Approved for Slavery News: Another fortunate Outlander has been approved for one of the forms of entrance-processing to Inisfree.
Approved for Slavery Abstract
This account of part of the Inisfreean Way is told from the perspective of one of the outsiders who is deemed a beautiful-enough girl to warrant capture and re-education. Of note in this story is one of the first mentions of Alpha Delta Omega, the once-fraternal order co-founded by Sir Gabriel Tiberius and Lord Auzdein von Himmler (both of whom have now ascended to their respective thrones as kings of entire domains) in the Outlands' Bear Republic.
This account of part of the Inisfreean Way is told from the perspective of one of the outsiders who is deemed a beautiful-enough girl to warrant capture and re-education. Of note in this story is one of the first mentions of Alpha Delta Omega, the once-fraternal order co-founded by Sir Gabriel Tiberius and Lord Auzdein von Himmler (both of whom have now ascended to their respective thrones as kings of entire domains) in the Outlands' Bear Republic.
Approved for Slavery
Chapter 1: Acquisition
I learned the hard way about Inisfree and its unquestionable might and focus; its singular vision and unilateral policy for dealing with all those it classified, such as myself, as ‘Outlanders’. Those who are born outside its walls; we, the children of filth and chaos, laziness and recklessness, metastasize-based made-up religions and worse… we were subject to its punishments for so long as our parents and teachers should continue their ridiculously transparent and futile pursuits at denying natural beauty and balance.
As others (such as Sarah Conrad) had experienced, the Inisfreeans came to my hometown amidst what we hopelessly uneducated and inexperienced Outlanders would call ‘singing clouds’. Their pillars of light; white laser beams wide as cars, erupted down in an instant, sterilizing (and often vaporizing and de-atomizing) everything in their paths. Entire neighborhoods were reduced to the ash of foundations crumbling into nothingness. Not even the ground was left bare as we, in our primitive construction attempts, had cursed it with our building. Our community –our civilization… was literally erased. Into thin air, almost everything we had ever built vanished –as did the vast, vast majority of all our people occupying those constructs.
Those of us who were left –who witnessed this… this… what we could only struggle to define with words such as ‘insanity’- were left standing there in our tattered rags; we were soaked in ash, soot, tears, blood, drool, cum, urine, and our own feces, all of which we had lost control over when the singing clouds and disintegrating beams of blinding-bright light started moving about and wiping everything clean and gone. We had been left to soil ourselves and become stupefied in terror, wonder, and awe. Few of us had paid attention to the lingering religious rambling of the elder humans, for it no longer served anyone, and we sensed this somehow. So fewer still of those of us now left standing amidst the now total absence of this, the non-ruins of our hometown, had even the foggiest recollection of the term those elders had once imparted upon us; the Rapture.
Inisfreeans weren’t the kind to wait around, I later learned; they heard good ideas and found ways to make them happen –and made them happen –soon, if not immediately. That was part of their essence; their way, which none of them ever questions. At this stage in their interaction with these, our ‘Outlands’ (those lands outside their only city; their eternally protected and exclusive home), they were making that legendary and prophesied Rapture happen –but, as they always did, with their own particular and signature Inisfreean twist.
All the others around me were young, teenage girls like myself. The reason I could see them all now was because the swirling, twinkling particles that had once been their homes and the other buildings of our city which they were occupying for their own reasons… had finished disappearing into thin air. These girls, as I had, had fallen to the now-exposed soils and rocks beneath their feet; raw earth which had appeared a foot or more below them as the foundations of our various structures had been disintegrated along with everything else.
Some of the beams had stripped us of most of our clothing. All of our makeup, jewelry, piercings, and other customary, regionally expected, physical accoutrements had been disintegrated, too; right off our own flesh, as if it was as easy as differentiating between circles and squares. None of us had been burned or otherwise damaged, as our structures and many of our garments had been –and so completely. Looking around at each other, we struggled to hold on to anything still familiar, but less and less of our current experience was…
The Inisfreean troops began appearing before us; lion-helmeted knights in armor akin to Iron Man’s, but far more elegant, smoothed, and feminine, yet wholly dominating and unbelievably intimidating. We were silent. We didn’t even dare squeak out half-second cries or whimpers in our utterly total defeat. We all knew we were theirs now; we had been captured, chosen, …spared.
Standing a few inches taller than we were, these Inisfreean troops in their suits looked down upon us, regarding us through the glaring, fang-complemented maws of their helmet-visors. The eyes upon the brows of these Egyptian hybrid deity headdresses flickered and then flashed with the same blinding brilliance that their disintegrator beams once had. We all knew to cast our eyes downward, and soon learned by way of thunderous, painfully loud booms from their speech enhancement units, that we were also to kneel and completely surrender ourselves for the rest of time.
Those who hesitated were struck; beaten and then picked up by their throats and thrown backwards, only to be commanded again. There was no resisting them, for those who did were nearly paralyzed with the trauma they received. Though brutal, I later learned, each assault against them was also surgical in its precision; our new captors were all geniuses, each of them in full control of their minds, emotions, and bodies. Nothing they did was without supercomputer accuracy and unflinching purpose. Everything they did had been planned, and they moved and thought as one.
By my hair, I was held there, and I felt the gloved, armored, bulky yet precise hands and touches of multiple of these taller beings rid me very thoroughly and mercilessly of the clothing which still clung to me. When my shoes were also yanked off and cast aside, I became the most afraid, for I had not spent any of my time toughening my feet for exposure to the elements –especially not a surprise lifestyle change into spartan slave labor.
Barefoot and nude, I was again taken by my hair, and led as a disobedient and dangerous dog would have been, up into one of their ships. The salty tears, blood, and grime in my eyes, which I was violently scolded against wiping away, prevented me from seeing exactly how I had ended up on a ship I had not seen anywhere from horizon to horizon.
It seemed as if we were in a building, though, for no matter how much my brain reconfirmed to me we had all been taken aboard their hidden airships or other vehicles, the floor beneath us felt as sturdy as the buildings and homes we had all until very recently been firmly relaxing and socializing within. The material we stood on did not give any indications it was moving, as Outlander buses, trains, ships, and airplanes always do, and especially nothing to indicate just how quickly our airship was moving. As we were quickly indoctrinated into our new and permanent form of relaxing and socializing (the Inisfreean form), our airship, in fact, was moving so quickly that not even the Space shuttle traveling outside our world’s atmosphere faster than 10 times the speed of a bullet… could even compare.
A firm, armor-gloved hand, feeling somewhat like that of a knight’s (I imagined, based on my limited understanding of how knights used to dress and protect themselves) took my jaw and clearly communicated to me that I was now to look upon one of the other girls who had been kidnapped with the rest from our now-erased hometown. Another of these armor-gloved hands took up a fistful of all the hair sprouting from the top of my scalp, and immediately ensured its grip thereupon was exceedingly painful to the point of causing me shortness of breath. I dared not move, for I could feel if I did, my entire mop of luxurious hair might happily and effortlessly be removed; scalping was a very real and ever-present threat, now amongst my new superiors.
I kept my face facing where I was made to, and my eyes upon that which I was expected to see. Unblinking, and absolutely mortified to even consider blinking, I quickly learned to control my emotions and watch in obedient silence as one of the girls from my hometown (and now my kidnapped group) was made to kneel with her knees as wide open as her body would allow, her chin up and out, eyes forward, shoulders rolled back, chest puffed up, tits forward and out, feet aligned, back arched, hands resting upon her thighs, palms up, thumbs flush with the sides of her hands, and lips lightly sealed. One of the lion-helmeted captors approached her square-on; directly from her front, and began to whip her directly across her wide-open pussy and fully exposed chest and nipples with a ferocity that can only be described as inhuman –far beyond anything even feral or psychotic. Each strike of the captor’s whip left multiple reddened lines appearing in parallel curves across the bare skin of this helpless and equally fear-crippled girl. The lips of her pussy became swollen and red, and her whole body began to tremble and drip; sweat and pre-cum trickling off of her and starting a thin pool on the floor beneath her. Each flinch, each yelp, each gasp, and every slightest, millimeter-long movement in breaking from her intended kneeling position… was met with another round of lashes cracking sharply against her crotch slit, tummy, raw breasts, and hardening nipples. Each crack of these barrages of whip stings resounding in our chamber like passing bullets.
When they had finished making an example out of her, they began to boom yells at us in their foreign tongue. Completely alien to us, we had no idea what it was. Some of us, though amazingly stupid and uncultured by Inisfreean standards, had received world-class educations, studied abroad, and even mastered multiple languages in addition to that of our own. Yet, though I was counted amongst these previously fortunate people, I could not identify a single word that these Inisfreeans were speaking. Somehow, their language, which, for whatever reason, they had now unanimously and unspokenly decided to reveal to us, sounded like a smooth fusion of them all; an eloquent blend of every single linguistic sound of all the tongues I had ever even heard of. There were accents transitioning back and forth, on and off, as they spoke these unique and eclectic combinations of noises to us. At times, they sounded Arabic, at other times; Scottish, …then Native American, then Chinese, then Russian, then Scandinavian, then French, and on and on. These were the synthesizer-modified and magnified voices of beautifully musical girls, but to us, in those moments, under those conditions, they had been made to sound like the ominous and foreboding rumblings of the gods and goddesses; like a language spoken via peals of thunder and angry trumpets being stretched out during their notes and chords.
No one had any idea what their Inisfreean words meant, and this, I think, was part of their ‘shock and awe’ approach to our first day of Inisfreean corrective training. We were given no gestures or other body language to help us figure it out. One by one, they began to yank us backwards by fistfuls of our hair, forcing our crying eyes upward to the dome-like, matte-gray ceiling just a dozen or so feet above us all. One by one, we were made to assume that erotically suggestive kneeling position. One by one, we were whipped until we threw up on ourselves and saw stars.
Everyone of us, we tiny little teenage girls taken so far out of our element and the only type of city and people we ever knew, were left humiliated and horrified, blubbering and bloodied, sore of scalp and throbbing of pussy, …and then we were shoved like unruly cattle or prison inmates into confining tubes; cylinders barely big enough to be considered coffins. Deprived of breathable air at first, we fought frantically to free ourselves. Then we were yanked back out of what had once been unbreakable, unbendable, clear, cockpit-canopy-like window-panels in front of us. The Inisfreeans reached through it as if it was air, where as we had each beaten on it until our knuckles and fingernails were torn and bleeding, having no affect on it at all.
