriate pride and other inappropriate feelings unbecoming of a female, were bent over the table and very rudely, very roughly used right there and then; rudeness for rudeness, then casually commanded to stay like that, they they be casually fingered and re-used, again and again, at our leisure, throughout the rest of our drinking, dining, and discourse. Many dozens of girls, we tested and screened like this. Those who enjoyed this treatment, we directed to kneel between our legs, under the table, and suck on our cocks (in Nyria's case, lovingly licking her pussy while Nyria and I lovingly French kissed, side by side, above them), pausing only when we rose, feeling like making use of those who did Not enjoy this treatment, again rudely, roughly, fully making use of all the girls who took offense to our natures and irreproachable culture.
One girl in particular, I found entertaining. She had clenched her fists and almost cried out at times, almost sobbing at others, as she was put through her paces, being told to strip and hold her hair above her head, rotating on her bare feet to show us her entire body from every possible angle. We came all over her face, fucked her asshole without lubricant, then made her kneel, still sore and shamed for her evil reactions (rude responses to our desires), where she could see her sisters in bondage constantly sucking our cocks (and licking Nyria's pussy) under the table which she was the waitress of. We ignored her as she refilled our drinks, slapped and spanked her when she wasn't hurrying enough, then asked her who her best friends were here in the tavern; which of the other slave girls she liked or loved, extracting the truth from her as expertly as interrogation officers needing only mind tricks, never once having to twist her arm.
One by one, we signaled over her favorites, abused them much, and even whipped one down as she walked away, asking her, as we continued whipping her right there in the tavern, why she wasn't running to fetch us our ordered drinks. Anything less than running was unacceptable; rude in how slow it was, lacking duty, loyalty, and a sense of urgency which all females must possess in order to avoid the lash and much worse. Then we told the whole tavern, quite audibly and mirthfully, that it was she who had told us who to single out like that, probably alienating her from all her friends for the rest of her stay there.
"I would enslave you as my own, stupid worthless wench," I told the beauty kneeling before us, her face covered in overlapping lines of our cum clinging to it, "but I think it a more fitting hell for you to remain here, having been reduced as you now are, for now you are not only a serving slave, but one hated most by all your sisters in lowly bondage," I casually smiled to her, becoming aroused as she gulped, beginning to silently weep. We taught her well the meaning of her slavery.
Her best friend was now running back, as our lashings had taught her in front of every patron and proprietor in her tavern, with the drinks we had ordered her to fetch us. I saw the fear in her eyes. She dared not spill a drop of any one of them. She was hurried and careful, more purposeful and alert than ever before. "Your drinks, Masters and Mistress," she smilled, showing us her loveliest side amidst equally lovely, almost successfully hidden trembling. I didn't bother to inform her that in my culture; the Inisfreean Way, because females of my species; the Inisfreeans, are extensions of myself, and because I just don't care much for the sound of the word 'mistress', we address our female leaders as 'Master Females', not 'Mistresses'. She didn't need to know such things yet. We accepted the drinks from her, waving her off to serve other patrons who'd grown impressed with both her newfound speed and the patrons; us, who'd stimulated it from her.
I emptied my entire mug onto the head of the most offensive waitress slave who was still kneeling at our table side, pouring its liquid contents down all through her luxurious hair, soaking her chest and belly, forcing her to sit in its spreading puddle as she blinked to regain vision, seeing only her sisters continuing to suck and lick our team's genitals; she was not, of course, allowed to direct her gaze anywhere but where we had told her to. The drink served me better when soaking and degrading her like that. I noticed she was continuing to battle her emotions; fighting back explosions of sadness, humiliation, and sobbing. I much enjoyed this, for she had earned all of it and more for her appallingly rude ways.
Waving to some patrons, and one barkeeper, who were occasionally looking over at us, the most demanding, yet also most casually in control, table in their whole establishment, we indicated our manners and friendliness, assuring them we meant no harm to any, save their slave girls, and had ample coin to compensate them for all we enjoyed and spilled upon their tavern floor. The barkeeper finally grinned, chuckling, and returned to his other patrons seated on the barstools before his countertop, and we, in turn, returned to enjoying the use of his enslaved waitresses.
"Slave," I said to the one most soiled; the girl, kneeling, her face covered in my team's cum squirts, "mop up that spilled drink with your pretty hair." I hadn't even looked her way when giving her this command. I heard her huff, almost choking down another wave of tears, and lean forward, knowing she must remain kneeling with her knees wide open, as we had not told her to change her position; only to begin mopping, thus meaning she must do so while still in that kneeling position. As she continued attempting to mop up all of my overturned drink with her hair, at least that which was not still clinging to her stripped body, I deigned to observe, and rested the sole of my boot on her back as she proceeded. We all knew she wouldn't succeed in mopping that way, but that wasn't the point. "Make sure you use your pretty slave whore face, too," I casually smiled down to her, and she began to. "No, no; really rub it firmly against the floor. Get the grime into your pores for me." She finally began to cry, no longer able to hold it in, and, of course, continued to obey me. I dropped a copper coin on her head, leaving my boot on her back as I resumed chatting with my team.
After we had partaken of the cooking and refreshments of the tavern to our hearts' and stomachs' contents, we made additional use of those same wenches in the more traditional places; the curtained booths, found in the back of all such taverns on countless worlds across the Universe, where heavy metal rings built into the walls and furniture help patrons of those wares to secure the girls for more frightening and complete usage. Nyria, our only female team member, was no exception; we traded places back and forth between these curtained booths, using half a dozen of the enslaved waitresses at a time, entertaining the sometimes cheering patrons back in the rest of the tavern with those collared and chained, bound and beaten, slave girls' cries and loud, frantic pleas for mercy. The rest of the tavern could clearly hear that we were using all of their holes, as well as choking, spanking, slapping, and throwing them around back there. Once we had each had our turn with each of these girls, we unchained them from the metal rings and allowed them to flee from behind our booths' curtains. They ran, tears streaming down their faces, into another wave of cheering and clapping and mug beating on the tables and countertop, back to the kitchen to be cleaned up for an immediate return to their waitressing duties amongst all those entertained patrons.
"Are any of your wenches for sale?" I asked the proprietor, who was still chuckling at our unprecedented use of his lovely wares.
"All wenches are always for sale," he reminded me; a common expression on all wise worlds; all worlds which keep their females in the bondage both sexes naturally need to feel good.
I smiled and nodded a bit. "Would your business be able to continue in stride this day if I purchase some of them?"
The man grinned, again chuckling a bit, appreciative of my concern, and a bit entertained at how I phrased things and carried myself; half regally, half comically, and nodded 'yes'.
"Then might I summon my selections... and square away our tab?"
Nodding once more, he went to fetch the tab from farther down along his countertop.
My team readied to depart, Nyria making her rounds along the tables to see if any of the men or women wanted to make use of her before she left. They beamed, thrilled at the prospect, and asked her how much. To their further delight and thrills, she beautifully smiled and shook her head; there would be no cost to them this day, for her master; me, had set her price to free.
The girls we had used behind the curtains had begun to come back out from the kitchen, their heads down, more rounds of drinks in the pitchers they carried out for the other, less shocking tables and less demanding patrons. When they saw us still in the tavern, watching them with knowing smirks, they looked away, horrified, and tried to seem hurried, purposeful, and busy. We snapped our fingers once they had served their tables, being polite to the other patrons, who raised their refilled mugs to us, smiling in thanks for that courtesy, and their waitresses then hurried back to us, trembling again, wondering what we could possibly want next from them.
"What is your price?" each of the men on my team, and I, asked them once they had reached us, dropping to their knees before us in the polite slave girl waiting position.
"One copper coin, Master," each girl would whisper, thinking we meant her price for sexual usage behind the curtains of the back booths.
"For owning you," we would clarify.
Each girl then began to tremble, lowering her head a little bit more, keeping her eyes downcast from our own, and trying not to shake her pitcher with her increased trembling. "That is for my Master to decide, Master," they would then say, almost choking down another wave of dread and tears, knowing their new slaveries would be even more difficult than the waitressing they were already straining to adjust to.
Moans of pleasure and smacks of palms on bared flesh filled the tavern as Nyria mounted, and was mounted by, one table of patrons after another. No one was lining up for her, but only because she had assured each table interested in using her that she would get to them all before her Master finished purchasing some of the waitresses. Being born an Inisfreean, it was impossible for her pussy to get loose or droopy, so I was much enjoying her always enthusiastic, super-nymph performances as the background music (and visuals) to my slave purchasing work up near the bar and door.
I politely told the proprietor returning with our tab which of his waitresses I'd selected. He gave me a bulk discount, as I'd chosen nine; five of the good girls (the ones who'd been eager to be degraded; who we'd then kept sucking our cocks and licking Nyria's pussy while we finished our drinks and meal) and four of the bad girls (the ones who'd thought themselves able to get away with rudely expressing emotions indicating offense at being used however we pleased). One of those four bad girls was the one we'd abused (punished) the most; the girl who had been kept kneeling at our table side after we'd cum all over her face, and who had had to keep looking directly at her five fellow waitresses who continued to suck our cocks and lick Nyria's pussy beneath that table she was kept kneeling beside, and who had then been made to mop up the drink I poured on her and the floor with her hair while I rested my boot on her back. She was particularly terrified, trembling more than the others, her neck tense, her eyes shut, her head to the side a bit, her shoulders up and forward, waiting for her next mistreatment at the hands a true master, knowing that anything less than instant obedience and acceptance would mean a brutal beating from her previous owner, the proprietor of the tavern, and suicide for her if she failed to respond that way to her new owner; myself.
Handing the proprietor a small bag of coins equaling our tab, plus the discounted price of the nine waitresses, plus a handsome gratuity, I looked over to see Nyria grinding on another of the male patrons, straddling him tightly, and encouraging him to grab her tits and ass and throat even more firmly, helping him to get all of his cum out and up into her depths. I estimated she would need another five minutes to finish off the last of the interested patrons that well, so I told all of the bought waitresses to kneel in a row before me. They hurriedly did so, moving more quickly than ever before, kneeling as female pleasure slaves are taught to, and making a much more professional show of it now, having been so well taught by my methods.
My teammates; the three crewmen of my Spaceship, stepped back a bit, grinning, and watched the nine girls from off to their row's side, waiting to see what I'd do next. Nyria, in the background, was eyelocking with the latest man she had mounted, whispering into his panting lips, "Cum for me, baby. Cum deep inside mami. Deeeeep inside me. I want it all."
I grinned at this, watching it for a few seconds as the man was clearly starting to reach the point of no return, and then cast a cold, dark, merciless gaze down upon my nine new pieces of property. They shivered at this, feeling my gaze's foreboding vibe as much as seeing it, while the man in the background shivered with Nyria, who was now licking well inside his ear, helping his legs to shake as he erupted his seed all the way up into her pussy, splashing and grinding it against her G-spot, to which she moaned out a loud sex cry, which made the man cum all the more, making his final squirts even harder into her. It occurred to me that this was being paired in these nine waitresses' subconsciouses, making them associate what I was putting them through... with the finest and most thrilling of co-climaxes; simultaneous, mutual orgasms. This was good, and no coincidence, I also realized.
"I am going to whip each of you once, right here where you now kneel; five of you for doing a good job serving me --you know who you are," I interjected, grinning to the five girls who had sucked and licked my team under the table while we had enjoyed sport with their sisters in bondage. All five of them blushed and fought back smiles, keeping their lips sealed, and clearly showing excitement even for the lashing they were each about to receive. I looked back to the four girls who had been offensive; displeasing to me, "--and four of you for doing a Bad job." Those four visibly trembled again. I gazed down upon them a second longer to let them know how much fun I was going to have with that counter-abuse; that response to their abusive choices; the way they had chosen to take offense to what I expected of them.
One of the men working at the tavern came over, mug in hand, for a closer look; he was interested in front-row seats for his spectating. I nodded once to him, taking the coiled whip off my belt hook again and letting the nine girls hear its tight flexing before walking out of their fields of view; behind them, where I let the whip fall to the floor, giving a few of them another visible shiver and tiny jolt. It was clear they knew the hot kiss of the whip well, for girls who don't... tend to cry and beg more than silently tremble at its anticipation.
I looked over to see Nyria now mounting a man who was sitting at the edge of one booth in the corner, his knees out over the leather cushion, his feet on the floor past the table, keeping their placement wide so that one of his friends could stand behind Nyria's back, inserting his cock into her asshole while he fucked her pussy. Nyria relaxed for both of them, taking the double penetration expertly, and beamed a lovely, inviting, genuine smile over to another of their friends, eagerly waving him over to fuck her mouth at the same time, making it triple penetration. I knew she would get them all to cum in her near the exact same second, for she was just that good; she was an Inisfreean girl; best nymphs in the Universe.
My whip, masterfully crafted by still other of my Inisfreean girls, fell viciously, and with a loud pop like the report of lightning, upon each of the nine bought waitresses' bare backs, one at a time, taking my time between each one as I got the perfect distance, angle, and stance. They cried out, each girl falling forward and gripping piteously at the floor as she fought to remain kneeling, rather than just roll over into a ball; the fetal position, and rock herself as her whipped back began to burn along the pink line swelling across it.
One of the girls; one of the good ones, of course, lost her composure and left her kneeling position, almost in a frenzy. I was about to charge her and beat her back down into it, literally hitting her in the face as my other hand got a fistful of her hair and yanked her head violently around by it even as I returned her down into that kneeling position, but I noticed she had tears of love in her eyes as she hurried to me, and that, even before I could react, she was dropping back down into that kneeling position right at my very feet, almost frantically, with hands trembling in eagerness rather than fear or pain, making ready to open up my trousers to get out my cock and return to sucking it, as she had when ordered under our table before.
"Master!" her eyes were bright, she knowing herself finally, truly, fully owned by a real man who would work her charms out well and best of all, like never before. "May this lowly, worthless slave girl beg to taste your great cock one more time, here and now, that she might honor herself with the swallowing of your seed in hungry, greedy gulps? Master, a girl begs it! This girl begs to earn some honor as a good female in this way, Master!" She was serious, through and through. Had she been trying to avoid punishments, she would have been slain; fucked to death, and in no way she would enjoy.
I smirked, it becoming a very pleased, very surprised, very entertained grin, and nodded once to her.
Her hands, still trembling with need, closed upon the sides of my trousers about its zipper, like the talons of a starving bird of prey finally clutching at its long sought after fish, and in no time at all, she had expertly, carefully, yet quickly produced my cock from behind that fabric, and sucked it all the way to its hilt into her mouth and throat, making that gulping motion to slide her tongue back and forth upon its most sensitive part; its underside. I knew I would cum again in no time, and that she would swallow it all, almost inhaling it with her feminine want; her insatiable craving, having been found out, selected, and purchased by a truly great master.
The three men of my team had begun getting fistfuls of the other bought waitresses' hair, lifting them up by it, and attaching tethers and leashes to their collars; girls were tethered in pairs by a chain, then led around by both a leather leash and a fistful of their hair, kept to heel those three men close at their sides, walking and stumbling, bend over into awkward positions so that their heads were below those men's chest levels. Each man easily controlled two of the nine girls; six girls in their charge, with the one girl who still had our cum all over her face, and my drink all in her literal mop of hair, tethered to the girl who, with her, Nyria would take charge of. The ninth girl was mine to march back to our Spaceship back in the parking lot a block away from this tavern. She got no tether, as I could already tell she would be one of my latest heart slaves; one of the girls who loved me so much that she was, as Goreans like to say, tethered to my feet; unable to leave or hate me.
My cum began to flow out onto the back of her tongue, filling her throat, and she continued sucking and bobbing her head with pride, want, hunger, focus, heart, and skill, looking up at me only to see if I wanted her to swallow it right away. I nodded once, casually observing her from my lofty position above her. Her hands gripped the sides of my legs, just below my hips, steadying me and herself to help her do a perfect job, and she, with her eyes still gazing up lovingly into mine, began to gulp down the pool of my sperm still flowing out and collecting in the back of her mouth. Her eyes rolled up and back into her head as she swallowed it, and I could tell it was involuntary; she really was what, on Earth, they affectionately call a 'cum whore'.
Meanwhile, I could tell Nyria was finishing off her last group of interested patrons. Once their cum was inside her, she made her rounds again, passing by every table who had enjoyed her services, giving them high fives, hugs, passionate French kisses, and a few more quick pokes to enjoy being inside her before she hurried back to her master; me. The patrons raised their mugs in toast to her, cheering three times and waving, and she blew them kisses and giddily returned to me, interlacing her fingers with my own, and covering our joined hands with her free one, giving me a peck on the side of my jaw, her eyes alight with that freshly fucked look, and her skin aglow as she fought to keep her hair and the irises of her eyes from flashing and rapidly changing through all the visible colors; the natural Inisfreean reaction to sexual love; something Outlanders were generally forbidden from seeing, as our species was still a big secret.
"I just got fucked by 50 guys!" she beamed, almost choking on her words, she was so happy and satisfied.