Yanked back out, we were beginning, on some level, to get used to this ragdoll state of existence. We allowed ourselves to be tripped, brought to the floor panels, dragged around by our hair, and roughed up again and again. We began to go numb to the slaps and lashings. This, too, we soon learned, was a horrible, horrible mistake. One does not go numb to an Inisfreean. One does not tune an Inisfreean out. Back in the cramped tubes we were shoved. What seemed like open air to us, far clearer than the clearest glass our greatest Outlander technical wizardry had ever produced, was again as solid and unmovable as the planet itself. Instead of suffocation by vacuum, however, this tube confinement was to terrify us with drowning; our bruised and blistered feet felt the icy water rising up from some unseen pores in the bottom circle of each of our tubes, The water climbed higher and higher, passing our knees and groins and tits and necks, until we were screaming at the tops of our lungs for help and mercy of any kind, and under any circumstances. Pleas in every word we could think of were shrieked, including offers to do anything in any way for any amount of time –without exception.
The Inisfreeans reached through the clear fronts of our otherwise dark and windowless tubes, punched us in our faces several times, and removed their armored hands and forearms as the water dropped and then began to rise again. We drowned. They let us all become submerged, hold our breaths, lose that ability, suck in the water, feel the burning, black out after nearly breaking all our limbs in one final effort to escape, and then drown. Perhaps we died. I don’t think any of us knew the science of such things. This was so far beyond any of that which was taught to us in our schools –so far beyond, even, that which had been taught to and practiced by the Navy SEALs.
I awoke as I was being again violently yanked out of my tube by my hair. I couldn’t control my appendages very well; they hung from my torso as if leaden and tingly like when they lose circulation and fall asleep. There were other teenaged girls in our gray, womb-like chamber whose curving perimeter wall was lined with those dreadful deprivation tubes they kept stuffing us in. These other young, tiny, also naked girls waited robotically for the larger Inisfreeans to indicate they should interact with us. All at once, having clearly been well trained long before our group had been kidnapped to join theirs, they advanced upon us, giving us mouth-to-mouth. Some girls required CPR –or, at least, it seemed that way; Inisfreeans, I also later learned, loved to mask their technical wizardry from everyone, making people think they use the same primitive methods we Outlanders had been limited to.
I coughed up a lot of water, my insides burned, my head throbbed and pounded –as did my heart. I thought I was going to die again. Surely, at least, that I was going to pass out. I had already lost consciousness once. At least this time, I reasoned with myself, it wouldn’t be while floating in a vertical coffin, sucking in my final breath. This time would be far more agreeable. I prepared my mind to let myself go. The Inisfreean nearest me quickly sensed this, likely reading both my body and my thoughts, and put me back into the kneeling position, whipping me severely as ever. I had just recovered from drowning, wondering if I had died, and even that was no excuse for choosing to stop paying attention to the every subtle command and other indicator of my captors.
They never again spoke in the languages any of us understood. Those days, as far as we could tell, were over. We would have to learn their language amidst the full-bodied and nightmarish pains and trials they were to keep putting us through, with no end in sight, no reward system, and no relief. Passing out was punished as harshly as if we had raped and murdered someone’s children. Even when we couldn’t control it, the punishments still always came; we were being conditioned, toughened, hardened, molded into something far more than we’d ever imagined possible. The limits we all thought we’d once had… were now shattered and forgotten. New limits were imagined and surpassed every day. The pushing and struggles and collapsing carried on.
All of us lost track of time very quickly like that, and none, after those first few minutes and hours, dared speak or move without specific instructions and direction from our captors. Even when we were being whipped to near the brink of insanity, we maintained our unquestionable bearing; perfect posture, feminine features accentuated as much as our bodies would allow, eyes straight forward, emotions off (unless we were ordered to select and live in any one or more of those emotions, which did come not much later).
At some point, our airship docked, although we still felt and knew nothing of this; its movements were so perfectly masked, most of the other girls, I felt certain, had to have believed themselves in a bunker or basement of some sort. In reality, however, we had just traversed an entire hemisphere, passing over multiple continents and the Southern Ocean, as well as much of the windiest, driest, highest, coldest, most barren region on Earth. Nothing lived there, and almost nothing could fly there, yet we had just done both so smoothly that it seemed we had our feet on solid ground.
Covered in abrasions, lacerations, dried tears, dried cum, and the urine and fecal matter from wet farts we’d been forced to lick off each other’s orifices and then force back into their respective creator’s mouths and nostrils, …we were ordered to rise to our feet. Somehow, we were beginning to figure out what the Inisfreean words meant, even though we were still nowhere near the point of memorizing their exact phonetic natures, let alone how to spell any of them (we couldn’t even guess at how their language might look written, as it sounded like nothing we’d ever heard before, unless, of course, one considered that, somehow, it sounded like everything we’d ever heard before). All of us little, helpless, beaten and wholly defeated girls, spirits crushed, wills to resist forever effaced, rose and fought to remain standing on our pairs of wobbly, unconfident legs. We had no idea how beautiful and gorgeous, sexy and arousing, visually capturing and infinitely energizing and stirring we all looked to them that way. Our desolation and impressionability was as exotic and innately appealing as our curves; as the wiles for which we had been triangulated and spared… So, like that, we stood before our kidnapers... while the rest of our home, the Outlands, burned and blew away.
One of the Inisfreeans took me by a fistful of my right tit, holding it as if it was a water balloon she didn’t mind rupturing. My mouth opened and I quickly exhaled in shock, but fought desperately not to make any noise at all, for any noise at all would be deemed offensive and punishable by slapping, hitting, kicking, suffocation, drowning, whipping, and additional forms of beating and torture. Holding and leading me around by my squeezed tit in her vice-like, armor-glove grip, she made me to follow her at a rapid trot in tow… We left the womb-like chamber, rounded a corner, traversed the attached corridor, and ended up in what appeared to be a more rectangular-prism of an antechamber, its exit yawning down and open like an aircraft’s tailgate for wheeled cargo. I was ready and willing to obey her every command to the letter, and without hesitation whatsoever, as I did not wish for further terrors keeping me dangling over the edge of certain death. I prepared myself to match her hard pace again, and to keep my mind off the fact that she was holding my entire right breast as if it was a frantic rodent trying to escape the inside of her grip. I had no such luck.
Down the opening ramp I was cast; thrown, again, like a ragdoll or most hated possession, I found myself wheeling through space, careening with any surface along my semi-erratic path. The disorientation and painful impacts were too great; I wept uncontrollably and instinctively curled up into the fetal position, rocking myself for the two seconds it took my assigned Inisfreean to nonchalantly stride back up to me, her inescapable hands within range.
My hair was taken, and, by it, I was lifted back to my feet. I couldn’t see anymore for all the tears and swelling, nor could I hear; the ringing from the slapped ears was still too great. My chest was pounding. My legs were wobbling so much they may as well have been spastic. Then the Inisfreean hand slipped into my own as I stood there, already accepting certain doom and total, sweet, liberating destruction at long last. Her fingers were no longer gloved, and felt like the finest silk, smoother than the healthiest skin of anyone I had ever met. Small and sleek, strong and curvy, they interwove with my own, squeezing my own digits open in a loving hand-hug gesture, and all of a sudden my heart felt stronger. Again, I was in shock; but a whole ‘nother kind of shock. I wanted to know what I had done to earn this relief; that I might ensure I always did it –again and again –forever –until I felt better again. And then… I wondered… what had happened to the other girls from my hometown. Why had I been isolated from them? What was their fate? Would they, too, be extended this same and confusingly unannounced gentleness?
Holding my hand as if we were best friends and the most tender of secret lovers, and as if she now thought I was made of fragile glass, she led me, walking by my side, out away from the base of the airship I still could not see for all the tears and bruising… but, I began to become aware of, that bruising was healing. I was healing and feeling better at such a rapid rate that it was almost alarming and disquieting all on its own. Though a miracle, and a long needed one, it was still ‘shock and awe’. I squeezed her hand back; it was automatic, and, in that moment, I feared for my life; I still had no idea which of my Outlander behaviors and habits had kept deeply offending my sudden captors to the point that they’d punished us every few minutes of flight all the way here.
The Inisfreean squeezed my hand back, though, tender as ever, and again, though now for completely different reasons, I shuddered and trembled and shivered and wobbled and wept. With the strength of a man many times her size, my Inisfreean, still mostly in her Space-aged suit (the feminine equivalent of knight’s armor), excepting, of course, for her hand which she had chosen to leave exposed to me in this transiting period from airship to whatever our next waypoint was… With this unbelievable physical strength she so readily possessed, she lifted me up, sweeping me off my feet, and carried me as a wounded comrade or sleeping baby to the next passageway yawning open in silence and the usual Inisfreean mechanical precision.
I kept my hands to myself, still fearing any movement; fearing that any movement, no matter how innocent, ignorant, and slight, would abruptly end this relatively heavenly and even euphoric several seconds of being touched and cradled as if I was again a human being with worth and worthiness of tender loving care. God knows I needed it right then –and maybe that’s what my Inisfreean sensed, and why she granted it for me.
The two of us ended up in a bedroom somewhere quiet. I could barely make out the sound of a softly babbling brook outside this latest chamber as the ringing in my ears finished dying back down and fading away entirely. The softest, small, perfectly formed, teenage girl hands eased me down onto a mattress that felt like a warm, clean cloud, and began to massage my every body-part until I was drunk with pleasure, my eyes rolling up and back into my falling eyelids. Those same female hands found every one of my erogenous zones, including dozens I never knew I had, and made me cum and soak my crotch and bed-sheets at least three times that I can clearly remember. The pleasure was so intense and overwhelming that I do not know at which points I lost consciousness, nor at which points my wounds from the earlier tortures had somehow healed themselves, never to show their marks upon my little body again.
Perhaps I slept for days. Who can say? When I awoke, I could see again, and my eyes blinked into focus. I was in a room adorned with fine fabrics hung and tied back like swooping draperies and overlapping bed canopy curtains. The colors were womb-like; pinks and coral, salmon, rose, burgundy, crimson, and so on. All were soft and well blended, and the lighting seemed to originate from within the barely translucent walls themselves. My bed was an immaculate mattress piled with throws and pillows of goose down. I had never felt furs and fabrics so soft in all my life. Later, I would be taught, they’d been made by being sung into existence in a form structurally smoother and softer than even vicuna.
One of the lion-helmeted females, still fully clad in her armor suit, stood at my bedside, but now not in a menacing way. Reaching out to me, she offered one of her open hands, palm up, as if to say ‘Take it; take my hand –please, this time.’. I did. Her other hand moved up and away from her side, taking a fistful of my hair at the top of my scalp, just as before, but slowly –and in a way deliberately saying ‘This, I want you to see and adapt to. This –this time- will not hurt –as much.’. I let her lead me by this grip of my topmost hairs, holding her hand tentatively all the while, and she marched me out into a much larger, central room linking many more bedrooms much like my own; all around the softly babbling brook I’d heard. There, now standing before me, each of them with one hand in that of their own Inisfreean’s, and with all the hair sprouting from the tops of their heads in the other of their Inisfreean’s hands, were all the other girls who had been abducted from my disintegrated home city.
We all teared up, having finally seen each other again, and having seen our wounds were all healed, and that all of us had made it; none of us had been allowed to die. Rather, I should say, none of us had been allowed to stay dead. Completely forgetting the fact that we were all as nude as any group of male recruits are when showered en-masse in Outlander boot camps, and completely forgetting the fact that it was still a very new and unexplained thing for us to both 1) be led around by our hair, and 2) have our hands held lovingly with fingers interlaced at the same time and by the same person, we reveled in the fact that we were reunited with each other –still strangers, though we were. We had appeared before each other’s eyes, amidst vanishing homes and other buildings, almost all of us having had no idea the others existed; our hometown was that great. Yet still… we were already in love with each other, and deeply, passionately relieved that we were all still here –and back together again. We all probably realized then that we were so relieved and elated that we had become horny for each other, and that was exactly the next part of the Inisfreeans' brilliant plan.
This was our first conscious day in the depths of their city; in the subterranean Quarantine Facility that readies Outlander girls for life ‘topside’; miles above in their vast and otherworldly holy city, Inisfree. It would be years before we were allowed to try out to become concubines for them and their single male who governed them all as a godking. Until then, we would be slaves, often beaten, but learning to love such beatings –and, at all times and in all ways, to learn incredible amounts from each of those beatings. Yes, we would even begin to lust for, crave, and burn (with desire) for such beatings. We would drip for them from our pussies, even drooling at the corners of our lips sometimes. Before we would even remember from our rough teachings that higher ranks, billets, and castes were potentially available to us, we would fall in love with being the slave-sluts and whipping-girls of these Inisfreeans, our new and eternal masters (mistresses). Some of us, it would turn out, would even beg to remain as their slaves –even when they had proven themselves worthy of ascending to become concubines. Sadomasochist is the term, as well as 'anguisette'.
I learned the hard way about Inisfree and its unquestionable might and focus; its singular vision and unilateral policy for dealing with all those it classified, such as myself, as ‘Outlanders’. Those who are born outside its walls; we, the children of filth and chaos, laziness and recklessness, metastasize-based made-up religions and worse… we were subject to its punishments for so long as our parents and teachers should continue their ridiculously transparent and futile pursuits at denying natural beauty and balance.
As others (such as Sarah Conrad) had experienced, the Inisfreeans came to my hometown amidst what we hopelessly uneducated and inexperienced Outlanders would call ‘singing clouds’. Their pillars of light; white laser beams wide as cars, erupted down in an instant, sterilizing (and often vaporizing and de-atomizing) everything in their paths. Entire neighborhoods were reduced to the ash of foundations crumbling into nothingness. Not even the ground was left bare as we, in our primitive construction attempts, had cursed it with our building. Our community –our civilization… was literally erased. Into thin air, almost everything we had ever built vanished –as did the vast, vast majority of all our people occupying those constructs.
Those of us who were left –who witnessed this… this… what we could only struggle to define with words such as ‘insanity’- were left standing there in our tattered rags; we were soaked in ash, soot, tears, blood, drool, cum, urine, and our own feces, all of which we had lost control over when the singing clouds and disintegrating beams of blinding-bright light started moving about and wiping everything clean and gone. We had been left to soil ourselves and become stupefied in terror, wonder, and awe. Few of us had paid attention to the lingering religious rambling of the elder humans, for it no longer served anyone, and we sensed this somehow. So fewer still of those of us now left standing amidst the now total absence of this, the non-ruins of our hometown, had even the foggiest recollection of the term those elders had once imparted upon us; the Rapture.
Inisfreeans weren’t the kind to wait around, I later learned; they heard good ideas and found ways to make them happen –and made them happen –soon, if not immediately. That was part of their essence; their way, which none of them ever questions. At this stage in their interaction with these, our ‘Outlands’ (those lands outside their only city; their eternally protected and exclusive home), they were making that legendary and prophesied Rapture happen –but, as they always did, with their own particular and signature Inisfreean twist.
All the others around me were young, teenage girls like myself. The reason I could see them all now was because the swirling, twinkling particles that had once been their homes and the other buildings of our city which they were occupying for their own reasons… had finished disappearing into thin air. These girls, as I had, had fallen to the now-exposed soils and rocks beneath their feet; raw earth which had appeared a foot or more below them as the foundations of our various structures had been disintegrated along with everything else.
Some of the beams had stripped us of most of our clothing. All of our makeup, jewelry, piercings, and other customary, regionally expected, physical accoutrements had been disintegrated, too; right off our own flesh, as if it was as easy as differentiating between circles and squares. None of us had been burned or otherwise damaged, as our structures and many of our garments had been –and so completely. Looking around at each other, we struggled to hold on to anything still familiar, but less and less of our current experience was…
The Inisfreean troops began appearing before us; lion-helmeted knights in armor akin to Iron Man’s, but far more elegant, smoothed, and feminine, yet wholly dominating and unbelievably intimidating. We were silent. We didn’t even dare squeak out half-second cries or whimpers in our utterly total defeat. We all knew we were theirs now; we had been captured, chosen, …spared.
Standing a few inches taller than we were, these Inisfreean troops in their suits looked down upon us, regarding us through the glaring, fang-complemented maws of their helmet-visors. The eyes upon the brows of these Egyptian hybrid deity headdresses flickered and then flashed with the same blinding brilliance that their disintegrator beams once had. We all knew to cast our eyes downward, and soon learned by way of thunderous, painfully loud booms from their speech enhancement units, that we were also to kneel and completely surrender ourselves for the rest of time.
Those who hesitated were struck; beaten and then picked up by their throats and thrown backwards, only to be commanded again. There was no resisting them, for those who did were nearly paralyzed with the trauma they received. Though brutal, I later learned, each assault against them was also surgical in its precision; our new captors were all geniuses, each of them in full control of their minds, emotions, and bodies. Nothing they did was without supercomputer accuracy and unflinching purpose. Everything they did had been planned, and they moved and thought as one.
By my hair, I was held there, and I felt the gloved, armored, bulky yet precise hands and touches of multiple of these taller beings rid me very thoroughly and mercilessly of the clothing which still clung to me. When my shoes were also yanked off and cast aside, I became the most afraid, for I had not spent any of my time toughening my feet for exposure to the elements –especially not a surprise lifestyle change into spartan slave labor.
Barefoot and nude, I was again taken by my hair, and led as a disobedient and dangerous dog would have been, up into one of their ships. The salty tears, blood, and grime in my eyes, which I was violently scolded against wiping away, prevented me from seeing exactly how I had ended up on a ship I had not seen anywhere from horizon to horizon.
It seemed as if we were in a building, though, for no matter how much my brain reconfirmed to me we had all been taken aboard their hidden airships or other vehicles, the floor beneath us felt as sturdy as the buildings and homes we had all until very recently been firmly relaxing and socializing within. The material we stood on did not give any indications it was moving, as Outlander buses, trains, ships, and airplanes always do, and especially nothing to indicate just how quickly our airship was moving. As we were quickly indoctrinated into our new and permanent form of relaxing and socializing (the Inisfreean form), our airship, in fact, was moving so quickly that not even the Space shuttle traveling outside our world’s atmosphere faster than 10 times the speed of a bullet… could even compare.
A firm, armor-gloved hand, feeling somewhat like that of a knight’s (I imagined, based on my limited understanding of how knights used to dress and protect themselves) took my jaw and clearly communicated to me that I was now to look upon one of the other girls who had been kidnapped with the rest from our now-erased hometown. Another of these armor-gloved hands took up a fistful of all the hair sprouting from the top of my scalp, and immediately ensured its grip thereupon was exceedingly painful to the point of causing me shortness of breath. I dared not move, for I could feel if I did, my entire mop of luxurious hair might happily and effortlessly be removed; scalping was a very real and ever-present threat, now amongst my new superiors.
I kept my face facing where I was made to, and my eyes upon that which I was expected to see. Unblinking, and absolutely mortified to even consider blinking, I quickly learned to control my emotions and watch in obedient silence as one of the girls from my hometown (and now my kidnapped group) was made to kneel with her knees as wide open as her body would allow, her chin up and out, eyes forward, shoulders rolled back, chest puffed up, tits forward and out, feet aligned, back arched, hands resting upon her thighs, palms up, thumbs flush with the sides of her hands, and lips lightly sealed. One of the lion-helmeted captors approached her square-on; directly from her front, and began to whip her directly across her wide-open pussy and fully exposed chest and nipples with a ferocity that can only be described as inhuman –far beyond anything even feral or psychotic. Each strike of the captor’s whip left multiple reddened lines appearing in parallel curves across the bare skin of this helpless and equally fear-crippled girl. The lips of her pussy became swollen and red, and her whole body began to tremble and drip; sweat and pre-cum trickling off of her and starting a thin pool on the floor beneath her. Each flinch, each yelp, each gasp, and every slightest, millimeter-long movement in breaking from her intended kneeling position… was met with another round of lashes cracking sharply against her crotch slit, tummy, raw breasts, and hardening nipples. Each crack of these barrages of whip stings resounding in our chamber like passing bullets.