"I love you, sweety," I told her.
"I love you, too, daddy," she squeezed my hand in both of hers, turning her bubbly gaze down to the new heart-slave who had now finished swallowing my sperm and was now waiting for my signal to permit her to stop sucking my cock.
I nodded to the girl, waving her up to stand before me, and she hurriedly did so, unable to stop blushing and beaming that winning smile of hers. She was remarkably beautiful, like all her sisters in bondage who I had just purchased, and she stood a head shorter than me; my favorite height for a girl. With light and overflowing love in her eyes, she maintained perfect posture, proud of her nudity and usage, and, perhaps, even prouder of her new master, as she eagerly received my leash to her collar; the only two things she now wore.
As my team of five, with our nine purchases, stepped off, as one, toward the tavern's door, the proprietor raised his hand, but not to wave us goodbye; he was asking us to wait a moment. "My friends," he said smiling, clearly having enjoyed the show, "because you put on such a good show, even servicing 50 of my customers with your own slave slut," (that was a deep compliment to Nyria, who blushed and beamed a thankful smile to the man for choosing such flattering words so treasured by her and all her kind), "please allow me to give you one more girl of your choosing, on the house."
My team smiled, and I smiled, perhaps, the most to him. "You are a friend, indeed," I told him, "and a great one, at that."
The men of my team snapped their fingers and pointed at the floor in front of the nine bought waitresses, all of whom immediately fell back to their knees, waiting like sitting dogs, though in the Gorean equivalent positions.
The proprietor clapped his hands twice loudly, calling over the din of the tavern to the males who worked for him, "Line up all our girls!"
Another two dozen waitresses, as well as kitchen wenches, and a few new girls who had not yet even been trained to wait on tables, were hurried out from all their places in the building, joining the hostess, all of which were in diaphanous silk exposing all of their beauty. All of them had metal slave collars on, thin but unbreakable by their kind, and all of them were quite lovely.
I complimented the proprietor, "You have an eye for beauty, and I'd buy them all if it wouldn't bring your business this evening to a screeching halt."
He chuckled and nodded his thanks to me from behind the bar where he observed my review of his wenches.
Nyria took the leashes of the last two tethered waitresses we'd already bought, making ready to yank them to their feet to heel her, she, too, making quick use of her fists to hold their heads of hair.
I stood before the two dozen girls standing in a row, silent, obedient, before us all. I looked over each one, inspecting each of them the way one inspects a weapon or an archaeological find; I felt every muscle group, fingered their pussies and assholes, held open their lips and cheeks to see how their teeth looked, examined how bilateral each of their faces and hairlines were, and even checked to see if I liked the way their ear lobes were shaped. As I did this, my city, lightyears away, used algorithms, like Pandora music would, to determine what I would find to be the perfected versions of each of those girls standing before me here on this distant world, and it began to mass-flash-clone their perfected versions, that I might not have to pick and choose between them here; that I get to enjoy them all --and much more so than I could have enjoyed an imperfect original out here in one of the human realms.
Returning to stand in front of one of the tan, blonde, dark eyebrowed, blue eyed girls, I canted my head, making my decision. "I choose this slave," I said, keeping my eyes looking casually piercingly down into hers. Hers went wide, and she fought a smile, loving having been selected, and loving the overwhelmingly masculine aura I gave off. She was basking in it. She was already getting wet between her legs, I could easily tell. "This little Barbie doll shall be mine."
She gulped, tearing up, wanting so badly to throw her arms around me, even having seen how completely I had used and abused her sisters in bondage. Such was the nature of females, and such a huge part of what I loved about their gender.
The proprietor nodded to his male staff, who hurried the rest of those two dozen girls back to their stations, and called across his bar to me, "She is yours. Enjoy, good sir."
I smiled and nodded to him, producing one more tether from my small backpack, which Nyria then put on to carry for me. Tethering this tenth girl to the one who had so hungrily sucked me off a second time, I nodded to the men on my team, and we, our party, now of 15, merrily marched back out of the tavern, waving again to the proprietor and his staff, as well as to the patrons, who again cheered, and loudly, for us all, but especially for our lovely Nyria, literal sex goddess of the team. She beamed and blushed and waved happily to them all, blowing kisses on her way out the door, having maintained the leash for her two girls, and one fistful in one of their head's of hair, as she did. The bar door finally closed behind us, and we were back on way across that downtown street toward the parking lot of our Spaceship.
A few minutes later, we were marching our purchase (and the gift which augmented it; the tenth girl from the tavern) up into the tailgate ramp into the cargo chamber of our Spaceship, the Firefly I'd named Persephone, in honor of the original sex, love, and beauty goddess, also known as Venus, Freyja, and Aphrodite. We told the ten girls to assume that same kneeling position we all knew and loved, which they promptly did, some with dread in their eyes, others with overflowing love and thanks, and locked them to one wall of this chamber by chains connecting their collars to the rings bolted into its surface. They were now ready for shipment.
Chapter 2: Browsing the Brothel Boulevard
Back from our ship, no longer burdened by our first purchases, my team and I went window-shopping; back along the downtown strip, and, for the first time in a downtown area, because of my compatible company, and compatible activity, I was having fun. Together, we pointed at and picked out girls aged 18 to 8; whichever were developed enough to be attractive to us, and purchased them into our tow of leashed and tethered beauties. Those who had yet to enter puberty did, of course, not know it yet, but they and their parents (or owners) would be spared from what foolish Outlanders thought were unavoidable years of acting out rebelliously, often around the age of 13. Being trained in the sexual arts, as well as encouraged, protected, and helped to satisfy their newfound sexual appetites at the point of their natural onset, not only would they never feel the need to act out as their kind always did in the repressive Outlands, confused and wrongfully pressured, but they would also never develop acne or other hormonal issues. They would remain balanced through it all, with a much smoother transition into and through puberty, never once even bothering us; their new masters, or even themselves.
We stopped families and couples passing by, too, asking how much they wanted for their females. Brothers, fathers, husbands, mothers, and sisters alike were proud that a female from their family was found attractive and chosen by our kind, and each of them genuinely thanked us, sometimes refusing any payment at all, saying things such as "Your approval and want of my daughter/sister/wife is payment enough. Thank you for making our day."
Teary eyed, sometimes in shock and fear, though sometimes instead in joyous surprise and newfound pride, these girls were collared, leashed, and tethered as we took them, too, into our charge, marching them around as we continued to window-shop, making one or two purchases about every other block as we made our way along the main street of this latest city's downtown. The girls could tell we were looking at them; checking them out as they walked around us, swaying and strutting their stuff for us, and encouraging their sisters in our bondage, and the lot of us were all smiles, happy as could be.
One man came out from his shop to speak with us, seeing our growing collection of those slave girls, and shoved the one he was holding by her arm out toward us. "Forgive me, gentlemen and lady," he began, referring by 'lady' to Nyria, "but I thought you might enjoy breaking this one, that she someday become slightly more than worthless. You see, I am too busy to finish training her myself, and you all look like very professional, upstanding slavers. I'd hate to be responsible for an unbroken girl, especially having had this opportunity to offer her to You."
I dipped my head in thanks to the man, looking over the girl shoved out to us, who was clearly defiant, and, thereby, who would clearly by Very fun to break to my will, and again nodded back to the man, then affirming, "We happily accept, and will break her well."
The girl tossed her hair, snubbing me. I immediately grabbed her throat and threw her to the ground. She cried out, glaring up at me as she coughed and held her throat. I swatted her hand away, slapped her so hard across her face that she flew a couple feet to fall over on her other side, and then let her, clearly seeing stars from the harsh blow, grab my wrist and forearm with both of her hands while I again took firm hold of her throat.
"Release me, you brute! You bastard!" she yelled, half choking under my merciless, precise grip allowing her to make just the kind of protest I wanted from her at this point in our relationship. "I am of noble birth! -of high caste! I will see you all sued in court for this, arrested for assault!"
She hadn't yet realized my godlike strength and invulnerability, still clinging to my wrist and forearm, and still thinking it possible that she might persuade me to change my mind about how she would be used by me.
The man raised his hand, palm up, in her direction, saying with the gesture, in a friendly way to us, 'See? What did I tell you?'
I chuckled, nodding my thanks to him for the friendly warning which had turned out to be honest and accurate. "You are a kind man," I told him, "and a credit to your community for having made this judgment call. Are you offering this gutter whore to us for free, or would you prefer some form of payment?" I returned his courtesy.
The man thought for a moment, looking over our sizable collection of tethered and collared, recently purchased slave girls. "It looks like you must have already spent a small fortune today. Our community is probably enjoying stuffed pockets and fat wallets because of your passing through. It is also something to consider that you are doing me a favor, and that your presence here comes with perfect timing." He paused for a moment, thinking. "I won't ask you for any coin, though I do have time for a quickie with one of your girls."
"No, no, good sir," I tell him, still holding the struggling girl by her throat, keeping her kneeling on the dirt of the ground in the unpaved street before us all; "I will compensate you for your troubles before our arrival. I am sure you paid well for such a beauty."
The girl, though still being choked by my unyielding and unbreakable grip on her throat, blushed and looked away for a moment, confused by the new rush of emotions at my manly compliment to her owner about her.
"I recommend Nyria; the one free-woman in our group here this day. She is the best at all things sexual, having studied such subjects for two decades and counting now." I looked her way, indicating her in that way to the man.
Nyria hid the start of a smirk, remembering her age; though forever appearing to be a teenager, she was now more than 500 years old, and had indeed studied all sexual subjects for more than two decades, but that was not something we told humans, who assumed their kind lived the longest, at 100 to 200 years, and that they couldn't maintain their sexiness beyond about 40.
The man quirked a brow in interest unabashed, and began to grin.
Nyria, holding two of our recent purchases by their hair, and keeping their heads back, winces on their faces, as they struggled to balance and not resist the odd posture she had put them in, curtsied to the man, licking her lips as she stared at her groin for a moment to let him know she would play very, very well with him.
"But, of course, you are welcome to make use of Any of these girls. We have a little time before we must return to our ship," I added.
"I'll trust your assessment, as you have trusted mine, and make use of your Nyria," he then said, bowing a bit to me, then looking to Nyria with his right hand out to receive hers.
I nodded to him in a sort of return bow, saying "Then as you have entrusted me with Your wench, I shall entrust you with mine. Unless you wish our audience, I shall have my team return these purchases to our ship, then return here to retrieve Nyria from you."
Nyria handed off her two slave girls to Brahan, the commando of our team; most capable of handling four or more girls at a time without breaking a sweat, and he took charge of their leashes. She then promptly and sexily made her way across the dirt street and up to the man, raising her hand out and up to join with his.
He dipped his head in agreement, receiving Nyria's hand as she lovingly inserted it into his, taking up her cute place at his side.
"But first," I add, realizing how much I was aroused by the combination of a resisting wench and breaking her, like a Drill Instructor breaks a new recruit or draftee, "let us all take turns spitting into this lowly bitch's mouth."
The girl, still held by me by her throat, went wide eyed, struggling more. I easily kept her on her knees before us all, kneeling in the dirt of the street before my strong stance.
Giving her a piercing look so dark and powerful that it would melt Any 'ice princess' and leave her in a puddle of arousal and submission on the floor, I then told her in my smooth, steady, almost musical growl, "You will open wide and relax your entire body as every single one of the people in our group here spits as much as they want into your mouth, and then, when I tell you, and not a moment before or after, you will swallow it all in one gulp, or I will strike you down right here in the street, and crucify your corpse for all to see and know; that here lies the body of a woman who disobeyed a man."
The girl stopped struggling, and gulped, releasing her hands from my wrist and forearm, and opened her mouth a little at first, looking back up into my eyes with defeat, then opened her mouth the rest of the way; as wide as she could. She could feel from the vibe I was giving off, even if she hadn't been able to see any of my body language, or here the conviction and certainty in my voice's tone, that she would indeed die in the next minute if she failed to comply perfectly.
My teammates, except for Nyria, began to get in position, moving the tethered and leashed slave girls in their charge with them. One by one, then sometimes in pairs or groups of three, everyone took at least one turn spitting all the spit they could generate... right into the wide open mouth of this one girl; the only one kneeling. I released my grip of her throat, making it easier on her. We filled up her mouth to nearly overflowing with all of our spit. Nyria, still lovingly holding the local man's hand as if she was his girlfriend or fuck buddy, stood side by side with him in front of her, and, both of them with knowing smirks on their faces, almost evil grins, spit the most into that girl's mouth, and took their time with it, and Nyria even dipped her middle finger down into the pool of spit in the girl's mouth, licking some of it off her fingertip, then spit it back into the girl's mouth, then dipped her tongue down into it, then nodded to me that she was satisfied with her part in it all.
I raised my eyebrows down to the girl to signal her to swallow it all, which she, pausing for a split second in disgusted horror, then did. Her eyes closed, her toes curled inward in tension, and she groaned for a second as her hands went to hold her belly.
"If you throw up, I will make you eat your throw up off this dirt street, and we will fill your mouth up with spit a second time, and as many times as it takes for you to get this right." Again, my voice silenced everyone, and rang truly in its menacing, endlessly serious way. "And if you can't keep down our spit, we will see if you can keep down our urine."
The girl nodded, her eyes still closed, tears forming inside them.
The slave girls we had purchased were very amused that they had gotten to participate in punishing one of their sisters in bondage, and especially like this; with a mouthful of spit.
"She doesn't even say 'Yes, Master.'," I noted to the man, and a bit to the whole group.
The local man, still happily holding Nyria's hand as she stood most agreeably at his side like the good little accessory she was and loved to be, nodded, smirking, chuckling a bit, thinking of what a difficult time he'd had with such a stupid bitch; one who failed to submit in the time he'd had available.
Controlling herself; making sure she kept down that mouthful of spit, she finally, realizing a beating was coming, responded decently to me; "Yes, Master. This worthless slave whore begs your forgiveness, Master. She is very pleased to have been honored with a mouthful of all of your spit to swallow and hold inside her. Please do not kill this stupid, untrained slave, Masters and Mistresses." It was almost a monotone droll, with now-dead eyes, but it was a start. She would resist again later, and have tantrums and other outbursts, as well as lame escape attempts, but it would, ultimately, prove to be good sport.
"Alright, stupid whore dog," I casually said to her, "I will permit you to live another day." I gripped her jaw, my fingers in her mouth and my thumb hooked under her chin, keeping her mouth open, and said to the rest of our group as I brought her up, by gripping her jaw, to stand before me, "Back to the ship to drop off our new property."
My team lead our group of purchases and gifts back, I paying special attention to this unruly slave girl, holding her jaw, and her mouth open, the whole way, as it is far more entertaining to me than leading her, like the good girls, by a leash or their hair, which all females love.
Looking up deeply into the local man's eyes as the rest of us walked off toward our Spaceship, Nyria then said with total sincerity and a deep, deep craving swirling in her belly, "Take me with conviction. Show me the true meaning of what it is to be a woman. Put me in a choke hold. I am yours... for the next half hour. Make it count, daddy. I want to remember you by how much you leave me sore and hurting. Go hard on my kitty."
Again, the man quirked his brow, and quickly took her, by the hand, across the sidewalk and into his store.
Back from our ship, no longer burdened by our first purchases, my team and I went window-shopping; back along the downtown strip, and, for the first time in a downtown area, because of my compatible company, and compatible activity, I was having fun. Together, we pointed at and picked out girls aged 18 to 8; whichever were developed enough to be attractive to us, and purchased them into our tow of leashed and tethered beauties. Those who had yet to enter puberty did, of course, not know it yet, but they and their parents (or owners) would be spared from what foolish Outlanders thought were unavoidable years of acting out rebelliously, often around the age of 13. Being trained in the sexual arts, as well as encouraged, protected, and helped to satisfy their newfound sexual appetites at the point of their natural onset, not only would they never feel the need to act out as their kind always did in the repressive Outlands, confused and wrongfully pressured, but they would also never develop acne or other hormonal issues. They would remain balanced through it all, with a much smoother transition into and through puberty, never once even bothering us; their new masters, or even themselves.
We stopped families and couples passing by, too, asking how much they wanted for their females. Brothers, fathers, husbands, mothers, and sisters alike were proud that a female from their family was found attractive and chosen by our kind, and each of them genuinely thanked us, sometimes refusing any payment at all, saying things such as "Your approval and want of my daughter/sister/wife is payment enough. Thank you for making our day."
Teary eyed, sometimes in shock and fear, though sometimes instead in joyous surprise and newfound pride, these girls were collared, leashed, and tethered as we took them, too, into our charge, marching them around as we continued to window-shop, making one or two purchases about every other block as we made our way along the main street of this latest city's downtown. The girls could tell we were looking at them; checking them out as they walked around us, swaying and strutting their stuff for us, and encouraging their sisters in our bondage, and the lot of us were all smiles, happy as could be.