When they had finished making an example out of her, they began to boom yells at us in their foreign tongue. Completely alien to us, we had no idea what it was. Some of us, though amazingly stupid and uncultured by Inisfreean standards, had received world-class educations, studied abroad, and even mastered multiple languages in addition to that of our own. Yet, though I was counted amongst these previously fortunate people, I could not identify a single word that these Inisfreeans were speaking. Somehow, their language, which, for whatever reason, they had now unanimously and unspokenly decided to reveal to us, sounded like a smooth fusion of them all; an eloquent blend of every single linguistic sound of all the tongues I had ever even heard of. There were accents transitioning back and forth, on and off, as they spoke these unique and eclectic combinations of noises to us. At times, they sounded Arabic, at other times; Scottish, …then Native American, then Chinese, then Russian, then Scandinavian, then French, and on and on. These were the synthesizer-modified and magnified voices of beautifully musical girls, but to us, in those moments, under those conditions, they had been made to sound like the ominous and foreboding rumblings of the gods and goddesses; like a language spoken via peals of thunder and angry trumpets being stretched out during their notes and chords.
No one had any idea what their Inisfreean words meant, and this, I think, was part of their ‘shock and awe’ approach to our first day of Inisfreean corrective training. We were given no gestures or other body language to help us figure it out. One by one, they began to yank us backwards by fistfuls of our hair, forcing our crying eyes upward to the dome-like, matte-gray ceiling just a dozen or so feet above us all. One by one, we were made to assume that erotically suggestive kneeling position. One by one, we were whipped until we threw up on ourselves and saw stars.
Everyone of us, we tiny little teenage girls taken so far out of our element and the only type of city and people we ever knew, were left humiliated and horrified, blubbering and bloodied, sore of scalp and throbbing of pussy, …and then we were shoved like unruly cattle or prison inmates into confining tubes; cylinders barely big enough to be considered coffins. Deprived of breathable air at first, we fought frantically to free ourselves. Then we were yanked back out of what had once been unbreakable, unbendable, clear, cockpit-canopy-like window-panels in front of us. The Inisfreeans reached through it as if it was air, where as we had each beaten on it until our knuckles and fingernails were torn and bleeding, having no affect on it at all.
Yanked back out, we were beginning, on some level, to get used to this ragdoll state of existence. We allowed ourselves to be tripped, brought to the floor panels, dragged around by our hair, and roughed up again and again. We began to go numb to the slaps and lashings. This, too, we soon learned, was a horrible, horrible mistake. One does not go numb to an Inisfreean. One does not tune an Inisfreean out. Back in the cramped tubes we were shoved. What seemed like open air to us, far clearer than the clearest glass our greatest Outlander technical wizardry had ever produced, was again as solid and unmovable as the planet itself. Instead of suffocation by vacuum, however, this tube confinement was to terrify us with drowning; our bruised and blistered feet felt the icy water rising up from some unseen pores in the bottom circle of each of our tubes, The water climbed higher and higher, passing our knees and groins and tits and necks, until we were screaming at the tops of our lungs for help and mercy of any kind, and under any circumstances. Pleas in every word we could think of were shrieked, including offers to do anything in any way for any amount of time –without exception.
The Inisfreeans reached through the clear fronts of our otherwise dark and windowless tubes, punched us in our faces several times, and removed their armored hands and forearms as the water dropped and then began to rise again. We drowned. They let us all become submerged, hold our breaths, lose that ability, suck in the water, feel the burning, black out after nearly breaking all our limbs in one final effort to escape, and then drown. Perhaps we died. I don’t think any of us knew the science of such things. This was so far beyond any of that which was taught to us in our schools –so far beyond, even, that which had been taught to and practiced by the Navy SEALs.
I awoke as I was being again violently yanked out of my tube by my hair. I couldn’t control my appendages very well; they hung from my torso as if leaden and tingly like when they lose circulation and fall asleep. There were other teenaged girls in our gray, womb-like chamber whose curving perimeter wall was lined with those dreadful deprivation tubes they kept stuffing us in. These other young, tiny, also naked girls waited robotically for the larger Inisfreeans to indicate they should interact with us. All at once, having clearly been well trained long before our group had been kidnapped to join theirs, they advanced upon us, giving us mouth-to-mouth. Some girls required CPR –or, at least, it seemed that way; Inisfreeans, I also later learned, loved to mask their technical wizardry from everyone, making people think they use the same primitive methods we Outlanders had been limited to.
I coughed up a lot of water, my insides burned, my head throbbed and pounded –as did my heart. I thought I was going to die again. Surely, at least, that I was going to pass out. I had already lost consciousness once. At least this time, I reasoned with myself, it wouldn’t be while floating in a vertical coffin, sucking in my final breath. This time would be far more agreeable. I prepared my mind to let myself go. The Inisfreean nearest me quickly sensed this, likely reading both my body and my thoughts, and put me back into the kneeling position, whipping me severely as ever. I had just recovered from drowning, wondering if I had died, and even that was no excuse for choosing to stop paying attention to the every subtle command and other indicator of my captors.
They never again spoke in the languages any of us understood. Those days, as far as we could tell, were over. We would have to learn their language amidst the full-bodied and nightmarish pains and trials they were to keep putting us through, with no end in sight, no reward system, and no relief. Passing out was punished as harshly as if we had raped and murdered someone’s children. Even when we couldn’t control it, the punishments still always came; we were being conditioned, toughened, hardened, molded into something far more than we’d ever imagined possible. The limits we all thought we’d once had… were now shattered and forgotten. New limits were imagined and surpassed every day. The pushing and struggles and collapsing carried on.
All of us lost track of time very quickly like that, and none, after those first few minutes and hours, dared speak or move without specific instructions and direction from our captors. Even when we were being whipped to near the brink of insanity, we maintained our unquestionable bearing; perfect posture, feminine features accentuated as much as our bodies would allow, eyes straight forward, emotions off (unless we were ordered to select and live in any one or more of those emotions, which did come not much later).
At some point, our airship docked, although we still felt and knew nothing of this; its movements were so perfectly masked, most of the other girls, I felt certain, had to have believed themselves in a bunker or basement of some sort. In reality, however, we had just traversed an entire hemisphere, passing over multiple continents and the Southern Ocean, as well as much of the windiest, driest, highest, coldest, most barren region on Earth. Nothing lived there, and almost nothing could fly there, yet we had just done both so smoothly that it seemed we had our feet on solid ground.
Covered in abrasions, lacerations, dried tears, dried cum, and the urine and fecal matter from wet farts we’d been forced to lick off each other’s orifices and then force back into their respective creator’s mouths and nostrils, …we were ordered to rise to our feet. Somehow, we were beginning to figure out what the Inisfreean words meant, even though we were still nowhere near the point of memorizing their exact phonetic natures, let alone how to spell any of them (we couldn’t even guess at how their language might look written, as it sounded like nothing we’d ever heard before, unless, of course, one considered that, somehow, it sounded like everything we’d ever heard before). All of us little, helpless, beaten and wholly defeated girls, spirits crushed, wills to resist forever effaced, rose and fought to remain standing on our pairs of wobbly, unconfident legs. We had no idea how beautiful and gorgeous, sexy and arousing, visually capturing and infinitely energizing and stirring we all looked to them that way. Our desolation and impressionability was as exotic and innately appealing as our curves; as the wiles for which we had been triangulated and spared… So, like that, we stood before our kidnapers... while the rest of our home, the Outlands, burned and blew away.
One of the Inisfreeans took me by a fistful of my right tit, holding it as if it was a water balloon she didn’t mind rupturing. My mouth opened and I quickly exhaled in shock, but fought desperately not to make any noise at all, for any noise at all would be deemed offensive and punishable by slapping, hitting, kicking, suffocation, drowning, whipping, and additional forms of beating and torture. Holding and leading me around by my squeezed tit in her vice-like, armor-glove grip, she made me to follow her at a rapid trot in tow… We left the womb-like chamber, rounded a corner, traversed the attached corridor, and ended up in what appeared to be a more rectangular-prism of an antechamber, its exit yawning down and open like an aircraft’s tailgate for wheeled cargo. I was ready and willing to obey her every command to the letter, and without hesitation whatsoever, as I did not wish for further terrors keeping me dangling over the edge of certain death. I prepared myself to match her hard pace again, and to keep my mind off the fact that she was holding my entire right breast as if it was a frantic rodent trying to escape the inside of her grip. I had no such luck.
Down the opening ramp I was cast; thrown, again, like a ragdoll or most hated possession, I found myself wheeling through space, careening with any surface along my semi-erratic path. The disorientation and painful impacts were too great; I wept uncontrollably and instinctively curled up into the fetal position, rocking myself for the two seconds it took my assigned Inisfreean to nonchalantly stride back up to me, her inescapable hands within range.
My hair was taken, and, by it, I was lifted back to my feet. I couldn’t see anymore for all the tears and swelling, nor could I hear; the ringing from the slapped ears was still too great. My chest was pounding. My legs were wobbling so much they may as well have been spastic. Then the Inisfreean hand slipped into my own as I stood there, already accepting certain doom and total, sweet, liberating destruction at long last. Her fingers were no longer gloved, and felt like the finest silk, smoother than the healthiest skin of anyone I had ever met. Small and sleek, strong and curvy, they interwove with my own, squeezing my own digits open in a loving hand-hug gesture, and all of a sudden my heart felt stronger. Again, I was in shock; but a whole ‘nother kind of shock. I wanted to know what I had done to earn this relief; that I might ensure I always did it –again and again –forever –until I felt better again. And then… I wondered… what had happened to the other girls from my hometown. Why had I been isolated from them? What was their fate? Would they, too, be extended this same and confusingly unannounced gentleness?
Holding my hand as if we were best friends and the most tender of secret lovers, and as if she now thought I was made of fragile glass, she led me, walking by my side, out away from the base of the airship I still could not see for all the tears and bruising… but, I began to become aware of, that bruising was healing. I was healing and feeling better at such a rapid rate that it was almost alarming and disquieting all on its own. Though a miracle, and a long needed one, it was still ‘shock and awe’. I squeezed her hand back; it was automatic, and, in that moment, I feared for my life; I still had no idea which of my Outlander behaviors and habits had kept deeply offending my sudden captors to the point that they’d punished us every few minutes of flight all the way here.
The Inisfreean squeezed my hand back, though, tender as ever, and again, though now for completely different reasons, I shuddered and trembled and shivered and wobbled and wept. With the strength of a man many times her size, my Inisfreean, still mostly in her Space-aged suit (the feminine equivalent of knight’s armor), excepting, of course, for her hand which she had chosen to leave exposed to me in this transiting period from airship to whatever our next waypoint was… With this unbelievable physical strength she so readily possessed, she lifted me up, sweeping me off my feet, and carried me as a wounded comrade or sleeping baby to the next passageway yawning open in silence and the usual Inisfreean mechanical precision.
I kept my hands to myself, still fearing any movement; fearing that any movement, no matter how innocent, ignorant, and slight, would abruptly end this relatively heavenly and even euphoric several seconds of being touched and cradled as if I was again a human being with worth and worthiness of tender loving care. God knows I needed it right then –and maybe that’s what my Inisfreean sensed, and why she granted it for me.
The two of us ended up in a bedroom somewhere quiet. I could barely make out the sound of a softly babbling brook outside this latest chamber as the ringing in my ears finished dying back down and fading away entirely. The softest, small, perfectly formed, teenage girl hands eased me down onto a mattress that felt like a warm, clean cloud, and began to massage my every body-part until I was drunk with pleasure, my eyes rolling up and back into my falling eyelids. Those same female hands found every one of my erogenous zones, including dozens I never knew I had, and made me cum and soak my crotch and bed-sheets at least three times that I can clearly remember. The pleasure was so intense and overwhelming that I do not know at which points I lost consciousness, nor at which points my wounds from the earlier tortures had somehow healed themselves, never to show their marks upon my little body again.
Perhaps I slept for days. Who can say? When I awoke, I could see again, and my eyes blinked into focus. I was in a room adorned with fine fabrics hung and tied back like swooping draperies and overlapping bed canopy curtains. The colors were womb-like; pinks and coral, salmon, rose, burgundy, crimson, and so on. All were soft and well blended, and the lighting seemed to originate from within the barely translucent walls themselves. My bed was an immaculate mattress piled with throws and pillows of goose down. I had never felt furs and fabrics so soft in all my life. Later, I would be taught, they’d been made by being sung into existence in a form structurally smoother and softer than even vicuna.
One of the lion-helmeted females, still fully clad in her armor suit, stood at my bedside, but now not in a menacing way. Reaching out to me, she offered one of her open hands, palm up, as if to say ‘Take it; take my hand –please, this time.’. I did. Her other hand moved up and away from her side, taking a fistful of my hair at the top of my scalp, just as before, but slowly –and in a way deliberately saying ‘This, I want you to see and adapt to. This –this time- will not hurt –as much.’. I let her lead me by this grip of my topmost hairs, holding her hand tentatively all the while, and she marched me out into a much larger, central room linking many more bedrooms much like my own; all around the softly babbling brook I’d heard. There, now standing before me, each of them with one hand in that of their own Inisfreean’s, and with all the hair sprouting from the tops of their heads in the other of their Inisfreean’s hands, were all the other girls who had been abducted from my disintegrated home city.
We all teared up, having finally seen each other again, and having seen our wounds were all healed, and that all of us had made it; none of us had been allowed to die. Rather, I should say, none of us had been allowed to stay dead. Completely forgetting the fact that we were all as nude as any group of male recruits are when showered en-masse in Outlander boot camps, and completely forgetting the fact that it was still a very new and unexplained thing for us to both 1) be led around by our hair, and 2) have our hands held lovingly with fingers interlaced at the same time and by the same person, we reveled in the fact that we were reunited with each other –still strangers, though we were. We had appeared before each other’s eyes, amidst vanishing homes and other buildings, almost all of us having had no idea the others existed; our hometown was that great. Yet still… we were already in love with each other, and deeply, passionately relieved that we were all still here –and back together again. We all probably realized then that we were so relieved and elated that we had become horny for each other, and that was exactly the next part of the Inisfreeans' brilliant plan.
This was our first conscious day in the depths of their city; in the subterranean Quarantine Facility that readies Outlander girls for life ‘topside’; miles above in their vast and otherworldly holy city, Inisfree. It would be years before we were allowed to try out to become concubines for them and their single male who governed them all as a godking. Until then, we would be slaves, often beaten, but learning to love such beatings –and, at all times and in all ways, to learn incredible amounts from each of those beatings. Yes, we would even begin to lust for, crave, and burn (with desire) for such beatings. We would drip for them from our pussies, even drooling at the corners of our lips sometimes. Before we would even remember from our rough teachings that higher ranks, billets, and castes were potentially available to us, we would fall in love with being the slave-sluts and whipping-girls of these Inisfreeans, our new and eternal masters (mistresses). Some of us, it would turn out, would even beg to remain as their slaves –even when they had proven themselves worthy of ascending to become concubines. Sadomasochist is the term, as well as 'anguisette'.
核定的奴役
Chapter 2: Acclimation
The Inisfreean language was an impressive one; verbally flowing as fluidly at all times as the Inisfreeans were in their bodies’ motions and group movements, and it was a language as eclectic as their genetics and powers and educations had been, and it was a language as impossibly musical as each of them always sounded whenever she spoke or ever hm’ed or sighed. Inisfreean, as we came to call their language in our own native tongue of English, was too fluid and musical for us, though. It took literally a lifelong, professionally instructed, passionately practiced, naturally gifted girl of the absolute highest and nearly unfathomable caliber to speak it as they did, pronouncing each syllable properly; making them smoothly blend into one another in both successive phonetics and inflection notes. Their spoken language was more akin to singing and elven speake than any of the infinitely more coarse and infantile languages and dialects which had developed in our Outlands. Still, however, we made our arguably pointless attempts, accepting the whippings that came with every single one of them, determined to better ourselves as we marveled at how our bodies and minds were starting to enjoy the sensations bestowed upon them by our permanent masters (mistresses) now; how even their worst pains administered to us when we least expected them… now, perhaps due to a fair measure of Stockholm Syndrome, felt goooood.
Weeks passed, and we learned to move as quickly as the wind. Our muscle-memory was such that, before our eyes even registered what we were seeing, mere changes in our masters’ breathing, let alone the snap or point of their fingers, had us rushing into the anticipated and assumed positions to please them, if even just by sitting or looking or otherwise posing a certain way. Sometimes this involved sitting on other kidnapped girls’ faces; eating their pussies as if we had been longing lesbians all our lives. Other times this involved plugging dildo-hoses into ourselves and one another, then lounging around with drunkenly horny looks on our faces as we blushed, the cum, from numerous dildos stuffed as deeply inside us as they could go, overflowing with warm, semi-sticky, artificial cum. After such group sensations, we were helpless to do anything but greedily and merrily slurp up all the cum (some synthetic; from those machines, and some natural; from our own pussies) off the areas on the smooth, soft, basketball court-like floor areas where we had been sitting.
More of the Inisfreean words began to make sense to us, though there were still so many that left us bewildered and frantically comparing notes whenever we were allowed personal and group-study time. It took us another month to learn the hard way that much of what Inisfreeans said had nothing at all to do with anything; anything other than another form of Inisfreean deception which was as fluid, musical, and breathtaking as everything else they did; Inisfreeans often spoke random strings of syllables in believable dialogues which had no meaning whatsoever, and were, like whale songs, never repeated even in part. Their meaningful communications, full of and rich with many layers of definitions, were concealed within their own minds, it turned out; minds whose thoughts could not be read by our own, but which could easily hear, feel, and interpret all of our own. Our masters were wise to elasticize our brains, making us self-reliant by giving us no clues as to any of these matters, and were equally wise in using this approach to further drive home the point that we needed to pay more attention to body language and aura feelings (‘vibes’) than the words so many Outlanders misuse for so many reasons, and, so often, which they often forget they are even doing (that misuse) in the first place.
Once this mental and linguistic barrier and hurdle had been cleared, the rest came fairly easily. The holistic touch, heartfelt singing, feminine wiles amplification, destiny awareness honing, and romantic orgies were all far more natural in every sense and regard. Even the Paleolithic diet prescribed to us by these Inisfreeans failed to take any toll beyond that of the negligible Herxheimer reaction each of us endured for a week or three. Like the traumas of our first ride over here, those from our dietary, linguistic, social, and vocational shifts all passed with remarkable speed and permanence, never threatening with any symptoms a relapse.
Having lived (and died from) some of the many horrors possible in the Outlands, our fibers were always set such that we instantly paid attention and rapidly retained all that which we were being taught and made to rehearse. Knowing what drowning felt like, we had all the motivation we needed to master CPR and the other forms of rescue and recovery which were to follow in our never-ending battery of periods of instruction. None of us had discovered, yet, that we were now almost completely immortal and invincible, being in Inisfree and around the approving wills of its Inisfreeans. Thus, we assumed possible traumas, punishments, and even drowning and other forms of dying were still possible in some of our unbelievably altered futures here.
When the Inisfreeans –those literally perfect-in-every-way teenage girls- weren’t around to teach and observe us, the Outlander teenage girls, whom they had kidnapped or rescued-upon-request during previous missions and sorties far north into the Outlands, and who had graduated to become the concubines of the Inisfreeans, took their place, and it was, often under their close tutelage and supervision, that we learned to tend to nonsexual tasks of increasing complexities and time-sensitivities while they enjoyed epically sating, blissful, noisy, panting, grabbing sex and orgies right next to us –often within inches. This was a whole new form of torture for us, and one which took a heavy emotional toll on us all, but we pushed through, often realizing that no matter how frustrating and infuriating it became, it would never compare to when we had all died.
One of the last things we had to get used to was being indefinitely cut off from the outside world we had all known and grown up in; we were never to ask about news of the Outlands. The Rapture Campaign, as the Inisfreeans had taken to calling it, was proceeding without a single cause or effect of any of it becoming known to us. While the Inisfreeans instantly sensed everything their fellow Inisfreeans did on that campaign, and anywhere else in Creation, we had no connection to such sensations and technologically-telepathic vicariousness whatsoever. Whoever else any of us knew in the Outlands who had been spared… remained unknown and likely lost forever to us. We put such things from our minds. Our telepathic Inisfreean mistresses could feel, hear, and (even visually) see this.