One man came out from his shop to speak with us, seeing our growing collection of those slave girls, and shoved the one he was holding by her arm out toward us. "Forgive me, gentlemen and lady," he began, referring by 'lady' to Nyria, "but I thought you might enjoy breaking this one, that she someday become slightly more than worthless. You see, I am too busy to finish training her myself, and you all look like very professional, upstanding slavers. I'd hate to be responsible for an unbroken girl, especially having had this opportunity to offer her to You."
I dipped my head in thanks to the man, looking over the girl shoved out to us, who was clearly defiant, and, thereby, who would clearly by Very fun to break to my will, and again nodded back to the man, then affirming, "We happily accept, and will break her well."
The girl tossed her hair, snubbing me. I immediately grabbed her throat and threw her to the ground. She cried out, glaring up at me as she coughed and held her throat. I swatted her hand away, slapped her so hard across her face that she flew a couple feet to fall over on her other side, and then let her, clearly seeing stars from the harsh blow, grab my wrist and forearm with both of her hands while I again took firm hold of her throat.
"Release me, you brute! You bastard!" she yelled, half choking under my merciless, precise grip allowing her to make just the kind of protest I wanted from her at this point in our relationship. "I am of noble birth! -of high caste! I will see you all sued in court for this, arrested for assault!"
She hadn't yet realized my godlike strength and invulnerability, still clinging to my wrist and forearm, and still thinking it possible that she might persuade me to change my mind about how she would be used by me.
The man raised his hand, palm up, in her direction, saying with the gesture, in a friendly way to us, 'See? What did I tell you?'
I chuckled, nodding my thanks to him for the friendly warning which had turned out to be honest and accurate. "You are a kind man," I told him, "and a credit to your community for having made this judgment call. Are you offering this gutter whore to us for free, or would you prefer some form of payment?" I returned his courtesy.
The man thought for a moment, looking over our sizable collection of tethered and collared, recently purchased slave girls. "It looks like you must have already spent a small fortune today. Our community is probably enjoying stuffed pockets and fat wallets because of your passing through. It is also something to consider that you are doing me a favor, and that your presence here comes with perfect timing." He paused for a moment, thinking. "I won't ask you for any coin, though I do have time for a quickie with one of your girls."
"No, no, good sir," I tell him, still holding the struggling girl by her throat, keeping her kneeling on the dirt of the ground in the unpaved street before us all; "I will compensate you for your troubles before our arrival. I am sure you paid well for such a beauty."
The girl, though still being choked by my unyielding and unbreakable grip on her throat, blushed and looked away for a moment, confused by the new rush of emotions at my manly compliment to her owner about her.
"I recommend Nyria; the one free-woman in our group here this day. She is the best at all things sexual, having studied such subjects for two decades and counting now." I looked her way, indicating her in that way to the man.
Nyria hid the start of a smirk, remembering her age; though forever appearing to be a teenager, she was now more than 500 years old, and had indeed studied all sexual subjects for more than two decades, but that was not something we told humans, who assumed their kind lived the longest, at 100 to 200 years, and that they couldn't maintain their sexiness beyond about 40.
The man quirked a brow in interest unabashed, and began to grin.
Nyria, holding two of our recent purchases by their hair, and keeping their heads back, winces on their faces, as they struggled to balance and not resist the odd posture she had put them in, curtsied to the man, licking her lips as she stared at her groin for a moment to let him know she would play very, very well with him.
"But, of course, you are welcome to make use of Any of these girls. We have a little time before we must return to our ship," I added.
"I'll trust your assessment, as you have trusted mine, and make use of your Nyria," he then said, bowing a bit to me, then looking to Nyria with his right hand out to receive hers.
I nodded to him in a sort of return bow, saying "Then as you have entrusted me with Your wench, I shall entrust you with mine. Unless you wish our audience, I shall have my team return these purchases to our ship, then return here to retrieve Nyria from you."
Nyria handed off her two slave girls to Brahan, the commando of our team; most capable of handling four or more girls at a time without breaking a sweat, and he took charge of their leashes. She then promptly and sexily made her way across the dirt street and up to the man, raising her hand out and up to join with his.
He dipped his head in agreement, receiving Nyria's hand as she lovingly inserted it into his, taking up her cute place at his side.
"But first," I add, realizing how much I was aroused by the combination of a resisting wench and breaking her, like a Drill Instructor breaks a new recruit or draftee, "let us all take turns spitting into this lowly bitch's mouth."
The girl, still held by me by her throat, went wide eyed, struggling more. I easily kept her on her knees before us all, kneeling in the dirt of the street before my strong stance.
Giving her a piercing look so dark and powerful that it would melt Any 'ice princess' and leave her in a puddle of arousal and submission on the floor, I then told her in my smooth, steady, almost musical growl, "You will open wide and relax your entire body as every single one of the people in our group here spits as much as they want into your mouth, and then, when I tell you, and not a moment before or after, you will swallow it all in one gulp, or I will strike you down right here in the street, and crucify your corpse for all to see and know; that here lies the body of a woman who disobeyed a man."
The girl stopped struggling, and gulped, releasing her hands from my wrist and forearm, and opened her mouth a little at first, looking back up into my eyes with defeat, then opened her mouth the rest of the way; as wide as she could. She could feel from the vibe I was giving off, even if she hadn't been able to see any of my body language, or here the conviction and certainty in my voice's tone, that she would indeed die in the next minute if she failed to comply perfectly.
My teammates, except for Nyria, began to get in position, moving the tethered and leashed slave girls in their charge with them. One by one, then sometimes in pairs or groups of three, everyone took at least one turn spitting all the spit they could generate... right into the wide open mouth of this one girl; the only one kneeling. I released my grip of her throat, making it easier on her. We filled up her mouth to nearly overflowing with all of our spit. Nyria, still lovingly holding the local man's hand as if she was his girlfriend or fuck buddy, stood side by side with him in front of her, and, both of them with knowing smirks on their faces, almost evil grins, spit the most into that girl's mouth, and took their time with it, and Nyria even dipped her middle finger down into the pool of spit in the girl's mouth, licking some of it off her fingertip, then spit it back into the girl's mouth, then dipped her tongue down into it, then nodded to me that she was satisfied with her part in it all.
I raised my eyebrows down to the girl to signal her to swallow it all, which she, pausing for a split second in disgusted horror, then did. Her eyes closed, her toes curled inward in tension, and she groaned for a second as her hands went to hold her belly.
"If you throw up, I will make you eat your throw up off this dirt street, and we will fill your mouth up with spit a second time, and as many times as it takes for you to get this right." Again, my voice silenced everyone, and rang truly in its menacing, endlessly serious way. "And if you can't keep down our spit, we will see if you can keep down our urine."
The girl nodded, her eyes still closed, tears forming inside them.
The slave girls we had purchased were very amused that they had gotten to participate in punishing one of their sisters in bondage, and especially like this; with a mouthful of spit.
"She doesn't even say 'Yes, Master.'," I noted to the man, and a bit to the whole group.
The local man, still happily holding Nyria's hand as she stood most agreeably at his side like the good little accessory she was and loved to be, nodded, smirking, chuckling a bit, thinking of what a difficult time he'd had with such a stupid bitch; one who failed to submit in the time he'd had available.
Controlling herself; making sure she kept down that mouthful of spit, she finally, realizing a beating was coming, responded decently to me; "Yes, Master. This worthless slave whore begs your forgiveness, Master. She is very pleased to have been honored with a mouthful of all of your spit to swallow and hold inside her. Please do not kill this stupid, untrained slave, Masters and Mistresses." It was almost a monotone droll, with now-dead eyes, but it was a start. She would resist again later, and have tantrums and other outbursts, as well as lame escape attempts, but it would, ultimately, prove to be good sport.
"Alright, stupid whore dog," I casually said to her, "I will permit you to live another day." I gripped her jaw, my fingers in her mouth and my thumb hooked under her chin, keeping her mouth open, and said to the rest of our group as I brought her up, by gripping her jaw, to stand before me, "Back to the ship to drop off our new property."
My team lead our group of purchases and gifts back, I paying special attention to this unruly slave girl, holding her jaw, and her mouth open, the whole way, as it is far more entertaining to me than leading her, like the good girls, by a leash or their hair, which all females love.
Looking up deeply into the local man's eyes as the rest of us walked off toward our Spaceship, Nyria then said with total sincerity and a deep, deep craving swirling in her belly, "Take me with conviction. Show me the true meaning of what it is to be a woman. Put me in a choke hold. I am yours... for the next half hour. Make it count, daddy. I want to remember you by how much you leave me sore and hurting. Go hard on my kitty."
Again, the man quirked his brow, and quickly took her, by the hand, across the sidewalk and into his store.
Introduction
My name is Auzdein von Himmler. You may know me from my many other literary works, by others of my many aliases, or from the secret city I built as my dream-house. I am many things, and a slaver is one of them. More specifically, I hunt for girls beautiful enough to be prospective pleasure slaves, then I capture them, cloning perfected versions of them en masse in that city I built, and, also in that city, re-educated and train them until they graduate as kajirae; female pleasure slaves, at which point they are assigned to the various units of my Concubine Corps; the organization of professional companions which accompany my military units on all their deployments. Now that my city has established itself over half a millennium, I explore the Universe, much as they did in Star Trek, except that, just as much as I am looking to go where no man has gone before, and to learn from alien civilizations, I am also hunting for the best sex, sexy girls, and sex techniques that exist anywhere in Creation. Sometimes I do that hunting myself, and sometimes I use my many invented technologies, such as the various portals that are one type of my kind's 'windows', and the 'windows to the soul'; the eyes, namely those of my children, the Inisfreeans, through which I can look and hunt --or 'shop' for those things which make me happiest and thrill me the most. This is my calling, Inisfree is my flagship and base of operations, and, through these things, I have finally found the joy of window shopping.
My name is Auzdein von Himmler. You may know me from my many other literary works, by others of my many aliases, or from the secret city I built as my dream-house. I am many things, and a slaver is one of them. More specifically, I hunt for girls beautiful enough to be prospective pleasure slaves, then I capture them, cloning perfected versions of them en masse in that city I built, and, also in that city, re-educated and train them until they graduate as kajirae; female pleasure slaves, at which point they are assigned to the various units of my Concubine Corps; the organization of professional companions which accompany my military units on all their deployments. Now that my city has established itself over half a millennium, I explore the Universe, much as they did in Star Trek, except that, just as much as I am looking to go where no man has gone before, and to learn from alien civilizations, I am also hunting for the best sex, sexy girls, and sex techniques that exist anywhere in Creation. Sometimes I do that hunting myself, and sometimes I use my many invented technologies, such as the various portals that are one type of my kind's 'windows', and the 'windows to the soul'; the eyes, namely those of my children, the Inisfreeans, through which I can look and hunt --or 'shop' for those things which make me happiest and thrill me the most. This is my calling, Inisfree is my flagship and base of operations, and, through these things, I have finally found the joy of window shopping.
Auz's Window Shopping News: This is now one of the main ways Inisfreeans quietly identify which Outland communities are compatible with them.
Chapter 3: Daddy-daughter Day
After chaining our second group of bought girls to more of the heavy metal slave rings fused with the walls of our ship's cargo chamber, we returned to the main street for another round, absent one team member; Nyria, who was still working her wonders on that upstanding man who gave us, perhaps, our most entertaining girl for this shopping trip.
One man got teary eyed and said he was the father of the girl, at his side, whom we were interested in purchasing. He asked us not to press him for her purchase.
I, giving him a knowing look, think for a moment, remaining calm, and then tell him, as politely as ever, that I will permit him to make love to her one last time, right there before us in the street, before I purchase her.
Choking up, he again begs my team not to take her. I remind him that I am offering to pay him fairly for what I am about to take.
Again, he protests, begging my understanding.
Again, I let him know that I am not at all moved; that he will be giving up his daughter within the next minute, or else.
Sobering up, and forcing himself to come to terms with the unexpected, emotional loss, he looked about my team, seeing their steely faces, and knowing, then, that he was not only outnumbered, but that we were a cohesive unit, together on a single mission, and that we would ruin him if he tried to run, stall, or fight.
His daughter, only 11, was shivering and sobbing, and had that 'dear in the headlights' look on her angelic doll face. They threw their arms around each other, and she was at a loss for words as he hugged her tightly. They knew they lived in a world where slavery was the norm, but unlike the people of Gor, they and their ancestors did not grow up with that kind of society; it was still a bit new to them, and they were not the types who had found it inviting.
"I love you so much!" he told her. "I will Always love you!"
"Dad!" she cries out, long and loud, her words muffled in the fabric of his coat, her knees shaking, her hands unable to release their grip about him.
He turned to us, dazed, angered, defeated, tears in his eyes, and asked one last thing of us; "Please don't abuse her. Please give her time to adjust to her new lifestyle." He didn't dare use the word 'slavery' right in front of her.
I nodded a bit, still as steely and naturally composed as ever, as well as a bit put off by such a typically weak and stupid Outlander human on yet another world still plagued, if even just a bit, by such monstrosities.
"Name your price, sir," I calmly told him.
He squeezed his daughter tight, her hold never having once eased up on him, her face still buried in his coat, against his chest, and he breathed in the scent of her hair, kissing the top of her head before looking back over at me. He couldn't think of a price. He didn't want to, yet simultaneously... he wanted to dare to ask us for her weight in gold.
"Perhaps fair payment to compensate you for this beloved daughter of yours... is your life," I calmly suggested, clearly sobering him up even more for the inevitable exchange.
The man, still teary eyed, straightened himself and cast his eyes down. His every motion and thought repulsed me, for men are not to act like he now was, and I recalled the attempts at brainwashing me during my earliest years to be just as pathetic.
I tossed him a small bag full of silver coins; generous, as gold coins are only for fully trained slave girls, and children are typically worth nothing at all, only earning one or two copper coins years later during their half-trained, teenage years.
He caught the bag, fumbling it a bit, as was expected of such a sorry half-man, then felt its weight and the shapes its fabric held, eventually glancing down into its half-cinched top and seeming partially comforted by its contents before he looked back up at the four of us; my team and I.
My body language was clear; I expected him to send his daughter over immediately. My men's body language was also clear; if he failed to, they would gun him down, for we were warriors, mercenaries, and slavers by heart and by trade, and were damn good at it.
Steeling himself, he pried his clinging, still sobbing, 11 year old daughter from his waist, and firmly walked her toward us like a father formally handing off his daughter at her wedding, her knees still shaking, her cheeks still soaked in tears.
I received her, taking a firm grip of one of her hands, which I enjoyed feeling tremble within my own. "Because your father was reasonable in this transaction, he will live, and you will enjoy a comfortable life with the finest education."
Her father searched my eyes, finding my words true, and closed his eyes, nodding faintly in thanks, still clutching the silver coins purse without realizing it was still in his hand; his mind was naturally elsewhere.
I turned and begin to walk off, holding his daughter's hand in my larger one, my three men in formation right behind us.
Her father remained exactly where we had left him, standing there in the middle of the dirt street, watching us go until we were no longer in sight, and then stayed there, frozen in place, for much longer.
Meanwhile, a couple blocks away, Nyria was finishing up with the man who gave us the slave he hadn't time to train. She squeezed him tight in a big, loving, longlasting hug, then high-fived him, then gave him a silver coin in thanks both for doing the right thing with that slave girl of his, and for being such a good lay. Speechless, he just let some air out his nostrils as he shook his head, smiling, well satisfied, and amazed and relieved that such women exist. She took two full minutes kissing him goodbye, moving his hands first down to cup her asscheeks, and then up to grip her breasts. "Goodbye, ...lover..." she whispers, with a horny smile, into his lips as hers finally parted from them, having lingered there long enough to keep him hard for another hour. Her eyes hornily, hungrily gazed at his lips, too, working her magic upon him so well that he would never, ever be able to forget her, and would give us the warmest of welcomes the next time we were in town. Letting her fingertips linger within his hands, too, she finally stepped back away from him, blowing him a kiss, and strutted back out of his shop, homing in on my position perfectly.
After chaining our second group of bought girls to more of the heavy metal slave rings fused with the walls of our ship's cargo chamber, we returned to the main street for another round, absent one team member; Nyria, who was still working her wonders on that upstanding man who gave us, perhaps, our most entertaining girl for this shopping trip.
One man got teary eyed and said he was the father of the girl, at his side, whom we were interested in purchasing. He asked us not to press him for her purchase.
I, giving him a knowing look, think for a moment, remaining calm, and then tell him, as politely as ever, that I will permit him to make love to her one last time, right there before us in the street, before I purchase her.
Choking up, he again begs my team not to take her. I remind him that I am offering to pay him fairly for what I am about to take.
Again, he protests, begging my understanding.
Again, I let him know that I am not at all moved; that he will be giving up his daughter within the next minute, or else.
Sobering up, and forcing himself to come to terms with the unexpected, emotional loss, he looked about my team, seeing their steely faces, and knowing, then, that he was not only outnumbered, but that we were a cohesive unit, together on a single mission, and that we would ruin him if he tried to run, stall, or fight.
His daughter, only 11, was shivering and sobbing, and had that 'dear in the headlights' look on her angelic doll face. They threw their arms around each other, and she was at a loss for words as he hugged her tightly. They knew they lived in a world where slavery was the norm, but unlike the people of Gor, they and their ancestors did not grow up with that kind of society; it was still a bit new to them, and they were not the types who had found it inviting.
"I love you so much!" he told her. "I will Always love you!"
"Dad!" she cries out, long and loud, her words muffled in the fabric of his coat, her knees shaking, her hands unable to release their grip about him.
He turned to us, dazed, angered, defeated, tears in his eyes, and asked one last thing of us; "Please don't abuse her. Please give her time to adjust to her new lifestyle." He didn't dare use the word 'slavery' right in front of her.
I nodded a bit, still as steely and naturally composed as ever, as well as a bit put off by such a typically weak and stupid Outlander human on yet another world still plagued, if even just a bit, by such monstrosities.
"Name your price, sir," I calmly told him.
He squeezed his daughter tight, her hold never having once eased up on him, her face still buried in his coat, against his chest, and he breathed in the scent of her hair, kissing the top of her head before looking back over at me. He couldn't think of a price. He didn't want to, yet simultaneously... he wanted to dare to ask us for her weight in gold.
"Perhaps fair payment to compensate you for this beloved daughter of yours... is your life," I calmly suggested, clearly sobering him up even more for the inevitable exchange.
The man, still teary eyed, straightened himself and cast his eyes down. His every motion and thought repulsed me, for men are not to act like he now was, and I recalled the attempts at brainwashing me during my earliest years to be just as pathetic.
I tossed him a small bag full of silver coins; generous, as gold coins are only for fully trained slave girls, and children are typically worth nothing at all, only earning one or two copper coins years later during their half-trained, teenage years.
He caught the bag, fumbling it a bit, as was expected of such a sorry half-man, then felt its weight and the shapes its fabric held, eventually glancing down into its half-cinched top and seeming partially comforted by its contents before he looked back up at the four of us; my team and I.
My body language was clear; I expected him to send his daughter over immediately. My men's body language was also clear; if he failed to, they would gun him down, for we were warriors, mercenaries, and slavers by heart and by trade, and were damn good at it.
Steeling himself, he pried his clinging, still sobbing, 11 year old daughter from his waist, and firmly walked her toward us like a father formally handing off his daughter at her wedding, her knees still shaking, her cheeks still soaked in tears.
I received her, taking a firm grip of one of her hands, which I enjoyed feeling tremble within my own. "Because your father was reasonable in this transaction, he will live, and you will enjoy a comfortable life with the finest education."
Her father searched my eyes, finding my words true, and closed his eyes, nodding faintly in thanks, still clutching the silver coins purse without realizing it was still in his hand; his mind was naturally elsewhere.
I turned and begin to walk off, holding his daughter's hand in my larger one, my three men in formation right behind us.
Her father remained exactly where we had left him, standing there in the middle of the dirt street, watching us go until we were no longer in sight, and then stayed there, frozen in place, for much longer.
Meanwhile, a couple blocks away, Nyria was finishing up with the man who gave us the slave he hadn't time to train. She squeezed him tight in a big, loving, longlasting hug, then high-fived him, then gave him a silver coin in thanks both for doing the right thing with that slave girl of his, and for being such a good lay. Speechless, he just let some air out his nostrils as he shook his head, smiling, well satisfied, and amazed and relieved that such women exist. She took two full minutes kissing him goodbye, moving his hands first down to cup her asscheeks, and then up to grip her breasts. "Goodbye, ...lover..." she whispers, with a horny smile, into his lips as hers finally parted from them, having lingered there long enough to keep him hard for another hour. Her eyes hornily, hungrily gazed at his lips, too, working her magic upon him so well that he would never, ever be able to forget her, and would give us the warmest of welcomes the next time we were in town. Letting her fingertips linger within his hands, too, she finally stepped back away from him, blowing him a kiss, and strutted back out of his shop, homing in on my position perfectly.
Chapter 4: Cradle Robbing
"Cradle robbers!" some fool, probably religious, cried out from across the street as my team, now just the five of us, makes our way back from our Spaceship to the downtown main street, enjoying that it is unpaved; enjoying the Wild West look and feel of it all. Souring the mood a bit, that woman had set herself up for quite the repercussion. What was initially, and for the most part, an absolutely wonderful and fantastic day and outing there, had now just taken a turn for, potentially, the worst.
I chuckled, pausing to look in the direction of the whining protester, and my team stopped, too. I assumed she was referring to the fact that we were seen purchasing teenage girls from her community. Even though they were already enslaved; already 'robbed from their cradles' in this woman's eyes, she must have felt the need to be offensive by namecalling us about doing it ourselves.
Nyria, as all Inisfreeans do, sensed my thoughts, and walked over to the person; a free woman, who shouted the lame insult, smiling to her like the sexy predator Nyria always is. "Do you have any children?" Nyria asked the woman.
The woman, now mortified, turning white, somehow realizing how powerful Nyria was, and what was about to happen to her for offending our party, gulped, losing her ability to speak.
"Lost your tongue?" Nyria asked sweetly, beginning to scan the woman's entire memory. "That's alright," Nyria's voice remained calm, fluid, musical, inviting, sexy; "I'll just look into your brain and answer that question for myself."
The woman began to tremble, wanting to run away, but somehow frozen in place by her fears.
Nyria found what she was looking for; a recent memory of the woman holding a newborn, and silently, between our two minds; Nyria's and mine, lets me know this, as well as where we could find the newborn.
A street map appeared in the corner of my field of vision, visible only in my mind's eye, and showed me directions from our place downtown to the woman's nearby residence, a house one mile away.
I resumed my walking route, and my team follows my lead, but once the woman, having been left standing there, went back into her store, we turned to walk up one of the connecting streets from this boulevard, altering our stroll in the direction of the woman's house.
Finding it with ease, and entering it without leaving any signs of forced entry, the three men of my team took up their positions throughout the downstairs rooms, knowing not to touch a thing. Nyria and I went upstairs to the baby's room and calmly walked in, finding the babysitter and baby alike asleep; the babysitter on a chair by the crib, and the baby in the crib. Nyria entered the babysitters mind for a moment, triggering a beautiful and relaxing dream. I waited at the door, and Nyria quietly walked over to the side of the crib, picking up the infant; a baby girl, and holding her warmly and gently against her breasts, keeping her comfortable and sleeping well, then gripped the top handle of the stroller stowed beside the crib, and then faded into thin air, teleporting back inside of our Spaceship with them both; the baby and her stroller, though this time into her room in the neck of the ship. Once there, she eased the sleeping baby down into her stroller, strapping her in, and secured the stroller to the wall so it wouldn't slide around, ensuring that the baby remained safe during our flight home.
I saw that the babysitter was not attractive enough to capture, kidnap, and enslave, and so I quietly stepped back out of the room, returned downstairs, and nodded for my three men to leave the house with me. We did so, taking another route back toward downtown where our ship was parked, the woman who namecalled us never being able to see any of this.
"I am whatever you say I am," I wolfishly grinned, speaking to myself as we returned to our ship the old-fashioned way; on foot, enjoying 'the scenic route', as Outlanders call the least efficient path. If only that woman hadn't called us 'cradle robbers', we wouldn't have robbed her cradle. Outlanders will learn, often the hard way, not to misspeak; not to exaggerate, especially when in the negative about my people. Hyperbole is not becoming of such a wretched sub-race, nor will we ever tolerate such lies.
"Cradle robbers!" some fool, probably religious, cried out from across the street as my team, now just the five of us, makes our way back from our Spaceship to the downtown main street, enjoying that it is unpaved; enjoying the Wild West look and feel of it all. Souring the mood a bit, that woman had set herself up for quite the repercussion. What was initially, and for the most part, an absolutely wonderful and fantastic day and outing there, had now just taken a turn for, potentially, the worst.
I chuckled, pausing to look in the direction of the whining protester, and my team stopped, too. I assumed she was referring to the fact that we were seen purchasing teenage girls from her community. Even though they were already enslaved; already 'robbed from their cradles' in this woman's eyes, she must have felt the need to be offensive by namecalling us about doing it ourselves.
Nyria, as all Inisfreeans do, sensed my thoughts, and walked over to the person; a free woman, who shouted the lame insult, smiling to her like the sexy predator Nyria always is. "Do you have any children?" Nyria asked the woman.
The woman, now mortified, turning white, somehow realizing how powerful Nyria was, and what was about to happen to her for offending our party, gulped, losing her ability to speak.
"Lost your tongue?" Nyria asked sweetly, beginning to scan the woman's entire memory. "That's alright," Nyria's voice remained calm, fluid, musical, inviting, sexy; "I'll just look into your brain and answer that question for myself."
The woman began to tremble, wanting to run away, but somehow frozen in place by her fears.
Nyria found what she was looking for; a recent memory of the woman holding a newborn, and silently, between our two minds; Nyria's and mine, lets me know this, as well as where we could find the newborn.
A street map appeared in the corner of my field of vision, visible only in my mind's eye, and showed me directions from our place downtown to the woman's nearby residence, a house one mile away.
I resumed my walking route, and my team follows my lead, but once the woman, having been left standing there, went back into her store, we turned to walk up one of the connecting streets from this boulevard, altering our stroll in the direction of the woman's house.
Finding it with ease, and entering it without leaving any signs of forced entry, the three men of my team took up their positions throughout the downstairs rooms, knowing not to touch a thing. Nyria and I went upstairs to the baby's room and calmly walked in, finding the babysitter and baby alike asleep; the babysitter on a chair by the crib, and the baby in the crib. Nyria entered the babysitters mind for a moment, triggering a beautiful and relaxing dream. I waited at the door, and Nyria quietly walked over to the side of the crib, picking up the infant; a baby girl, and holding her warmly and gently against her breasts, keeping her comfortable and sleeping well, then gripped the top handle of the stroller stowed beside the crib, and then faded into thin air, teleporting back inside of our Spaceship with them both; the baby and her stroller, though this time into her room in the neck of the ship. Once there, she eased the sleeping baby down into her stroller, strapping her in, and secured the stroller to the wall so it wouldn't slide around, ensuring that the baby remained safe during our flight home.
I saw that the babysitter was not attractive enough to capture, kidnap, and enslave, and so I quietly stepped back out of the room, returned downstairs, and nodded for my three men to leave the house with me. We did so, taking another route back toward downtown where our ship was parked, the woman who namecalled us never being able to see any of this.
"I am whatever you say I am," I wolfishly grinned, speaking to myself as we returned to our ship the old-fashioned way; on foot, enjoying 'the scenic route', as Outlanders call the least efficient path. If only that woman hadn't called us 'cradle robbers', we wouldn't have robbed her cradle. Outlanders will learn, often the hard way, not to misspeak; not to exaggerate, especially when in the negative about my people. Hyperbole is not becoming of such a wretched sub-race, nor will we ever tolerate such lies.
Chapter 5: Firefly Flight
Shortly after taking off and departing that city's airspace, a missile was fired at us, likely from the primitive scum each world has a sprinkling of; those who are against the slavery of most females. Nyria interfaced with it and turned it around to home in on those who fired it, and the missile began its fast, wide, vertical loop to turn around, as we began to temporarily alter our course to get closer to those hostiles, as well.
The missile hit its launch site, exploding with a split-second flash of yellow, becoming black, then leaving eerily rising, heated brown dust and dirt in the air. Its detonation's concussion sent all the trees and bushes around it leaning back away and down, and the vacuum created there-within yanked them all back upright again. As they swayed back and forth, in and out away from ground zero, the hot brown mist hanging above it and beginning to drift away on the breeze, we began our scans for signs of kills, that we might confirm some of them. Spotting one man speeding away in a primitive pickup truck, I flew our ship into position so that we were moving parallel with him, dozens of stories off the ground, high above him, and with the Sun right behind or above us if he was to look our direction.
This made it easier for Nyria to detect his brain, interface with it, and begin searching it for memories which would tell us where he was from, and who he liked most. Nyria, having a supercomputer for her natural brain, only required a fraction of a second to complete this process once she had locked onto anyone's brain, and so it was that the shadow of our Spaceship only hung over his vehicle for a few seconds before she nodded to me, letting me know she had what she needed to guide us in to his hometown for payback. We couldn't read the minds of his teammates who we'd blown up by overriding and returning their anti-aircraft missile, but we certainly could read his, and now the people he knew best and relied on the most... were going to pay, too.
Nyria typed the information she'd retrieved into the cockpit console via its keyboard; old-fashioned for an Inisfreean, but done because she knew I liked seeing that from her kind sometimes. The flight computer came up with the coordinates we were to head to, and I steered the ship onto the new heading, vectoring to adjust for the wind. I kept the cavitation feature off so that we could enjoy some turbulence; part of the experience when visiting less advanced worlds. This also ensured we arrived about an hour before the guy driving his pickup truck back did, giving us just the right amount of time to do our raid work so that when he arrived, it would be in the immediate aftermath; buildings still smoking, survivors still screaming, and the tail of our ship still barely visible arcing up into the point high in the blue sky where it would disappear from his sight.
While we flew to our target, Nyria unbuckled from her copilot's bucket seat in the cockpit, kneeled between my legs as I remained sitting in the pilot's bucket seat, and sucked my cock until I squirted another few lines of my cum into the back of her mouth, which she then used as further lubricant, rapidly stimulating yet another few squirts out of my cock, and spilled not a single drop. Once I was finished, to let her know she was to stop bobbing her head, I moved my hands from resting over her shoulders... to resting around the sides of her head, at which point she immediately obeyed by deepthroating me and resting her lips around the base of my cock, slowing how she slid her tongue from side to side beneath its shaft hugged completely inside her warm, wet, cum filled mouth, and she remained there, not needing to breathe, for another few minutes as I savored her like that, involuntarily wrapping my feet around her waist tight. Once the screen in front of me indicated we were nearing our destination; our target, Nyria swallowed all the cum she had so skillfully kept in her mouth and all around my cock this whole time, kissed my cock's tip a few times, cutely and lovingly, and then tucked my cock back into my boxers and trousers, returning to her copilot's seat and rubbing her belly in circles for a few seconds, savoring what she had ingested with a very happy smile, lips closed to keep in all the cum residue, and keep it moist on her tongue and gums.
Setting the autopilot, I called to the three men of our crew (as they were Outlanders we did not choose to communicate telepathically with), letting them know they needed to get ready to fast-rope down out of our ship for a raid before we returned to orbit. While they suited up, I unbuckled the five-point harness of my bucket seat and stood up, and Nyria was quickly standing right with me, hugging me tightly and showering me with starry-eyed kisses as I felt up all her curves for several seconds, feeling the gravity shift as our ship flew itself into a hovering position over the center of the latest town.
"Are you ready to enjoy another raid with me, baby?" I smiled down into another of her loving French kisses.
"Yes, father," she kissed me between words, hungry for my taste and touch, "I am. I am Always ready to do Anything with you. You know that." Her smile and words melted my heart, as they say, and we hugged and kissed some more before joining the rest of our crew at the central floor hatch of our ship's cargo chamber.
The dozens of slave girls chained by their collars to the heavy metal rings bolted to the walls of this chamber of our ship watched us as we hooked up to the winch cables that would control our rapid descents down through that central floor hatch until our feet met the earth several stories below. When the hatch opened, all of us except Sasha fast-roped down (though we were not sliding, and though we were using cable instead of rope); he stayed behind to watch over our cargo and the ship, remaining hooked onto his own cable in case he needed to drop down for a hasty med-evac.
My three teammates and I 'put boots on deck', as it is said, but only for one second; each of us threw our arms around the nearest girl gawking at our unexpected ship from where they were making their way through the street below us, and our ship's onboard computer then quickly re-wound our cables back up around their winch spools, raising us up in a few seconds back through the central floor hatch of its cargo chamber, where we threw the girls stumbling to slide across its floor, Sasha using his slave goad on them to briefly electrocute them into spasming submission while he zip-tied, hand-cuffed, ankle-cuffed, and slave-collared them, then chaining them to slave rings of their own, our ship having hundreds of them throughout it. As our crew's medical officer, it was his job to ensure our slaves made it back undamaged to where they would be trained in our city; that meant only bruising and minor cuts were permitted, which meant they must be secured to slave rings to prevent sliding, bumping, 'cat-fights', and suicidal attempts to open and jump out through the airlocks.
Back on the ground in another few seconds, we unhooked from our cables and spread out in all directions, as the locals had, of course, started to flee. Gunning down all males and setting fire to all the buildings we reached, we switched to rubber bullets and shotgun beanbags to nonlethally gun down all females. Once we jogged over to each downed female, we quickly assessed her sexiness. If she was not sexy, we switched to lethal ammunition and finished her off. If she was sexy, we zip-tied her ankles together first, then her wrists behind her back, and then tossed her over our shoulders, speed-walking her back to the center of the street; just under our hovering ship. From above, Sasha, through the central floor hatch of the cargo chamber, kept an eye on them, gunning down anyone who made a move to try and get close enough to drag them back to cover and safety.