Learning to massage, suck, fuck, and sing to and with each other to calm down, blow off steam, unwind, clear our minds (and our pussies; of cum), and more, we bonded as no Outlanders can or ever did. By the time we had learned all the Inisfreean customs, courtesies, jargon, laws, and so on, and were allowed to enjoy a graduation ceremony of an orgy with our new masters, followed by a jaw-dropping migration up out of the luxurious quarantine silo we’d spent the last few months in, we already felt like we were both long-term family and transparently intimate lovers with those who had once scared us to the core.
The Inisfreean language was an impressive one; verbally flowing as fluidly at all times as the Inisfreeans were in their bodies’ motions and group movements, and it was a language as eclectic as their genetics and powers and educations had been, and it was a language as impossibly musical as each of them always sounded whenever she spoke or ever hm’ed or sighed. Inisfreean, as we came to call their language in our own native tongue of English, was too fluid and musical for us, though. It took literally a lifelong, professionally instructed, passionately practiced, naturally gifted girl of the absolute highest and nearly unfathomable caliber to speak it as they did, pronouncing each syllable properly; making them smoothly blend into one another in both successive phonetics and inflection notes. Their spoken language was more akin to singing and elven speake than any of the infinitely more coarse and infantile languages and dialects which had developed in our Outlands. Still, however, we made our arguably pointless attempts, accepting the whippings that came with every single one of them, determined to better ourselves as we marveled at how our bodies and minds were starting to enjoy the sensations bestowed upon them by our permanent masters (mistresses) now; how even their worst pains administered to us when we least expected them… now, perhaps due to a fair measure of Stockholm Syndrome, felt goooood.
Weeks passed, and we learned to move as quickly as the wind. Our muscle-memory was such that, before our eyes even registered what we were seeing, mere changes in our masters’ breathing, let alone the snap or point of their fingers, had us rushing into the anticipated and assumed positions to please them, if even just by sitting or looking or otherwise posing a certain way. Sometimes this involved sitting on other kidnapped girls’ faces; eating their pussies as if we had been longing lesbians all our lives. Other times this involved plugging dildo-hoses into ourselves and one another, then lounging around with drunkenly horny looks on our faces as we blushed, the cum, from numerous dildos stuffed as deeply inside us as they could go, overflowing with warm, semi-sticky, artificial cum. After such group sensations, we were helpless to do anything but greedily and merrily slurp up all the cum (some synthetic; from those machines, and some natural; from our own pussies) off the areas on the smooth, soft, basketball court-like floor areas where we had been sitting.
More of the Inisfreean words began to make sense to us, though there were still so many that left us bewildered and frantically comparing notes whenever we were allowed personal and group-study time. It took us another month to learn the hard way that much of what Inisfreeans said had nothing at all to do with anything; anything other than another form of Inisfreean deception which was as fluid, musical, and breathtaking as everything else they did; Inisfreeans often spoke random strings of syllables in believable dialogues which had no meaning whatsoever, and were, like whale songs, never repeated even in part. Their meaningful communications, full of and rich with many layers of definitions, were concealed within their own minds, it turned out; minds whose thoughts could not be read by our own, but which could easily hear, feel, and interpret all of our own. Our masters were wise to elasticize our brains, making us self-reliant by giving us no clues as to any of these matters, and were equally wise in using this approach to further drive home the point that we needed to pay more attention to body language and aura feelings (‘vibes’) than the words so many Outlanders misuse for so many reasons, and, so often, which they often forget they are even doing (that misuse) in the first place.
Once this mental and linguistic barrier and hurdle had been cleared, the rest came fairly easily. The holistic touch, heartfelt singing, feminine wiles amplification, destiny awareness honing, and romantic orgies were all far more natural in every sense and regard. Even the Paleolithic diet prescribed to us by these Inisfreeans failed to take any toll beyond that of the negligible Herxheimer reaction each of us endured for a week or three. Like the traumas of our first ride over here, those from our dietary, linguistic, social, and vocational shifts all passed with remarkable speed and permanence, never threatening with any symptoms a relapse.
Having lived (and died from) some of the many horrors possible in the Outlands, our fibers were always set such that we instantly paid attention and rapidly retained all that which we were being taught and made to rehearse. Knowing what drowning felt like, we had all the motivation we needed to master CPR and the other forms of rescue and recovery which were to follow in our never-ending battery of periods of instruction. None of us had discovered, yet, that we were now almost completely immortal and invincible, being in Inisfree and around the approving wills of its Inisfreeans. Thus, we assumed possible traumas, punishments, and even drowning and other forms of dying were still possible in some of our unbelievably altered futures here.
When the Inisfreeans –those literally perfect-in-every-way teenage girls- weren’t around to teach and observe us, the Outlander teenage girls, whom they had kidnapped or rescued-upon-request during previous missions and sorties far north into the Outlands, and who had graduated to become the concubines of the Inisfreeans, took their place, and it was, often under their close tutelage and supervision, that we learned to tend to nonsexual tasks of increasing complexities and time-sensitivities while they enjoyed epically sating, blissful, noisy, panting, grabbing sex and orgies right next to us –often within inches. This was a whole new form of torture for us, and one which took a heavy emotional toll on us all, but we pushed through, often realizing that no matter how frustrating and infuriating it became, it would never compare to when we had all died.
One of the last things we had to get used to was being indefinitely cut off from the outside world we had all known and grown up in; we were never to ask about news of the Outlands. The Rapture Campaign, as the Inisfreeans had taken to calling it, was proceeding without a single cause or effect of any of it becoming known to us. While the Inisfreeans instantly sensed everything their fellow Inisfreeans did on that campaign, and anywhere else in Creation, we had no connection to such sensations and technologically-telepathic vicariousness whatsoever. Whoever else any of us knew in the Outlands who had been spared… remained unknown and likely lost forever to us. We put such things from our minds. Our telepathic Inisfreean mistresses could feel, hear, and (even visually) see this.
Learning to massage, suck, fuck, and sing to and with each other to calm down, blow off steam, unwind, clear our minds (and our pussies; of cum), and more, we bonded as no Outlanders can or ever did. By the time we had learned all the Inisfreean customs, courtesies, jargon, laws, and so on, and were allowed to enjoy a graduation ceremony of an orgy with our new masters, followed by a jaw-dropping migration up out of the luxurious quarantine silo we’d spent the last few months in, we already felt like we were both long-term family and transparently intimate lovers with those who had once scared us to the core.
Chapter 3: Slave-hatchlings
The tour of Inisfree took 41 days, just as it did, we were taught, for every guest of the city. That was how much time it took to see each area, and learn all that was necessary for initiates such as ourselves to know. It was during these weeks that we were finally, after nearly four months of captivity and nonstop training and brutality, allowed a few minutes, here and there, to speak amongst ourselves. We learned, in hiccups of barely tolerated, Outlander socializing, that we all ranged in age from 9 to 16. 16, it was considered here, was an old and ugly age for a female. Almost every female older than 16 living in the Outlands during the onset of the Inisfreeans' Rapture Campaign had been vaporized into nothingness along with their entire civilization; the entire surface of the globe had been restored to its pristine, human-free, natural state. Terraforming was the focus there, while flash-cloning batches of perfected variants of the sexiest females they had discovered (and imagined) was the focus here. Sometimes that included educating those clone variants as we had been these past months. Other times it meant flash-cloning educations and personalities into those clones as quickly as a laser-printer or 3D-printer makes and slides out its products. These were some of the daily technological marvels that were as commonplace and easily understood by every Inisfreean as driver’s licenses and cell-phones were to us.
Having come up to the topside (surface hemisphere) of Inisfree via the hatches (ship-style doors) which had once hermetically sealed us below in the Quarantine Facility’s gigantic and luxurious housing-silos, we were termed by Inisfreeans as ‘hatchlings’; more completely: as the slave-slut equivalents of hatchlings, which (Hatchlings) are Inisfreeans transitioning from age 10 to 11, having completed their initial formative years in their own private subterranean chambers, and now, thereby, moving up (literally) in their world –from the subterranean hemisphere of Inisfree to its topside, where we now were. Batchlings, on the other hand, are those flash-cloned (sung into existence) in batches, often 50 at a time, based on supercomputer-modeled clone-variants of the hottest (sexiest) Outlander (and imagined) females. Hatchlings are what those Batchlings become at age 11. Being part of the chaos (randomness) of the Outlands, sometimes coming in as single girls, while other times coming in as ragtag groups from all over the outside world, we could not be defined as being part of any batches. Thus, we were more simply referred to as either captures, kidnapees, conquests, liberateds, ‘partially approved Outlanders’, or something similar and to the same effect. Though we, too, eventually became ‘hatchlings’; those who pass through the main hatches separating the most distinct divisions of Inisfree, we still required different classifications. Thus, we were the slave-hatchlings.
Beyond this, we had been allowed to catch wind of rumors about the one Inisfreean who was a male; the commander, over-mind, and overlord of all Inisfreeans. Oh, how our pussies had dripped at the prospect of being deemed worthy enough to please him, even if only for just a few fleeting moments. One day, as I was being harshly whipped and flogged while remaining upright, proud, and focused in our traditional, Gorean, kneeling position, all I could do was fantasize about it being him who was doing the beating; whether ignoring, ravishing, tormenting, or torturing me, the very idea that I was honored with any of his attentions was mindbogglingly arousing and fulfilling to me. I am sure the Inisfreean girls read this thought as plainly as we humans see theSun in the sky, and that my having that thought naturally… was extremely pleasing and sexually stimulating to them.