Proceeding deeper into the town, we enjoyed finding that, as is the case with most Outlander communities, the vast majority of the population was unarmed, as well as untrained even in basic self-defense, such as martial arts. Even if they Had weapons, they wouldn't have known how to use them. Further entertaining and relieving, making our jobs incredibly easy even when taking on a whole town with just four teammates, were all the anti-gun nuts who, like fascists, had stripped the self-defense rights away from their fellow citizens, leaving both them and everyone around them excessively vulnerable and almost entirely defenseless. This left only local law enforcement with the firepower and proximity to respond quickly enough to attempt to fire upon us, and with our superior mercenary weapon systems, we made quick work of the few squad cars and police officers who dared to show up.
Within half an hour, we had set the whole town ablaze, and all of it would be razed by the time the man whose team fired a missile at our Spaceship sped in driving his pickup truck. A pile of three dozen zip-tied, sexy females was now directly below our hovering ship, and a ring-shaped pile of gunned-down males around it was the handiwork of our medic, Sasha, who was also a great marksman now, having grown fond of helping us with these wonderfully primal raids over the years. Bringing in the last few females we found to be sexy enough, we tossed them on the pile with the others, and began the work of hooking ourselves up to the cables again, and hauling them straight up into our ship, where Sasha resumed his work of further binding and securing them all.
Back and forth we descended and ascended via the automated cables system controlled by a secondary computer in our ship. As we sped down to the earth, grabbed another zip-tied female, and sped back up, we saw exciting views of some of the town's buildings starting to cave in from the growing fire damage, as well as some of them exploding into shrapnel and rising plumes of billowing, thick, sooty smoke as our planted explosive charges started to reach zero on their countdown timers. Everything we used was common to the known enemies of this region of the latest planet we were on, so it would trick the survivors into going to war with their neighbors; a perfect environment of chaos distracting them from our follow-up raids to capture and enslave even more of their sexiest females. Thinking of these things, I couldn't help but smile, also then thinking of how much like Rask of Treve I had become; a character of similar occupation from my favorite series of books, given to me by my favorite slave girl who introduced me to this idyllic lifestyle.
With all the new captures loaded onto our ship, and most of the slave rings in its cargo chamber now occupied by at least one of them, we sprayed the rest of our on-person ammo. loads out randomly across the town our cables were speeding us back up and out of, spending hundreds of bullets and dozens of grenade launcher rounds before ceasing fire and setting our weapons to safe as we passed back up into the closing central floor hatch. As the hatch sealed itself, becoming flush with the floor around it, we unhooked ourselves from our respective cables, letting them then rise up to their secure positions touching the spools of the winches built into the ceiling framework, and exchanged high fives, with Nyria throwing her arms around each of us and giving each man a long, passionate French kiss, again, as she did with all men and girls, moving his hands to cup her ass, then her tits, then her throat, just the way she and we both liked it. This was her Inisfreean girl way of saying 'Great job! I had fun! I love you!'
Some of our cargo, expectedly, was moaning, and we had left their mouths ungagged to teach them one of their first lessons as our property. Spreading out again, this time in our ship's cargo chamber, we slapped, punched, kicked, and butt-stroked (hit with the butts of our rifles) each of them as they moaned or otherwise cried out. Sasha then tended to the scraps and little cuts that sometimes produced, not bothering to tell them what they quickly figured out; they will be treated well and patched up, provided they are silent. It doesn't matter how much pain they are in; if they make a noise, they will be beaten. If they protest, they will be beaten worse.
To make a point, while Augustine took inventory, Sasha applied some more ointment and Band-aids, Brahan beat a few more of the tough learners, and Nyria carried our flak jackets and most of our weapons back to be locked up in our rooms, I unchained one of the loudest complainers from her slave ring on the wall, dragging her by a fistful of her hair behind me as I made my way back to the central floor hatch, and put the barrel of my pistol into her mouth, slowly moving around so that all the other captured females got a chance to see what was happening.
Amazingly, she continued to glare at me, trying to cuss despite the pistol half wedged in her mouth, and I gave her that 'oh, well' look, pulling the trigger. The back of her neck, and part of the bottom of the back of her head, exploded into an instant, loud splatter of blood and brains onto the deck plating of the cargo hull next to us. Her body went limp, hanging from the fistful of her hair I was still using to keep her in place. The girls all around us gasped and cried out, moaning and sobbing, trembling and struggling against their bindings keeping their wrists and ankles tightly together, and the backs of their necks locked to their slave rings. Brahan made another round to kick, and slap hard across their faces, all of the females who failed to return to silence before he reached them, and I brought one of the cables back down from the ceiling winches, putting its hook into the hole at the back of the shot girl's skull, then hoisting her up just enough so that her knees were bent and her feet slid back and forth on the deck plating; the perfect height for what I was about to do next.
Finally, I addressed our cargo; "Anyone who makes noise will keep getting beaten. Eventually, our medic will stop patching you up, and you will just endure more beatings with no medical care whatsoever. You are all going to politely watch --in silence-- what I do to this offender. She is a criminal because she annoyed me, and this is how criminals get punished."
With horror, growing more and more horrified of crying out as they watched, all of our cargo stared at me as I unfastened and slid down the pants of the dead girl I'd hoisted up in front of me in the middle of the cargo chamber. All of our cargo was arranged around us in a square; all chained to their slave rings along the walls of this, the largest room aboard my ship. All of them had the same line of sight to me, only excepting when they shut their eyes or looked away, which I permitted, as the rest of their viewing and vibes would get the message sufficiently across.
Fucking the suspended dead girl's ass first, I kept changing my stance so that the two of us rotated about the cable that was holding her just high enough up to be at the perfect level relative my thrusting pelvis. Once I had made a complete circle, I switched to her pussy and repeated this circle. Then I lowered the cable just enough so that her shins were resting on the deck plating, and repeated the circle one more time, this time fucking her mouth, and using my hands to keep her lips closed, more or less, around my thrusting cock. With those three circles completed, I then lowered her down a bit more so that I could ready to put my cock into the hole in the back of her head and neck. All our cargo gasped, many of them nearly throwing up, and Brahan stood by with his rifle well in hand, letting them know with his body language that he would beat them half to death if they raised their voices in protest. They remained silent.
I inched my cock's tip closer and closer to the hole in the dead girl's head, but then stopped and chuckled "I'm just kidding; that would be disgusting," the obvious joke being that the rest of the necrophilia wasn't. Technically, it wasn't; she was still warm and fresh, after all. I swung my cock this way and that a few times, grinning "Look! I got my Red-wings!" The term meant a man had just fucked a female on her period, bloodying his cock, but the blood on mine was from what had been sucked back into her mouth by the vacuum created after the back of her head had been blown apart by the bullet I'd launched through it; still, technically, red-wings, just not from the secretion of a menstrual cycle. Again, most of them gasped, nearly vomiting on themselves.
I hoisted the dead, freshly fucked girl back up to where she was now dangling in the middle of the cargo chamber, her toes hanging a few inches above the deck plating. Reholstering my pistol, I retrieved a bat from a storage compartment and began to playfully use her corpse as a piñata. More gasping occurred, and finally one girl belched up a hot, stinky load of her stomach acid. It splashed all over her, peppering the two girls at her sides, and as they yanked back their legs, Brahan made a bee-line for her. "Please!" she cried out, still coughing up some more barf chunks and spitting them out onto her chest, unable to use her hands to wipe them away, "I didn't Mean to!" She was hysterical.
Brahan reached her, having strolled over to her in a few seconds, and made as if to butt-stroke her. She closed her eyes and cried out, squirming to use her hands to deflect the impending blow to her face, but again found herself perfectly restrained. He chuckled, lowering his rifle, and in the friendliest voice ever, told her "It's okay; I understand. You do have to clean it up, though," and with that, he unlocked her from her slave ring, yanked her forward by a fistful of her hair, let her fall onto her chest on the deck plating, smashing all the vomit on her all over her breasts and belly, and, still holding her hair in his fist, dragged her back and forth through the puke puddle, using her entire body to mop it up (well, to smear it).
"Until all the vomit is cleaned up, I'm afraid you'll have to stay on top of it; you are now the living 'Caution; Wet Floor' sign here to make sure no one steps in your little failure mess," he chuckled, releasing her hair, which resulted in her head dropping and thudding against the deck plating. She shut her eyes, wincing, and curled up in the fetal position, soiled and humiliated, and knowing that if she disobeyed; if she moved out of the pool of her own vomit, she would end up like the dead girl, who didn't even avoid being raped after she had been killed.
I continued smacking my baseball bat into the corpse piñata a bit more, then returned the bat to its storage compartment. "This all happened to you; the utter destruction of your entire community and every building in your town, because one of your citizens fired a missile at this ship of mine. I'm not sure how many survived the raid you just witnessed, but the man from this town of yours, whose team fired the missile at us, is on his way back to your town, right below us, right now. Being clever enough to man an anti-aircraft missile, I'm willing to bet he is also clever enough, especially when working with the few other survivors, to figure out that most of the females of his town; i.e. YOU, were taken as slaves, as it is mostly the corpses of all of your MEN... who he will find lying in the burning buildings and streets below."
There was more coughing, crying, and the shutting of eyes.
Brahan left the cargo chamber to lock up his rifle with the rest of the weapons and other items Nyria had carried off minutes earlier.
"I'll be flying all of you up into orbit and out across the Black Ocean," I continued, furthering the hopelessness they were all now feeling; they would be impossibly far removed from their homes; far too far for anyone of such a primitive community to ever go out looking for them, much less track or reclaim them. "This one," I nudged the girl who Brahan had left lying in her own vomit, moving her another foot across its smear with my boot's toe against her face, "is going to slide around a lot more. You'd probably better try and use your feet and legs to catch and hold her secure, or her flying body might break some of your bones... or even kill a couple of you --herself included."
I knelt down over her, and she kept her eyes closed, unable to stop trembling. "If you try to go to any of them before you start sliding around due to gravity, I will consider that willful disobedience of my crewman's direct order that you remain in your vomit here, and I will kill you and fuck all of your holes --in that order."
She managed a quick and tense nod, her eyes still tightly shut.
On my way out of the cargo chamber and up the stairs to the catwalk connecting to the hatch to the ship's neck hallway, I said over my shoulder to them all; all our newest slave girls, "Once we are in orbit, I will turn on the ship's gravity, and unchain you one at a time until all of her vomit is cleaned up. While it is being cleaned up, she will stand in it barefoot. Once all of it is cleaned up, she no longer needs to be the 'Caution; Wet Floor' sign, and may herself be cleaned up. Once she, too, is cleaned up, all of you will be unchained and transferred to another ship for processing."
Reaching the hatch to the neck hallway, I grinned, again talking over my shoulder, "I challenge any of you to attempt an escape at that point. Your strength in numbers will only serve to further hurt you."
Closing the hatch behind me, I locked it, and went into the cockpit to check the console screens for any sign of the pickup driver's approach.
Sasha, Brahan, and Augustine had gone to have a foursome with Nyria in her room in the neck of the ship. They left when I arrived, patting me on the back for engineering and raising such a perfect girl. She looked up at me from where they'd left her lying on the bed, filled with their loads. She was grinning ear to ear, and looking right into my eyes as if to beckon me to join her right away. Nyria, like all Inisfreean girls, was Always horny and ready for more.
"Get cleaned up, daughter," I told her, and she smiled as she immediately rose from her bed to make her way into our room's little shower.
I returned to the cockpit while the other men cleaned up in their own rooms in the neck of our ship. I saw that the man was finally speeding into town in his pickup truck, and knew he was definitely staring ahead at the many rising plumes of smoke and lingering fires. I wondered if he had more missiles and might try to fire them at our ship, still hovering right over the -literally- dead center of town. I set the controls to have the autopilot accelerate us forward and up through the sky and out into high orbit, and away, just as I'd planned, he watched us fly. I then wondered who he would recognize down there amongst all the bodies; would he drive through the streets, looking for survivors and wounded, eventually finding the corpse of one of his family members or lovers? Would it occur to him that, had his missile worked, he would have caused the same terrible deaths to whoever was onboard my ship? Would it occur to him that such would include the girls; his neighbors and friends, from the nearby city?
Fetching the little Barbie doll of a girl I'd been given for free from the tavern of the city we'd flown over from, I made thorough use of her back in my room, and her cries and howls of pleasure rang out through the ship from there. Even after what she'd seen me do to the shot girl in the cargo chamber, she still yielded helplessly to my total awareness of her female form and functions, and, being a rough-and-tumble bar girl, probably had a thing for guys like me.
Leaving her collapsed, limp, breathing heavily, and resting a hand on her chest, her face a drunken smile, eyes rolled back into her head, legs splayed all the way open, cum leaking out of her stuffed pussy and asshole, and clinging to the sides of her infinitely kissable lips (both sets of them), I made use of Nyria next, who had, while the 'Barbie' and I fucked, been cleaning herself up in our room's shower, that she might then be presentable and worthy of me fucking her some more. Then Nyria made thorough use of the little Barbie doll of a girl, too, and then we all made use of each other, finally returning her to her place amongst the other purchased slave girls a very satisfied, exhausted, and hornily beaming, giggling mess of a girl. She practically hugged the slave ring we chained her collar to, being so sexed up that Anything she touched was welcomed with loving slides of her perfect flesh. The girls all around her in the cargo chamber stared at her in envy, realizing then and there that their punishments, whatever they might be, would be worth it all and more; they were destined to be trophies and pleasure slaves.
Persephone, our heavily modified Firefly-class ship, took us up into orbit, leaving that entertaining world, and the man whose group had shot at us, far behind. I heard some of the girls scream from the cargo chamber, and knew it was because the body of the girl ordered to stay lying in her own vomit, had been sliding around back there, hitting some of them as they desperately tried to catch her with legs bound together at the ankles. She might be between one of those girl's opened knees now, herself bound at the wrists and ankles like the rest of them, trying to figure out how to keep herself wedged in there... for dear life.
After we had assumed a stable, high orbit, I flicked on one of the internal security cameras; a view of the cargo chamber, to make sure she was, in fact, wedged between at least one of those girl's legs, lest my activation of the ship's gravity bring her down, fatally, from floating near the ceiling. She was well in hand (or well in legs, I suppose), and so I powered up the gravity drive and restored that familiar, helpful force and feeling to their room; my ship's cargo chamber. Brahan and I then returned to the cargo chamber, along with Sasha a minute later, to begin unlocking them one at a time, and supervising them as they moped up the spread vomit, then the girl who produced it, and then returned their cleaning supplies to their respective storage compartments. Once that had been checked off our to-do list, it was time for the transfer and processing...
A squad of Inisfreeans boarded Persephone at that point, all of them nude and appearing as teenaged supermodels, as such girls always do. We all enjoyed the ongoing reactions of our cargo; the expressions and sounds of all those newly acquired slave girls realizing they were not just being flown across their world, but up away from it; out of its atmosphere into orbit; a place where they'd never gone before, and that there would be no going back, and no way to run home, even if, somehow, they managed to escape.
The squad of my Inisfreeans, at my thought-command, unlocked the dozens of girls' collars from the metal slave rings bolted into the walls of our Spaceship's cargo chamber, moved the girls into a standing group in the middle of their circle, and, with those Inisfreean girls of mine remaining in that circle around those purchased girls, forming the human version of a Celtic infinity knot with their overlapping, mutually hugging arms, and their smooth girl hands resting on their Inisfreean sisters' shoulders and backs, with their breasts lightly pressing in against the sides of the bought girls standing in the middle of their circle, teleported back off our Spaceship in the Inisfreean fashion; each girl feeling as though something was lightly caressing her entire body at the same time, sending orgasmic chills racing up and down through her every part, her vision blurring for a moment before coming back into focus where they teleported; on the floor of the hangar-like top level of the Receiving Facility back in our home city anchored on Earth.
They'd think themselves in another ship's cargo chamber, as I had told them they'd be transferred to another ship, but they wouldn't have a clue that the other ship they were now on was the size of a city itself, and that it was not merely one docking with our own little Firefly, but one that was many, many lightyears away, in a system completely unknown to them; the one which housed the ancient fairytale homeworld so many of their people now called... Earth-that-was.
At some point after their months of training in that facility of my distant city-ship, Inisfree, they would discover that they had been cloned in batches of 50, and would learn to live, love, and serve with those clones of theirs, all eagerly awaiting my return.
In the meantime, back here on Persephone, with a corpse hanging from a hook in the middle of our cargo chamber, we flew back to where our parent ship, the Spacecraft-carrier named The New Horizon, was continuing on with its patrol and large-scale social experiment. No one there had clearance to be onboard our ship, Persephone, so we didn't bother to take our corpse piñata down.
Shortly after taking off and departing that city's airspace, a missile was fired at us, likely from the primitive scum each world has a sprinkling of; those who are against the slavery of most females. Nyria interfaced with it and turned it around to home in on those who fired it, and the missile began its fast, wide, vertical loop to turn around, as we began to temporarily alter our course to get closer to those hostiles, as well.
The missile hit its launch site, exploding with a split-second flash of yellow, becoming black, then leaving eerily rising, heated brown dust and dirt in the air. Its detonation's concussion sent all the trees and bushes around it leaning back away and down, and the vacuum created there-within yanked them all back upright again. As they swayed back and forth, in and out away from ground zero, the hot brown mist hanging above it and beginning to drift away on the breeze, we began our scans for signs of kills, that we might confirm some of them. Spotting one man speeding away in a primitive pickup truck, I flew our ship into position so that we were moving parallel with him, dozens of stories off the ground, high above him, and with the Sun right behind or above us if he was to look our direction.
This made it easier for Nyria to detect his brain, interface with it, and begin searching it for memories which would tell us where he was from, and who he liked most. Nyria, having a supercomputer for her natural brain, only required a fraction of a second to complete this process once she had locked onto anyone's brain, and so it was that the shadow of our Spaceship only hung over his vehicle for a few seconds before she nodded to me, letting me know she had what she needed to guide us in to his hometown for payback. We couldn't read the minds of his teammates who we'd blown up by overriding and returning their anti-aircraft missile, but we certainly could read his, and now the people he knew best and relied on the most... were going to pay, too.
Nyria typed the information she'd retrieved into the cockpit console via its keyboard; old-fashioned for an Inisfreean, but done because she knew I liked seeing that from her kind sometimes. The flight computer came up with the coordinates we were to head to, and I steered the ship onto the new heading, vectoring to adjust for the wind. I kept the cavitation feature off so that we could enjoy some turbulence; part of the experience when visiting less advanced worlds. This also ensured we arrived about an hour before the guy driving his pickup truck back did, giving us just the right amount of time to do our raid work so that when he arrived, it would be in the immediate aftermath; buildings still smoking, survivors still screaming, and the tail of our ship still barely visible arcing up into the point high in the blue sky where it would disappear from his sight.
While we flew to our target, Nyria unbuckled from her copilot's bucket seat in the cockpit, kneeled between my legs as I remained sitting in the pilot's bucket seat, and sucked my cock until I squirted another few lines of my cum into the back of her mouth, which she then used as further lubricant, rapidly stimulating yet another few squirts out of my cock, and spilled not a single drop. Once I was finished, to let her know she was to stop bobbing her head, I moved my hands from resting over her shoulders... to resting around the sides of her head, at which point she immediately obeyed by deepthroating me and resting her lips around the base of my cock, slowing how she slid her tongue from side to side beneath its shaft hugged completely inside her warm, wet, cum filled mouth, and she remained there, not needing to breathe, for another few minutes as I savored her like that, involuntarily wrapping my feet around her waist tight. Once the screen in front of me indicated we were nearing our destination; our target, Nyria swallowed all the cum she had so skillfully kept in her mouth and all around my cock this whole time, kissed my cock's tip a few times, cutely and lovingly, and then tucked my cock back into my boxers and trousers, returning to her copilot's seat and rubbing her belly in circles for a few seconds, savoring what she had ingested with a very happy smile, lips closed to keep in all the cum residue, and keep it moist on her tongue and gums.
Setting the autopilot, I called to the three men of our crew (as they were Outlanders we did not choose to communicate telepathically with), letting them know they needed to get ready to fast-rope down out of our ship for a raid before we returned to orbit. While they suited up, I unbuckled the five-point harness of my bucket seat and stood up, and Nyria was quickly standing right with me, hugging me tightly and showering me with starry-eyed kisses as I felt up all her curves for several seconds, feeling the gravity shift as our ship flew itself into a hovering position over the center of the latest town.
"Are you ready to enjoy another raid with me, baby?" I smiled down into another of her loving French kisses.
"Yes, father," she kissed me between words, hungry for my taste and touch, "I am. I am Always ready to do Anything with you. You know that." Her smile and words melted my heart, as they say, and we hugged and kissed some more before joining the rest of our crew at the central floor hatch of our ship's cargo chamber.
The dozens of slave girls chained by their collars to the heavy metal rings bolted to the walls of this chamber of our ship watched us as we hooked up to the winch cables that would control our rapid descents down through that central floor hatch until our feet met the earth several stories below. When the hatch opened, all of us except Sasha fast-roped down (though we were not sliding, and though we were using cable instead of rope); he stayed behind to watch over our cargo and the ship, remaining hooked onto his own cable in case he needed to drop down for a hasty med-evac.
My three teammates and I 'put boots on deck', as it is said, but only for one second; each of us threw our arms around the nearest girl gawking at our unexpected ship from where they were making their way through the street below us, and our ship's onboard computer then quickly re-wound our cables back up around their winch spools, raising us up in a few seconds back through the central floor hatch of its cargo chamber, where we threw the girls stumbling to slide across its floor, Sasha using his slave goad on them to briefly electrocute them into spasming submission while he zip-tied, hand-cuffed, ankle-cuffed, and slave-collared them, then chaining them to slave rings of their own, our ship having hundreds of them throughout it. As our crew's medical officer, it was his job to ensure our slaves made it back undamaged to where they would be trained in our city; that meant only bruising and minor cuts were permitted, which meant they must be secured to slave rings to prevent sliding, bumping, 'cat-fights', and suicidal attempts to open and jump out through the airlocks.
Back on the ground in another few seconds, we unhooked from our cables and spread out in all directions, as the locals had, of course, started to flee. Gunning down all males and setting fire to all the buildings we reached, we switched to rubber bullets and shotgun beanbags to nonlethally gun down all females. Once we jogged over to each downed female, we quickly assessed her sexiness. If she was not sexy, we switched to lethal ammunition and finished her off. If she was sexy, we zip-tied her ankles together first, then her wrists behind her back, and then tossed her over our shoulders, speed-walking her back to the center of the street; just under our hovering ship. From above, Sasha, through the central floor hatch of the cargo chamber, kept an eye on them, gunning down anyone who made a move to try and get close enough to drag them back to cover and safety.
Proceeding deeper into the town, we enjoyed finding that, as is the case with most Outlander communities, the vast majority of the population was unarmed, as well as untrained even in basic self-defense, such as martial arts. Even if they Had weapons, they wouldn't have known how to use them. Further entertaining and relieving, making our jobs incredibly easy even when taking on a whole town with just four teammates, were all the anti-gun nuts who, like fascists, had stripped the self-defense rights away from their fellow citizens, leaving both them and everyone around them excessively vulnerable and almost entirely defenseless. This left only local law enforcement with the firepower and proximity to respond quickly enough to attempt to fire upon us, and with our superior mercenary weapon systems, we made quick work of the few squad cars and police officers who dared to show up.
Within half an hour, we had set the whole town ablaze, and all of it would be razed by the time the man whose team fired a missile at our Spaceship sped in driving his pickup truck. A pile of three dozen zip-tied, sexy females was now directly below our hovering ship, and a ring-shaped pile of gunned-down males around it was the handiwork of our medic, Sasha, who was also a great marksman now, having grown fond of helping us with these wonderfully primal raids over the years. Bringing in the last few females we found to be sexy enough, we tossed them on the pile with the others, and began the work of hooking ourselves up to the cables again, and hauling them straight up into our ship, where Sasha resumed his work of further binding and securing them all.
Back and forth we descended and ascended via the automated cables system controlled by a secondary computer in our ship. As we sped down to the earth, grabbed another zip-tied female, and sped back up, we saw exciting views of some of the town's buildings starting to cave in from the growing fire damage, as well as some of them exploding into shrapnel and rising plumes of billowing, thick, sooty smoke as our planted explosive charges started to reach zero on their countdown timers. Everything we used was common to the known enemies of this region of the latest planet we were on, so it would trick the survivors into going to war with their neighbors; a perfect environment of chaos distracting them from our follow-up raids to capture and enslave even more of their sexiest females. Thinking of these things, I couldn't help but smile, also then thinking of how much like Rask of Treve I had become; a character of similar occupation from my favorite series of books, given to me by my favorite slave girl who introduced me to this idyllic lifestyle.
With all the new captures loaded onto our ship, and most of the slave rings in its cargo chamber now occupied by at least one of them, we sprayed the rest of our on-person ammo. loads out randomly across the town our cables were speeding us back up and out of, spending hundreds of bullets and dozens of grenade launcher rounds before ceasing fire and setting our weapons to safe as we passed back up into the closing central floor hatch. As the hatch sealed itself, becoming flush with the floor around it, we unhooked ourselves from our respective cables, letting them then rise up to their secure positions touching the spools of the winches built into the ceiling framework, and exchanged high fives, with Nyria throwing her arms around each of us and giving each man a long, passionate French kiss, again, as she did with all men and girls, moving his hands to cup her ass, then her tits, then her throat, just the way she and we both liked it. This was her Inisfreean girl way of saying 'Great job! I had fun! I love you!'
Some of our cargo, expectedly, was moaning, and we had left their mouths ungagged to teach them one of their first lessons as our property. Spreading out again, this time in our ship's cargo chamber, we slapped, punched, kicked, and butt-stroked (hit with the butts of our rifles) each of them as they moaned or otherwise cried out. Sasha then tended to the scraps and little cuts that sometimes produced, not bothering to tell them what they quickly figured out; they will be treated well and patched up, provided they are silent. It doesn't matter how much pain they are in; if they make a noise, they will be beaten. If they protest, they will be beaten worse.
To make a point, while Augustine took inventory, Sasha applied some more ointment and Band-aids, Brahan beat a few more of the tough learners, and Nyria carried our flak jackets and most of our weapons back to be locked up in our rooms, I unchained one of the loudest complainers from her slave ring on the wall, dragging her by a fistful of her hair behind me as I made my way back to the central floor hatch, and put the barrel of my pistol into her mouth, slowly moving around so that all the other captured females got a chance to see what was happening.
Amazingly, she continued to glare at me, trying to cuss despite the pistol half wedged in her mouth, and I gave her that 'oh, well' look, pulling the trigger. The back of her neck, and part of the bottom of the back of her head, exploded into an instant, loud splatter of blood and brains onto the deck plating of the cargo hull next to us. Her body went limp, hanging from the fistful of her hair I was still using to keep her in place. The girls all around us gasped and cried out, moaning and sobbing, trembling and struggling against their bindings keeping their wrists and ankles tightly together, and the backs of their necks locked to their slave rings. Brahan made another round to kick, and slap hard across their faces, all of the females who failed to return to silence before he reached them, and I brought one of the cables back down from the ceiling winches, putting its hook into the hole at the back of the shot girl's skull, then hoisting her up just enough so that her knees were bent and her feet slid back and forth on the deck plating; the perfect height for what I was about to do next.
Finally, I addressed our cargo; "Anyone who makes noise will keep getting beaten. Eventually, our medic will stop patching you up, and you will just endure more beatings with no medical care whatsoever. You are all going to politely watch --in silence-- what I do to this offender. She is a criminal because she annoyed me, and this is how criminals get punished."
With horror, growing more and more horrified of crying out as they watched, all of our cargo stared at me as I unfastened and slid down the pants of the dead girl I'd hoisted up in front of me in the middle of the cargo chamber. All of our cargo was arranged around us in a square; all chained to their slave rings along the walls of this, the largest room aboard my ship. All of them had the same line of sight to me, only excepting when they shut their eyes or looked away, which I permitted, as the rest of their viewing and vibes would get the message sufficiently across.
Fucking the suspended dead girl's ass first, I kept changing my stance so that the two of us rotated about the cable that was holding her just high enough up to be at the perfect level relative my thrusting pelvis. Once I had made a complete circle, I switched to her pussy and repeated this circle. Then I lowered the cable just enough so that her shins were resting on the deck plating, and repeated the circle one more time, this time fucking her mouth, and using my hands to keep her lips closed, more or less, around my thrusting cock. With those three circles completed, I then lowered her down a bit more so that I could ready to put my cock into the hole in the back of her head and neck. All our cargo gasped, many of them nearly throwing up, and Brahan stood by with his rifle well in hand, letting them know with his body language that he would beat them half to death if they raised their voices in protest. They remained silent.
I inched my cock's tip closer and closer to the hole in the dead girl's head, but then stopped and chuckled "I'm just kidding; that would be disgusting," the obvious joke being that the rest of the necrophilia wasn't. Technically, it wasn't; she was still warm and fresh, after all. I swung my cock this way and that a few times, grinning "Look! I got my Red-wings!" The term meant a man had just fucked a female on her period, bloodying his cock, but the blood on mine was from what had been sucked back into her mouth by the vacuum created after the back of her head had been blown apart by the bullet I'd launched through it; still, technically, red-wings, just not from the secretion of a menstrual cycle. Again, most of them gasped, nearly vomiting on themselves.
I hoisted the dead, freshly fucked girl back up to where she was now dangling in the middle of the cargo chamber, her toes hanging a few inches above the deck plating. Reholstering my pistol, I retrieved a bat from a storage compartment and began to playfully use her corpse as a piñata. More gasping occurred, and finally one girl belched up a hot, stinky load of her stomach acid. It splashed all over her, peppering the two girls at her sides, and as they yanked back their legs, Brahan made a bee-line for her. "Please!" she cried out, still coughing up some more barf chunks and spitting them out onto her chest, unable to use her hands to wipe them away, "I didn't Mean to!" She was hysterical.
Brahan reached her, having strolled over to her in a few seconds, and made as if to butt-stroke her. She closed her eyes and cried out, squirming to use her hands to deflect the impending blow to her face, but again found herself perfectly restrained. He chuckled, lowering his rifle, and in the friendliest voice ever, told her "It's okay; I understand. You do have to clean it up, though," and with that, he unlocked her from her slave ring, yanked her forward by a fistful of her hair, let her fall onto her chest on the deck plating, smashing all the vomit on her all over her breasts and belly, and, still holding her hair in his fist, dragged her back and forth through the puke puddle, using her entire body to mop it up (well, to smear it).
"Until all the vomit is cleaned up, I'm afraid you'll have to stay on top of it; you are now the living 'Caution; Wet Floor' sign here to make sure no one steps in your little failure mess," he chuckled, releasing her hair, which resulted in her head dropping and thudding against the deck plating. She shut her eyes, wincing, and curled up in the fetal position, soiled and humiliated, and knowing that if she disobeyed; if she moved out of the pool of her own vomit, she would end up like the dead girl, who didn't even avoid being raped after she had been killed.
I continued smacking my baseball bat into the corpse piñata a bit more, then returned the bat to its storage compartment. "This all happened to you; the utter destruction of your entire community and every building in your town, because one of your citizens fired a missile at this ship of mine. I'm not sure how many survived the raid you just witnessed, but the man from this town of yours, whose team fired the missile at us, is on his way back to your town, right below us, right now. Being clever enough to man an anti-aircraft missile, I'm willing to bet he is also clever enough, especially when working with the few other survivors, to figure out that most of the females of his town; i.e. YOU, were taken as slaves, as it is mostly the corpses of all of your MEN... who he will find lying in the burning buildings and streets below."
There was more coughing, crying, and the shutting of eyes.
Brahan left the cargo chamber to lock up his rifle with the rest of the weapons and other items Nyria had carried off minutes earlier.
"I'll be flying all of you up into orbit and out across the Black Ocean," I continued, furthering the hopelessness they were all now feeling; they would be impossibly far removed from their homes; far too far for anyone of such a primitive community to ever go out looking for them, much less track or reclaim them. "This one," I nudged the girl who Brahan had left lying in her own vomit, moving her another foot across its smear with my boot's toe against her face, "is going to slide around a lot more. You'd probably better try and use your feet and legs to catch and hold her secure, or her flying body might break some of your bones... or even kill a couple of you --herself included."
I knelt down over her, and she kept her eyes closed, unable to stop trembling. "If you try to go to any of them before you start sliding around due to gravity, I will consider that willful disobedience of my crewman's direct order that you remain in your vomit here, and I will kill you and fuck all of your holes --in that order."
She managed a quick and tense nod, her eyes still tightly shut.
On my way out of the cargo chamber and up the stairs to the catwalk connecting to the hatch to the ship's neck hallway, I said over my shoulder to them all; all our newest slave girls, "Once we are in orbit, I will turn on the ship's gravity, and unchain you one at a time until all of her vomit is cleaned up. While it is being cleaned up, she will stand in it barefoot. Once all of it is cleaned up, she no longer needs to be the 'Caution; Wet Floor' sign, and may herself be cleaned up. Once she, too, is cleaned up, all of you will be unchained and transferred to another ship for processing."
Reaching the hatch to the neck hallway, I grinned, again talking over my shoulder, "I challenge any of you to attempt an escape at that point. Your strength in numbers will only serve to further hurt you."
Closing the hatch behind me, I locked it, and went into the cockpit to check the console screens for any sign of the pickup driver's approach.