I roamed the topside of Inisfree now, almost always in my slave group, and always under the watchful eye of the Inisfreeans –who preferred to keep themselves invisible to our vision, though we could clearly tell the other Inisfreeans could see or otherwise feel and sense them exactly where they were at all times. I, like my fellow kidnapped ‘sisters’, lived a life of ease, lovemaking, and being somewhere between free-range and herded. I would never again be on my own, or free to do and say and wear whatever I willed, but I was now better protected than a nuclear weapon, better educated than a doctor, and better provided for than royalty. Everything was now open to my questioning and exploring, save, of course, for the restricted areas and facilities of Inisfree; the inner workings of its Perimeter Wall where the Pearly Gates were housed, the Subterranean Prison, the Governor’s Mansion basement complex, the Cloning Wombs, and the slanted cylindrical Warship hangars far beneath the Under-way. These were areas no slave had any business being in; we would only be in the way, seeing things that did not matter to us, etc.. None of this bothered me, though, for these Inisfreeans clearly had the most brilliant and loving community of all time. It was Heaven on Earth. There was no other way to describe it. Even the slaves were happy being slaves. Inisfree had it all figured out.
Steering clear of the barriers and access hatches to those areas and facilities my caste were barred from, the Inisfreeans grew to appreciate me even more than they had for my beauty and graduation from their slave training program. I could sense more things now, having had my system cleared out by their prescribed dietary and mentality changes, and could tell they were warming up to me. The same Inisfreeans who had scrutinized me on my flight over here, and who had observed me at every moment during my time in the Quarantine Facility’s silo, were now more like shepherds who rarely even needed to make an appearance. As the weeks turned into months, we saw them less and less. It almost felt as if we were once again on our own; free women left to our own devices, able to hike, drive, and ride around this massive, amazing city of wonders of theirs… forever –at least, that is, until we were summoned for pleasures.
I spent much of my time in their incredibly luxurious version of a public library, which they were calling The Library of Congress II. I could have requested permission to use their internet nodes or browsed information in my mind’s eye, but I enjoyed the look and feel of the old-fashioned books and magazines, so that was where I was whenever I wasn’t enjoying the best sex I could ever imagine (and much of the sex I shared with my new Outlander and Inisfreean ‘sisters’ was well beyond even that; things I seriously doubted I could have ever dreamed up, even in my wildest, most unabashed fantasies).
Like someone who had spent their whole life in a Mogadishu slum, or hiding in a cave they were born in during a horrid societal upheaval, and who had then, one day, suddenly been told about and shown the surface, the Sun, the great outdoors, and polite society, I remained in a state of blissful awe for as long as I can remember. Being in Inisfree was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and I could plainly see the same was true for everyone else who ended up earning their right to be there. Though a major portion of all accepted Outlanders were kept indefinitely in Inisfree’s slave caste, we were slaves who felt like goddesses, and who were adored by our captors, massaged and made love to on a sometimes hourly basis, and we were slaves who had what was essentially a flawlessly pristine, gorgeously landscaped, empire-defended playground of 100 square miles plus a whole sky of reserved airspace. If this was to be our fishbowl, I didn’t mind it in the least.
The tour of Inisfree took 41 days, just as it did, we were taught, for every guest of the city. That was how much time it took to see each area, and learn all that was necessary for initiates such as ourselves to know. It was during these weeks that we were finally, after nearly four months of captivity and nonstop training and brutality, allowed a few minutes, here and there, to speak amongst ourselves. We learned, in hiccups of barely tolerated, Outlander socializing, that we all ranged in age from 9 to 16. 16, it was considered here, was an old and ugly age for a female. Almost every female older than 16 living in the Outlands during the onset of the Inisfreeans' Rapture Campaign had been vaporized into nothingness along with their entire civilization; the entire surface of the globe had been restored to its pristine, human-free, natural state. Terraforming was the focus there, while flash-cloning batches of perfected variants of the sexiest females they had discovered (and imagined) was the focus here. Sometimes that included educating those clone variants as we had been these past months. Other times it meant flash-cloning educations and personalities into those clones as quickly as a laser-printer or 3D-printer makes and slides out its products. These were some of the daily technological marvels that were as commonplace and easily understood by every Inisfreean as driver’s licenses and cell-phones were to us.
Having come up to the topside (surface hemisphere) of Inisfree via the hatches (ship-style doors) which had once hermetically sealed us below in the Quarantine Facility’s gigantic and luxurious housing-silos, we were termed by Inisfreeans as ‘hatchlings’; more completely: as the slave-slut equivalents of hatchlings, which (Hatchlings) are Inisfreeans transitioning from age 10 to 11, having completed their initial formative years in their own private subterranean chambers, and now, thereby, moving up (literally) in their world –from the subterranean hemisphere of Inisfree to its topside, where we now were. Batchlings, on the other hand, are those flash-cloned (sung into existence) in batches, often 50 at a time, based on supercomputer-modeled clone-variants of the hottest (sexiest) Outlander (and imagined) females. Hatchlings are what those Batchlings become at age 11. Being part of the chaos (randomness) of the Outlands, sometimes coming in as single girls, while other times coming in as ragtag groups from all over the outside world, we could not be defined as being part of any batches. Thus, we were more simply referred to as either captures, kidnapees, conquests, liberateds, ‘partially approved Outlanders’, or something similar and to the same effect. Though we, too, eventually became ‘hatchlings’; those who pass through the main hatches separating the most distinct divisions of Inisfree, we still required different classifications. Thus, we were the slave-hatchlings.
Beyond this, we had been allowed to catch wind of rumors about the one Inisfreean who was a male; the commander, over-mind, and overlord of all Inisfreeans. Oh, how our pussies had dripped at the prospect of being deemed worthy enough to please him, even if only for just a few fleeting moments. One day, as I was being harshly whipped and flogged while remaining upright, proud, and focused in our traditional, Gorean, kneeling position, all I could do was fantasize about it being him who was doing the beating; whether ignoring, ravishing, tormenting, or torturing me, the very idea that I was honored with any of his attentions was mindbogglingly arousing and fulfilling to me. I am sure the Inisfreean girls read this thought as plainly as we humans see theSun in the sky, and that my having that thought naturally… was extremely pleasing and sexually stimulating to them.
I roamed the topside of Inisfree now, almost always in my slave group, and always under the watchful eye of the Inisfreeans –who preferred to keep themselves invisible to our vision, though we could clearly tell the other Inisfreeans could see or otherwise feel and sense them exactly where they were at all times. I, like my fellow kidnapped ‘sisters’, lived a life of ease, lovemaking, and being somewhere between free-range and herded. I would never again be on my own, or free to do and say and wear whatever I willed, but I was now better protected than a nuclear weapon, better educated than a doctor, and better provided for than royalty. Everything was now open to my questioning and exploring, save, of course, for the restricted areas and facilities of Inisfree; the inner workings of its Perimeter Wall where the Pearly Gates were housed, the Subterranean Prison, the Governor’s Mansion basement complex, the Cloning Wombs, and the slanted cylindrical Warship hangars far beneath the Under-way. These were areas no slave had any business being in; we would only be in the way, seeing things that did not matter to us, etc.. None of this bothered me, though, for these Inisfreeans clearly had the most brilliant and loving community of all time. It was Heaven on Earth. There was no other way to describe it. Even the slaves were happy being slaves. Inisfree had it all figured out.
Steering clear of the barriers and access hatches to those areas and facilities my caste were barred from, the Inisfreeans grew to appreciate me even more than they had for my beauty and graduation from their slave training program. I could sense more things now, having had my system cleared out by their prescribed dietary and mentality changes, and could tell they were warming up to me. The same Inisfreeans who had scrutinized me on my flight over here, and who had observed me at every moment during my time in the Quarantine Facility’s silo, were now more like shepherds who rarely even needed to make an appearance. As the weeks turned into months, we saw them less and less. It almost felt as if we were once again on our own; free women left to our own devices, able to hike, drive, and ride around this massive, amazing city of wonders of theirs… forever –at least, that is, until we were summoned for pleasures.
I spent much of my time in their incredibly luxurious version of a public library, which they were calling The Library of Congress II. I could have requested permission to use their internet nodes or browsed information in my mind’s eye, but I enjoyed the look and feel of the old-fashioned books and magazines, so that was where I was whenever I wasn’t enjoying the best sex I could ever imagine (and much of the sex I shared with my new Outlander and Inisfreean ‘sisters’ was well beyond even that; things I seriously doubted I could have ever dreamed up, even in my wildest, most unabashed fantasies).
Like someone who had spent their whole life in a Mogadishu slum, or hiding in a cave they were born in during a horrid societal upheaval, and who had then, one day, suddenly been told about and shown the surface, the Sun, the great outdoors, and polite society, I remained in a state of blissful awe for as long as I can remember. Being in Inisfree was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and I could plainly see the same was true for everyone else who ended up earning their right to be there. Though a major portion of all accepted Outlanders were kept indefinitely in Inisfree’s slave caste, we were slaves who felt like goddesses, and who were adored by our captors, massaged and made love to on a sometimes hourly basis, and we were slaves who had what was essentially a flawlessly pristine, gorgeously landscaped, empire-defended playground of 100 square miles plus a whole sky of reserved airspace. If this was to be our fishbowl, I didn’t mind it in the least.
Chapter 4: Revisiting the Past
Learning was an almost constant thing for Inisfreeans, and an often daily thing for us. It was told to us, in our first weeks as Outlander females approved for lives and duties as the slaves of Inisfree… that had we not cried, hesitated, demonstrated lacks of confidence, lost control of our bowels in fear, and learned so slowly, we would not have been punished so frequently nor severely during our ‘airline flight’ here. The Inisfreeans, acting as Drill Instructors would, had instantly decided to give us all real reasons to cry and fear, fixing our frame of reference, and, thereby, ensuring we knocked all that off much more quickly, even with the language barrier.
Furthermore, had we volunteered; had we willingly and genuinely happily thrown ourselves at the feet of the appearing Inisfreean forces, we would have been trained much more gently and gradually, as volunteers are offered lives and duties as concubines. Concubines are more highly regarded, and, thereby, enjoy a slightly higher caste and class amongst the Inisfreeans. Most memorable of this new wave of knowledge granted us at this stage in our development… was that we wouldn’t have been drowned in those awful, tight tubes… had we only been amongst those other girls who’d asked to serve the Inisfreeans –provided, of course, that our asking was genuine and not a bargaining chip; Inisfreeans all read minds and could easily tell.