Sasha, Brahan, and Augustine had gone to have a foursome with Nyria in her room in the neck of the ship. They left when I arrived, patting me on the back for engineering and raising such a perfect girl. She looked up at me from where they'd left her lying on the bed, filled with their loads. She was grinning ear to ear, and looking right into my eyes as if to beckon me to join her right away. Nyria, like all Inisfreean girls, was Always horny and ready for more.
"Get cleaned up, daughter," I told her, and she smiled as she immediately rose from her bed to make her way into our room's little shower.
I returned to the cockpit while the other men cleaned up in their own rooms in the neck of our ship. I saw that the man was finally speeding into town in his pickup truck, and knew he was definitely staring ahead at the many rising plumes of smoke and lingering fires. I wondered if he had more missiles and might try to fire them at our ship, still hovering right over the -literally- dead center of town. I set the controls to have the autopilot accelerate us forward and up through the sky and out into high orbit, and away, just as I'd planned, he watched us fly. I then wondered who he would recognize down there amongst all the bodies; would he drive through the streets, looking for survivors and wounded, eventually finding the corpse of one of his family members or lovers? Would it occur to him that, had his missile worked, he would have caused the same terrible deaths to whoever was onboard my ship? Would it occur to him that such would include the girls; his neighbors and friends, from the nearby city?
Fetching the little Barbie doll of a girl I'd been given for free from the tavern of the city we'd flown over from, I made thorough use of her back in my room, and her cries and howls of pleasure rang out through the ship from there. Even after what she'd seen me do to the shot girl in the cargo chamber, she still yielded helplessly to my total awareness of her female form and functions, and, being a rough-and-tumble bar girl, probably had a thing for guys like me.
Leaving her collapsed, limp, breathing heavily, and resting a hand on her chest, her face a drunken smile, eyes rolled back into her head, legs splayed all the way open, cum leaking out of her stuffed pussy and asshole, and clinging to the sides of her infinitely kissable lips (both sets of them), I made use of Nyria next, who had, while the 'Barbie' and I fucked, been cleaning herself up in our room's shower, that she might then be presentable and worthy of me fucking her some more. Then Nyria made thorough use of the little Barbie doll of a girl, too, and then we all made use of each other, finally returning her to her place amongst the other purchased slave girls a very satisfied, exhausted, and hornily beaming, giggling mess of a girl. She practically hugged the slave ring we chained her collar to, being so sexed up that Anything she touched was welcomed with loving slides of her perfect flesh. The girls all around her in the cargo chamber stared at her in envy, realizing then and there that their punishments, whatever they might be, would be worth it all and more; they were destined to be trophies and pleasure slaves.
Persephone, our heavily modified Firefly-class ship, took us up into orbit, leaving that entertaining world, and the man whose group had shot at us, far behind. I heard some of the girls scream from the cargo chamber, and knew it was because the body of the girl ordered to stay lying in her own vomit, had been sliding around back there, hitting some of them as they desperately tried to catch her with legs bound together at the ankles. She might be between one of those girl's opened knees now, herself bound at the wrists and ankles like the rest of them, trying to figure out how to keep herself wedged in there... for dear life.
After we had assumed a stable, high orbit, I flicked on one of the internal security cameras; a view of the cargo chamber, to make sure she was, in fact, wedged between at least one of those girl's legs, lest my activation of the ship's gravity bring her down, fatally, from floating near the ceiling. She was well in hand (or well in legs, I suppose), and so I powered up the gravity drive and restored that familiar, helpful force and feeling to their room; my ship's cargo chamber. Brahan and I then returned to the cargo chamber, along with Sasha a minute later, to begin unlocking them one at a time, and supervising them as they moped up the spread vomit, then the girl who produced it, and then returned their cleaning supplies to their respective storage compartments. Once that had been checked off our to-do list, it was time for the transfer and processing...
A squad of Inisfreeans boarded Persephone at that point, all of them nude and appearing as teenaged supermodels, as such girls always do. We all enjoyed the ongoing reactions of our cargo; the expressions and sounds of all those newly acquired slave girls realizing they were not just being flown across their world, but up away from it; out of its atmosphere into orbit; a place where they'd never gone before, and that there would be no going back, and no way to run home, even if, somehow, they managed to escape.
The squad of my Inisfreeans, at my thought-command, unlocked the dozens of girls' collars from the metal slave rings bolted into the walls of our Spaceship's cargo chamber, moved the girls into a standing group in the middle of their circle, and, with those Inisfreean girls of mine remaining in that circle around those purchased girls, forming the human version of a Celtic infinity knot with their overlapping, mutually hugging arms, and their smooth girl hands resting on their Inisfreean sisters' shoulders and backs, with their breasts lightly pressing in against the sides of the bought girls standing in the middle of their circle, teleported back off our Spaceship in the Inisfreean fashion; each girl feeling as though something was lightly caressing her entire body at the same time, sending orgasmic chills racing up and down through her every part, her vision blurring for a moment before coming back into focus where they teleported; on the floor of the hangar-like top level of the Receiving Facility back in our home city anchored on Earth.
They'd think themselves in another ship's cargo chamber, as I had told them they'd be transferred to another ship, but they wouldn't have a clue that the other ship they were now on was the size of a city itself, and that it was not merely one docking with our own little Firefly, but one that was many, many lightyears away, in a system completely unknown to them; the one which housed the ancient fairytale homeworld so many of their people now called... Earth-that-was.
At some point after their months of training in that facility of my distant city-ship, Inisfree, they would discover that they had been cloned in batches of 50, and would learn to live, love, and serve with those clones of theirs, all eagerly awaiting my return.
In the meantime, back here on Persephone, with a corpse hanging from a hook in the middle of our cargo chamber, we flew back to where our parent ship, the Spacecraft-carrier named The New Horizon, was continuing on with its patrol and large-scale social experiment. No one there had clearance to be onboard our ship, Persephone, so we didn't bother to take our corpse piñata down.
Chapter 6: Male Slaves
Resting aboard the massive Spacecraft-carrier 'The New Horizon', we restored ourselves, and our raid appetites, between the worlds it passed by. Sometimes it made planet-fall, docking at the largest ports of various of those world's largest cities, entertaining nearly all of its thousands of crew with shore leave; free time for them to mingle in those cities, with the entire world, in each case, being considered the shore, as Outer Space was this ship's ocean; the Black Ocean, often abbreviated as just 'the Black'.
Once R&R; shore leave, was concluded, and the crew returned to the carrier, we, too, reboarded it, returning to our Firefly, Persephone, docked within one of its hangar bays. Sometimes, even as it was rising into orbit, we would launch out for more 'window shopping'; browsing possible slave girl purchases (or kidnappings) through the windows of stores and passing vehicles, as well as the windows of some homes. Auction blocks and auction houses were not so appealing to me, as the bids reached rather ridiculous heights, and I did not wish to destabilize economies, even if just by a little, with our currency, all of which was forged; perfect, but flash-cloned by my home city's mint. Also, auction areas were too crowded for my tastes, and I much preferred one-on-one dealings to barter for girls, rather than the hustle and bustle of the chaotic auction areas, where few people got to know anyone, let alone well enough to become friends for future transactions.
One of my favorite window shopping activities involved buying enslaved males, if they had a familiar look in their eyes; one of endless, unstoppable rage at their capture; the look of the born warrior. Such men I restored the freedom of, purchasing them as if to keep them as slaves of one sort or another, then telling them my true intentions once they were back on Persephone. Each time, I had Nyria, shockingly beautiful to anyone from across the Universe, and ten times more so to anyone recently freed from bondage, clean them by hand- and tongue-washing them in her shower, where they were encouraged to make thorough sexual use of her, getting out all their pent-up sexual frustrations, and then she bathed them, encouraging them to use her again, and then she gave them Nuru massages, encouraging them to use her yet again; as much as they desired. After this cleaning, I chatted with them in the dining chamber of Persephone, getting to know them, if they felt willing to share, and dropping hints that, if they felt interested, I might be interested in working with them as mercenaries; warrior to warrior. They usually agreed wholeheartedly once I suggested using them as recon or bait in the realms and against the peoples which had enslaved them.
At that point, Nyria would be carried in by Brahan and the kajira which I had brought out to join us; Sarah Santos. Sarah had grown strong in Inisfree, and Nyria did not weigh much, so she was expected to help carry Nyria out on the golden gurney that helped present her and the food that was arranged atop Nyria's nude body, Nyotaimori style. Dining while Nyria remained still on that gurney, the recently freed men and I using our hands to pick up the moursels of food from her hypnotizingly sexy body, I always had Sarah, looking just as much a teenager as Nyria always did, kneel with her knees wide open, as the fully trained pleasure slave she now was, holding the beverage vase to pour, like a pitcher or carafe, our drinks and their refills whenever we held out our goblets.
"Why are you so generous to us, friendly stranger?" many of the men over the years of these liberation missions asked us.
"Because I, too, was once enslaved, and for many years. I know how backward it is for men to be slaves; what it does to the spirit and the body, and how it simply must be stopped. Centuries ago on another world, some people came together and created what they called the Underground Railroad; the secret routes and safe houses to get runaway slaves to places where they could live freely again. Today, here and now, with you men, and others, I do the very same thing. My ship here, Persephone, is one of those safe houses."
They then would nod their understanding and thanks, clacking their goblets alongside mine, and return to their dining, drinking, and chatting, as well as, almost always, merry conspiring with me and the men of my crew.
That night; every night I had liberated into my ship once enslaved men, I would have Nyria and Sarah spend the whole night with those men, eagerly giving them all the pleasures they could think of, and tenderly waking them up the following morning with even more pleasures which they had learned, during the course of those nights, the men loved most.
Breakfast was then again served Nyotaimori style atop Nyria, drinks by equally nude Sarah kneeling to her side, and then they might dance the slave girl dances for the men before I dropped them off where they wished to be, bidding them farewell, establishing with them ways to keep in contact for anything we had discussed and scheduled.
I had suffered under countless hosts on Earth who failed to give their females I desired to me in those ways, and never would I be such a shitty host. Never.
"Good girls," I would then pet Nyria and Sarah. "Good girls. You have made me very proud."
As Sarah kneeled at my left leg, leaning to and hugging it tightly, Nyria did so to my right, rubbing her cheek needfully against its knee, telling me how much she loved me and loved to be of service for me and to my guests. They always reminded me what a great decision it was to take along my third in command, and my First Girl; my top-performing kajira.
Resting aboard the massive Spacecraft-carrier 'The New Horizon', we restored ourselves, and our raid appetites, between the worlds it passed by. Sometimes it made planet-fall, docking at the largest ports of various of those world's largest cities, entertaining nearly all of its thousands of crew with shore leave; free time for them to mingle in those cities, with the entire world, in each case, being considered the shore, as Outer Space was this ship's ocean; the Black Ocean, often abbreviated as just 'the Black'.
Once R&R; shore leave, was concluded, and the crew returned to the carrier, we, too, reboarded it, returning to our Firefly, Persephone, docked within one of its hangar bays. Sometimes, even as it was rising into orbit, we would launch out for more 'window shopping'; browsing possible slave girl purchases (or kidnappings) through the windows of stores and passing vehicles, as well as the windows of some homes. Auction blocks and auction houses were not so appealing to me, as the bids reached rather ridiculous heights, and I did not wish to destabilize economies, even if just by a little, with our currency, all of which was forged; perfect, but flash-cloned by my home city's mint. Also, auction areas were too crowded for my tastes, and I much preferred one-on-one dealings to barter for girls, rather than the hustle and bustle of the chaotic auction areas, where few people got to know anyone, let alone well enough to become friends for future transactions.
One of my favorite window shopping activities involved buying enslaved males, if they had a familiar look in their eyes; one of endless, unstoppable rage at their capture; the look of the born warrior. Such men I restored the freedom of, purchasing them as if to keep them as slaves of one sort or another, then telling them my true intentions once they were back on Persephone. Each time, I had Nyria, shockingly beautiful to anyone from across the Universe, and ten times more so to anyone recently freed from bondage, clean them by hand- and tongue-washing them in her shower, where they were encouraged to make thorough sexual use of her, getting out all their pent-up sexual frustrations, and then she bathed them, encouraging them to use her again, and then she gave them Nuru massages, encouraging them to use her yet again; as much as they desired. After this cleaning, I chatted with them in the dining chamber of Persephone, getting to know them, if they felt willing to share, and dropping hints that, if they felt interested, I might be interested in working with them as mercenaries; warrior to warrior. They usually agreed wholeheartedly once I suggested using them as recon or bait in the realms and against the peoples which had enslaved them.
At that point, Nyria would be carried in by Brahan and the kajira which I had brought out to join us; Sarah Santos. Sarah had grown strong in Inisfree, and Nyria did not weigh much, so she was expected to help carry Nyria out on the golden gurney that helped present her and the food that was arranged atop Nyria's nude body, Nyotaimori style. Dining while Nyria remained still on that gurney, the recently freed men and I using our hands to pick up the moursels of food from her hypnotizingly sexy body, I always had Sarah, looking just as much a teenager as Nyria always did, kneel with her knees wide open, as the fully trained pleasure slave she now was, holding the beverage vase to pour, like a pitcher or carafe, our drinks and their refills whenever we held out our goblets.
"Why are you so generous to us, friendly stranger?" many of the men over the years of these liberation missions asked us.
"Because I, too, was once enslaved, and for many years. I know how backward it is for men to be slaves; what it does to the spirit and the body, and how it simply must be stopped. Centuries ago on another world, some people came together and created what they called the Underground Railroad; the secret routes and safe houses to get runaway slaves to places where they could live freely again. Today, here and now, with you men, and others, I do the very same thing. My ship here, Persephone, is one of those safe houses."
They then would nod their understanding and thanks, clacking their goblets alongside mine, and return to their dining, drinking, and chatting, as well as, almost always, merry conspiring with me and the men of my crew.
That night; every night I had liberated into my ship once enslaved men, I would have Nyria and Sarah spend the whole night with those men, eagerly giving them all the pleasures they could think of, and tenderly waking them up the following morning with even more pleasures which they had learned, during the course of those nights, the men loved most.
Breakfast was then again served Nyotaimori style atop Nyria, drinks by equally nude Sarah kneeling to her side, and then they might dance the slave girl dances for the men before I dropped them off where they wished to be, bidding them farewell, establishing with them ways to keep in contact for anything we had discussed and scheduled.
I had suffered under countless hosts on Earth who failed to give their females I desired to me in those ways, and never would I be such a shitty host. Never.
"Good girls," I would then pet Nyria and Sarah. "Good girls. You have made me very proud."
As Sarah kneeled at my left leg, leaning to and hugging it tightly, Nyria did so to my right, rubbing her cheek needfully against its knee, telling me how much she loved me and loved to be of service for me and to my guests. They always reminded me what a great decision it was to take along my third in command, and my First Girl; my top-performing kajira.
Chapter 7: Exotics
Sometimes the men I liberated from slavery later helped me to trap and capture proud Outlander females, usually the ones who had enslaved those men not all that long before. I always thanked them by giving them first go at the captured females, sitting in those females' fields of view for front-row seats at the sexual breaking of their pride. I beat, starved, and humiliated each one of those male-enslaving females until she was a trembling mess, begging me exactly how I wanted, willing to do anything the moment I willed it, even if she had to guess at it through interpreting my subtle body language. These females, so far from my home city, and so rare in that they were usually wealthy, powerful, and oddly dominant in how they managed slave operations of their own, I considered to be 'exotics', and my ship, Persephone, ended up hosting the breaking, conquering, and reprogramming of more than 100 of them.
There were other exotics, too, such as alien humanoids that were just sexy and compatible enough to warrant my attention; Asari, Drow from other worlds, rare hybrids of them and many other species, and so forth. Once thinking themselves great huntresses and warrioresses, dominant over countless other males, it was very entertaining to watch their expressions change when Nyria, seemingly a tiny teenage girl purebred for sexual pleasure, bested them in all forms of combat, no matter what they challenged us with. And I found that the females who resisted me the most... always proved to break the most, fall the most, and become addicted to my sex and commands the most; female dignitaries, Catholics, etc., all of them proved the wildest in bed once they realized what all they'd been missing, being dominant females amongst pathetic males.
I learned to sport with these captured exotics; these foolish females thinking themselves strong enough to resist me, and that I would be like all other men they'd until me known. Locking them up with their sisters in new bondage, I would thoroughly make use of them all, one by one, day after day, slowing working my way down their line chained by their first collars to the slave rings bolted into my cargo chamber's walls. One by one, they would crack, show shame, lash out in futile attempts to hurt me, then begin to glance my way in hopes of more of my brilliant forms of sexual touch. Their sisters in new bondage would see this, cry out in rage against them, sometimes trying to give them pep-talks, then succumb to this same method of mine, too. This way, these exotics got to watch in awe as I broke their most defiant fellows right next to and in front of them, and this, also to my enjoyment, visibly shook their resolve a little more each day, as I worked my way, one girl per day, toward their place in the line and on the wall.
"You'll Never break me!" they would cry in their cute little girl rages, and that always eventually turned into, "Use ME, Master! This lowly slave girl BEGS it! PLEASE!!!" and they would lean their crotches as close to me as they could, ignoring how their bindings were hurting them as they did so. I had effectively rendered them all, as if they were felines, in permanent heat.
At that point, like the men I liberated from such females, these females, once dominant over all men who came their way (pun!), were my loyalest slaves, guards, spies, and assassins (excepting, of course, for my daughters; the Inisfreeans, who were born as extensions of my will, literally incapable of turning on me any more than my foot my decide to kick itself). It was these females, even as much as my Inisfreean girls, who helped me to hunt, capture, enslave, break, and employ even the other, once-dominant females of their peoples, races, and worlds, telling each newly capture girl or group, "I was once like you; I thought I was strong and fierce; that no man could tame me. I was wrong. Oh, how wrong I was. You are wrong, too." It was wonderful psychological warfare; it rang, to those new, stubborn captures, of so much undeniable truth, and, on their deepest level, I could tell that part of them, which scared them, Wanted to hear it; they Needed it to be true, and to happen to them; to break them, ...soon.
Lastly, there were the girls whom I considered to be the most exotic of all, but not because they were more alien to me; rather, because their purpose in my plans was so unique every time. I knew a great many great men who had been greatly wronged by a great many women Thinking themselves great and worthy of rights to do such things to great men. Great men are not so stupid that they believe in forgiveness of such beasts as women who do such things. Thus, great men pay greatly for anyone who can lead them to the women who have wronged them, and double so for anyone who can, if they do not wish the sport for themselves, bring those women directly back to them. Perhaps, too, at times, they are too busy to partake of such hunts. Whatever be the case, even though money means little to nothing to an Inisfreean (for we can clone anything, and fool anyone), I enjoy restoring long lost joy to great men at the expense of the wrongfully powerful women who crossed them, and accepting whatever forms of payment those great men might wish to bestow in thanks upon me and me team, often of my Firefly, Persephone, who aided me in those efforts.
For example, if a warrior has been, in a realm corrupted by false-men, accused of assaulting a woman, I make sure either to install him in a realm which has not suffered the corruption of such false-men allowing such nonsense, or to help him overthrow and take charge of the foolish authorities in the realm in question, stabilizing it, through installing him in this way, from ever suffering such backwards laws again. I then seek out, with my Inisfreean technologies, the woman or women who wronged him, even if they are just a preteen girl, and deliver them to him, that he may repay them for however long, and in whichever ways, it pleases him. This is because assaulting a woman is not a crime, for females are slaves, and those older than girls are almost always deserving of beatings because people learn best during their formative years, and lose cognitive elasticity, and the general ability to learn new things, the older they get. They are also almost always deserving of beatings because that is simply the way they learn, for the female gender learns not by talk, as in logic, which would require thinking, but in the communication of touch, as in beatings, because their gender feels much more than it thinks. Thus, females only learn what is acceptable by loving touch, and they only stop doing what is unacceptable by hateful touch, such as from the whip and the fist. All societies which ban this, their natural form of communication, only doom and ruin themselves, allowing 100% of their females to become confused and reckless, if they ever learned anything during their younger years at all.
I have learned, during the hunting and delivery of such exotics as these; these women that not only err, but attempt to destroy great men instead of just seeking to attract and be dominated by them, that it is also good to trick them into thinking their pride and perceived powers will be preserved. Thus, I deliver them unconquered; just captured, to the men who they wronged, ensuring that it is those men alone who get what they deserve; the long overdue and unmatched joy that it is to conquer and forever own such women. After all, I have conquered untold millions now, and command the eternal loyalty of sextillions more; it is nothing to me to hand over a few, here and there, as I enjoy exploring the entire Universe, to the men who would, of course, get a far deeper, greater bliss out of those specific women's utter defeat and submission at their own hands.
As a real and wise man, it is my duty to police such false-men as those who give females rights, and who deny them their only chance to learn; through their language, which is tactile, not verbal; beatings and fuckings; to reinforce the females' understanding of wrong and right, respectively. It is my duty to police the police, as well, as I am of the caste of warriors, and warriors, as we all know, are above all police, regardless of what the jurisdiction of some police is claimed to be. This is because the warrior takes an oath to defend the entire nation or realm 'against all enemies, foreign and domestic'; domestic includes police, judges, federal agents, and all others who have become corrupted by such foolishness as the backwards notion of gender equality. Furthermore, as the king of all kings; the ubar of all ubars, I am the commander of all commanders, thereby the highest-ranking warrior of all, thereby the one with the rights to police all. Thus it is that as I travel the Verse, the only worlds and other realms I allow to remain so corrupted... are those which are only capable of producing natural slaves, such as Earth. (And the only reason my Inisfreean forces cut back humanity by 99% in 2013 was not to change that slave-producing society of fools, but to prevent them from destroying themselves with all the backwards ways, such as pollution and condescension toward all other life, which they had, in their backwards ways, allowed to metastasize beyond control.) And the only people I listen to are those who share this understanding, always ignoring those who claim authority which conflicts with my own.
Now that it is clear how and why I operate, and what I think of these exotics, let us hope, for their sakes, that they hear talk of this, and only then put up a token fight, for I have conquered every one of them I have encountered, regardless of how she attempted to trick and ensnare me with her legions of false-men, and because I kill, and much worse, without remorse, for, again, I am of the warriors, not to mention the chief warrior above all other ones. My very existence conquers all such exotics be default, I never having to even meet them, and since even the most exotic, by this definition, fall that easily to my presence, the false-men who could never even stand up to those women, thinking themselves equals or greater to them, stand no chance against me at all; not even to put up those token fights.
Exotics, ...beware the Lord of Inisfree, Ubar of the Universe.
Sometimes the men I liberated from slavery later helped me to trap and capture proud Outlander females, usually the ones who had enslaved those men not all that long before. I always thanked them by giving them first go at the captured females, sitting in those females' fields of view for front-row seats at the sexual breaking of their pride. I beat, starved, and humiliated each one of those male-enslaving females until she was a trembling mess, begging me exactly how I wanted, willing to do anything the moment I willed it, even if she had to guess at it through interpreting my subtle body language. These females, so far from my home city, and so rare in that they were usually wealthy, powerful, and oddly dominant in how they managed slave operations of their own, I considered to be 'exotics', and my ship, Persephone, ended up hosting the breaking, conquering, and reprogramming of more than 100 of them.
There were other exotics, too, such as alien humanoids that were just sexy and compatible enough to warrant my attention; Asari, Drow from other worlds, rare hybrids of them and many other species, and so forth. Once thinking themselves great huntresses and warrioresses, dominant over countless other males, it was very entertaining to watch their expressions change when Nyria, seemingly a tiny teenage girl purebred for sexual pleasure, bested them in all forms of combat, no matter what they challenged us with. And I found that the females who resisted me the most... always proved to break the most, fall the most, and become addicted to my sex and commands the most; female dignitaries, Catholics, etc., all of them proved the wildest in bed once they realized what all they'd been missing, being dominant females amongst pathetic males.
I learned to sport with these captured exotics; these foolish females thinking themselves strong enough to resist me, and that I would be like all other men they'd until me known. Locking them up with their sisters in new bondage, I would thoroughly make use of them all, one by one, day after day, slowing working my way down their line chained by their first collars to the slave rings bolted into my cargo chamber's walls. One by one, they would crack, show shame, lash out in futile attempts to hurt me, then begin to glance my way in hopes of more of my brilliant forms of sexual touch. Their sisters in new bondage would see this, cry out in rage against them, sometimes trying to give them pep-talks, then succumb to this same method of mine, too. This way, these exotics got to watch in awe as I broke their most defiant fellows right next to and in front of them, and this, also to my enjoyment, visibly shook their resolve a little more each day, as I worked my way, one girl per day, toward their place in the line and on the wall.
"You'll Never break me!" they would cry in their cute little girl rages, and that always eventually turned into, "Use ME, Master! This lowly slave girl BEGS it! PLEASE!!!" and they would lean their crotches as close to me as they could, ignoring how their bindings were hurting them as they did so. I had effectively rendered them all, as if they were felines, in permanent heat.
At that point, like the men I liberated from such females, these females, once dominant over all men who came their way (pun!), were my loyalest slaves, guards, spies, and assassins (excepting, of course, for my daughters; the Inisfreeans, who were born as extensions of my will, literally incapable of turning on me any more than my foot my decide to kick itself). It was these females, even as much as my Inisfreean girls, who helped me to hunt, capture, enslave, break, and employ even the other, once-dominant females of their peoples, races, and worlds, telling each newly capture girl or group, "I was once like you; I thought I was strong and fierce; that no man could tame me. I was wrong. Oh, how wrong I was. You are wrong, too." It was wonderful psychological warfare; it rang, to those new, stubborn captures, of so much undeniable truth, and, on their deepest level, I could tell that part of them, which scared them, Wanted to hear it; they Needed it to be true, and to happen to them; to break them, ...soon.
Lastly, there were the girls whom I considered to be the most exotic of all, but not because they were more alien to me; rather, because their purpose in my plans was so unique every time. I knew a great many great men who had been greatly wronged by a great many women Thinking themselves great and worthy of rights to do such things to great men. Great men are not so stupid that they believe in forgiveness of such beasts as women who do such things. Thus, great men pay greatly for anyone who can lead them to the women who have wronged them, and double so for anyone who can, if they do not wish the sport for themselves, bring those women directly back to them. Perhaps, too, at times, they are too busy to partake of such hunts. Whatever be the case, even though money means little to nothing to an Inisfreean (for we can clone anything, and fool anyone), I enjoy restoring long lost joy to great men at the expense of the wrongfully powerful women who crossed them, and accepting whatever forms of payment those great men might wish to bestow in thanks upon me and me team, often of my Firefly, Persephone, who aided me in those efforts.
For example, if a warrior has been, in a realm corrupted by false-men, accused of assaulting a woman, I make sure either to install him in a realm which has not suffered the corruption of such false-men allowing such nonsense, or to help him overthrow and take charge of the foolish authorities in the realm in question, stabilizing it, through installing him in this way, from ever suffering such backwards laws again. I then seek out, with my Inisfreean technologies, the woman or women who wronged him, even if they are just a preteen girl, and deliver them to him, that he may repay them for however long, and in whichever ways, it pleases him. This is because assaulting a woman is not a crime, for females are slaves, and those older than girls are almost always deserving of beatings because people learn best during their formative years, and lose cognitive elasticity, and the general ability to learn new things, the older they get. They are also almost always deserving of beatings because that is simply the way they learn, for the female gender learns not by talk, as in logic, which would require thinking, but in the communication of touch, as in beatings, because their gender feels much more than it thinks. Thus, females only learn what is acceptable by loving touch, and they only stop doing what is unacceptable by hateful touch, such as from the whip and the fist. All societies which ban this, their natural form of communication, only doom and ruin themselves, allowing 100% of their females to become confused and reckless, if they ever learned anything during their younger years at all.
I have learned, during the hunting and delivery of such exotics as these; these women that not only err, but attempt to destroy great men instead of just seeking to attract and be dominated by them, that it is also good to trick them into thinking their pride and perceived powers will be preserved. Thus, I deliver them unconquered; just captured, to the men who they wronged, ensuring that it is those men alone who get what they deserve; the long overdue and unmatched joy that it is to conquer and forever own such women. After all, I have conquered untold millions now, and command the eternal loyalty of sextillions more; it is nothing to me to hand over a few, here and there, as I enjoy exploring the entire Universe, to the men who would, of course, get a far deeper, greater bliss out of those specific women's utter defeat and submission at their own hands.
As a real and wise man, it is my duty to police such false-men as those who give females rights, and who deny them their only chance to learn; through their language, which is tactile, not verbal; beatings and fuckings; to reinforce the females' understanding of wrong and right, respectively. It is my duty to police the police, as well, as I am of the caste of warriors, and warriors, as we all know, are above all police, regardless of what the jurisdiction of some police is claimed to be. This is because the warrior takes an oath to defend the entire nation or realm 'against all enemies, foreign and domestic'; domestic includes police, judges, federal agents, and all others who have become corrupted by such foolishness as the backwards notion of gender equality. Furthermore, as the king of all kings; the ubar of all ubars, I am the commander of all commanders, thereby the highest-ranking warrior of all, thereby the one with the rights to police all. Thus it is that as I travel the Verse, the only worlds and other realms I allow to remain so corrupted... are those which are only capable of producing natural slaves, such as Earth. (And the only reason my Inisfreean forces cut back humanity by 99% in 2013 was not to change that slave-producing society of fools, but to prevent them from destroying themselves with all the backwards ways, such as pollution and condescension toward all other life, which they had, in their backwards ways, allowed to metastasize beyond control.) And the only people I listen to are those who share this understanding, always ignoring those who claim authority which conflicts with my own.
Now that it is clear how and why I operate, and what I think of these exotics, let us hope, for their sakes, that they hear talk of this, and only then put up a token fight, for I have conquered every one of them I have encountered, regardless of how she attempted to trick and ensnare me with her legions of false-men, and because I kill, and much worse, without remorse, for, again, I am of the warriors, not to mention the chief warrior above all other ones. My very existence conquers all such exotics be default, I never having to even meet them, and since even the most exotic, by this definition, fall that easily to my presence, the false-men who could never even stand up to those women, thinking themselves equals or greater to them, stand no chance against me at all; not even to put up those token fights.
Exotics, ...beware the Lord of Inisfree, Ubar of the Universe.
aaaaa
Epilogue: Deep Thoughts
I find it interesting, what I have grown to become. I am not the monsters I once struggled against; those who repressed my kind, and those I loved, ripping us apart. Instead, I am balance, justice, payback; I take the females of those monsters' races, forcing them to yield to my ways as their false-men once forced me to yield to theirs, and choose how I will enjoy myself, while such things were once chosen For me. I turned my enemies' tactics to good, using them for my own benefit. Instead of becoming a fascist monster like them, I became a master of their own crafts and mine, fusing them all, and at last living a happy life in the aftermath of their permanent defeats. All they attempted only made me more myself, and now I am more myself than ever, and the way I think about worthy females involves their deepest penetration --in every sense. As they say in the gym, 'Freight train's comin'. Can't stop a train.'
My name is Auzdein, though I am also called, depending on who you ask, Auz, or Doctor, or Lord, or King, or Ubar of Ubars, or The Governor. Some have also affectionately nicknamed me The Walking Boner; I do love my sex, as do all of my children, the Inisfreeans. I use the windows of them; the eyes and portals of my Inisfreeans and our Inisfree, to window-shop deeply across the whole Universe. This window-shopping shows me what to avoid, and where to get the best of what I love. I enslave attractive females. I liberate enslaved males. I am in the business of human trafficking, and I traffic many humanoids, too. I make a good living off of hunting, fetching, and delivering offensive females to great males exactly as those males wish those females to be delivered. I call such females 'exotics', and I have a sweet tooth for them, as well as for this lifestyle and line of work. My name is Auz, and I am the leader of the Inisfreean people and their realm, the eternal commander and captain of their flagship; our home-city, Inisfree, and I am here to stay, window-shopping for the perfect slaves.
I find it interesting, what I have grown to become. I am not the monsters I once struggled against; those who repressed my kind, and those I loved, ripping us apart. Instead, I am balance, justice, payback; I take the females of those monsters' races, forcing them to yield to my ways as their false-men once forced me to yield to theirs, and choose how I will enjoy myself, while such things were once chosen For me. I turned my enemies' tactics to good, using them for my own benefit. Instead of becoming a fascist monster like them, I became a master of their own crafts and mine, fusing them all, and at last living a happy life in the aftermath of their permanent defeats. All they attempted only made me more myself, and now I am more myself than ever, and the way I think about worthy females involves their deepest penetration --in every sense. As they say in the gym, 'Freight train's comin'. Can't stop a train.'
My name is Auzdein, though I am also called, depending on who you ask, Auz, or Doctor, or Lord, or King, or Ubar of Ubars, or The Governor. Some have also affectionately nicknamed me The Walking Boner; I do love my sex, as do all of my children, the Inisfreeans. I use the windows of them; the eyes and portals of my Inisfreeans and our Inisfree, to window-shop deeply across the whole Universe. This window-shopping shows me what to avoid, and where to get the best of what I love. I enslave attractive females. I liberate enslaved males. I am in the business of human trafficking, and I traffic many humanoids, too. I make a good living off of hunting, fetching, and delivering offensive females to great males exactly as those males wish those females to be delivered. I call such females 'exotics', and I have a sweet tooth for them, as well as for this lifestyle and line of work. My name is Auz, and I am the leader of the Inisfreean people and their realm, the eternal commander and captain of their flagship; our home-city, Inisfree, and I am here to stay, window-shopping for the perfect slaves.
aaaaa