Much to our relief, beyond that which had already put our minds and hearts at ease (namely, that we wouldn’t be drowned so long as we met those very (now) easy (here to forth) behavior standards), was when we were taught we could hold our breath underwater for much, much longer than had ever been possible in the Outlands. Being in Inisfree, it was possible, even for previously heavily weak-minded Outlanders, such as ourselves, to now hold our breath underwater virtually indefinitely, limited now far more by our boredom; our state of mind, rather than our fading physical cravings for the habits we had erroneously, as Outlanders, viewed as necessities. We could take more punishment now, including impacts that would be mortal outside Inisfree, and it seemed we had become as close to invincible as possible, though the obvious exception to this was that the Inisfreeans were astronomically smarter, stronger, and better coordinated than us, and could always will us to teleport back outside their city, which had become our new home (and the only one we had). Exile/banishment/excommunication often translated to certain death, as the Outlands had now been completely terraformed, and as the Antarctic was still sometimes a hundred degrees below freezing, with hurricane-force winds and no food or drinking water to speak of for as far as the eye could see –and many thousands of miles beyond that. This was never threatened by our masters, though, but it was naturally implied; to willfully err in anything they considered to be the extreme… meant paying the price of the only logical course of action left available to them; they would cast us back out to be what we were determined to be, and to be so in the realm we had been found and claimed in.
One day while I was mentally reviewing all these things, ever motivated for so many positive reasons now to be the best Inisfreean slave I could ever hope to be, I saw the sky begin to change… The Sun seemed to be rising much more quickly than it ever had before, and then the blues of the sky began to take on countless and growing, amoebic, black splotches. Looking all around me, I remembered I couldn’t tell if the horizon was changing at all –because of the nearly-mile-high Perimeter Wall and successive domes that enshrouded and shielded our great city. Something told me the impossible was happening, though; that our entire community was now airborne. It would be just one more beyond-biblical feat which the Inisfreeans were, we had learned, known for. They loved to impress everyone; to wow us all with whatever they had come up with and perfected.
I felt the little hand of an Inisfreean barely my size, free of her lion-helmed power-armor suit, resting on my ass-cheek nearest her. She had this serene, angelic smile on her face as she looked at me with those lustful, loving, twinkling, big, bright eyes all Inisfreeans are known for (yet another thing they have proudly perfected and shared with those who are worthy and compatible; receptive). Casting her gaze up and over to the sky she knew I had been marveling at, it was now becoming darker violet and finally black. Billions more stars than I’d ever seen before in my entire life were becoming apparent, changing the pitch ocean of Outer Space into a truly humbling and mesmerizing expanse of the spans of countless galaxies, as well as the ‘Road to Valhalla’; the thick stretch of our arm of the Milky Way.
She didn’t have to tell me we were flying our entire city as a single ship up off the surface of the planet for a ‘joy-ride’, so to speak, into its orbit and beyond. I didn’t know what was amazing me more; that a city could take flight more easily than an airplane, that I had felt no change in gravity or inertia during the takeoff and velocity changes, or that it cost absolutely nothing to facilitate any of this (Inisfreeans solved all their own problems, generated all their own power, and knew how to master and navigate with anything).
With her small, soft, girl’s hand resting on my ass-cheek to help ‘ground’ me (to help keep me calm and feeling safety, familiarity, and love), she stood with me, side by side, and helped me to enjoy the starship view. It took me a while to break the cosmic equivalent of highway hypnosis, but when I finally did, I looked around and saw groups of other Outlanders (slaves and concubines) coming outside into the Inisfreean fields, balconies, rooftops, and vehicle hoods and sunroofs to stare and get lost in the very same view. Our whole sky was like the lens of a Superman flying through Space! Just when you think you’ve seen and done it all, the Inisfreeans show up, as we (my girls (fellows)) and I like to say now. Having revisited the past lessons from my first days with them, I was now sharing the journey with them as our entire Inisfreean populace revisited the past of the whole Universe; as we sailed out into Deep Space, seeing the stars positioned far out in their great distances and depths aging in reverse as we approached them at warp-surfing speeds (the closer you get to a star, the younger its light is, and, thereby, the more recent history of its lifespan events you are witnessing, while the farther out you are from a star, the further into its ancient past you are witnessing, as that light has taken far longer to travel out from it).
The small Inisfreean girl eased three dildo-vines of a nearby engineered-plant into my pussy, asshole, and mouth, and I sucked and kegeled out the spurts and fountains of synthetic cum they endlessly generated until my heart’s content, all the while watching as the dome of our city’s sky changed like that of the cockpit view-screen on Star Trek. I felt (in both senses) like the luckiest and most treasured woman alive (although I should probably still call myself a girl, as all of us were still teen and preteen in appearance; aging and atrophy weren’t possible in Inisfree).
Learning was an almost constant thing for Inisfreeans, and an often daily thing for us. It was told to us, in our first weeks as Outlander females approved for lives and duties as the slaves of Inisfree… that had we not cried, hesitated, demonstrated lacks of confidence, lost control of our bowels in fear, and learned so slowly, we would not have been punished so frequently nor severely during our ‘airline flight’ here. The Inisfreeans, acting as Drill Instructors would, had instantly decided to give us all real reasons to cry and fear, fixing our frame of reference, and, thereby, ensuring we knocked all that off much more quickly, even with the language barrier.
Furthermore, had we volunteered; had we willingly and genuinely happily thrown ourselves at the feet of the appearing Inisfreean forces, we would have been trained much more gently and gradually, as volunteers are offered lives and duties as concubines. Concubines are more highly regarded, and, thereby, enjoy a slightly higher caste and class amongst the Inisfreeans. Most memorable of this new wave of knowledge granted us at this stage in our development… was that we wouldn’t have been drowned in those awful, tight tubes… had we only been amongst those other girls who’d asked to serve the Inisfreeans –provided, of course, that our asking was genuine and not a bargaining chip; Inisfreeans all read minds and could easily tell.
Much to our relief, beyond that which had already put our minds and hearts at ease (namely, that we wouldn’t be drowned so long as we met those very (now) easy (here to forth) behavior standards), was when we were taught we could hold our breath underwater for much, much longer than had ever been possible in the Outlands. Being in Inisfree, it was possible, even for previously heavily weak-minded Outlanders, such as ourselves, to now hold our breath underwater virtually indefinitely, limited now far more by our boredom; our state of mind, rather than our fading physical cravings for the habits we had erroneously, as Outlanders, viewed as necessities. We could take more punishment now, including impacts that would be mortal outside Inisfree, and it seemed we had become as close to invincible as possible, though the obvious exception to this was that the Inisfreeans were astronomically smarter, stronger, and better coordinated than us, and could always will us to teleport back outside their city, which had become our new home (and the only one we had). Exile/banishment/excommunication often translated to certain death, as the Outlands had now been completely terraformed, and as the Antarctic was still sometimes a hundred degrees below freezing, with hurricane-force winds and no food or drinking water to speak of for as far as the eye could see –and many thousands of miles beyond that. This was never threatened by our masters, though, but it was naturally implied; to willfully err in anything they considered to be the extreme… meant paying the price of the only logical course of action left available to them; they would cast us back out to be what we were determined to be, and to be so in the realm we had been found and claimed in.
One day while I was mentally reviewing all these things, ever motivated for so many positive reasons now to be the best Inisfreean slave I could ever hope to be, I saw the sky begin to change… The Sun seemed to be rising much more quickly than it ever had before, and then the blues of the sky began to take on countless and growing, amoebic, black splotches. Looking all around me, I remembered I couldn’t tell if the horizon was changing at all –because of the nearly-mile-high Perimeter Wall and successive domes that enshrouded and shielded our great city. Something told me the impossible was happening, though; that our entire community was now airborne. It would be just one more beyond-biblical feat which the Inisfreeans were, we had learned, known for. They loved to impress everyone; to wow us all with whatever they had come up with and perfected.
I felt the little hand of an Inisfreean barely my size, free of her lion-helmed power-armor suit, resting on my ass-cheek nearest her. She had this serene, angelic smile on her face as she looked at me with those lustful, loving, twinkling, big, bright eyes all Inisfreeans are known for (yet another thing they have proudly perfected and shared with those who are worthy and compatible; receptive). Casting her gaze up and over to the sky she knew I had been marveling at, it was now becoming darker violet and finally black. Billions more stars than I’d ever seen before in my entire life were becoming apparent, changing the pitch ocean of Outer Space into a truly humbling and mesmerizing expanse of the spans of countless galaxies, as well as the ‘Road to Valhalla’; the thick stretch of our arm of the Milky Way.
She didn’t have to tell me we were flying our entire city as a single ship up off the surface of the planet for a ‘joy-ride’, so to speak, into its orbit and beyond. I didn’t know what was amazing me more; that a city could take flight more easily than an airplane, that I had felt no change in gravity or inertia during the takeoff and velocity changes, or that it cost absolutely nothing to facilitate any of this (Inisfreeans solved all their own problems, generated all their own power, and knew how to master and navigate with anything).
With her small, soft, girl’s hand resting on my ass-cheek to help ‘ground’ me (to help keep me calm and feeling safety, familiarity, and love), she stood with me, side by side, and helped me to enjoy the starship view. It took me a while to break the cosmic equivalent of highway hypnosis, but when I finally did, I looked around and saw groups of other Outlanders (slaves and concubines) coming outside into the Inisfreean fields, balconies, rooftops, and vehicle hoods and sunroofs to stare and get lost in the very same view. Our whole sky was like the lens of a Superman flying through Space! Just when you think you’ve seen and done it all, the Inisfreeans show up, as we (my girls (fellows)) and I like to say now. Having revisited the past lessons from my first days with them, I was now sharing the journey with them as our entire Inisfreean populace revisited the past of the whole Universe; as we sailed out into Deep Space, seeing the stars positioned far out in their great distances and depths aging in reverse as we approached them at warp-surfing speeds (the closer you get to a star, the younger its light is, and, thereby, the more recent history of its lifespan events you are witnessing, while the farther out you are from a star, the further into its ancient past you are witnessing, as that light has taken far longer to travel out from it).
The small Inisfreean girl eased three dildo-vines of a nearby engineered-plant into my pussy, asshole, and mouth, and I sucked and kegeled out the spurts and fountains of synthetic cum they endlessly generated until my heart’s content, all the while watching as the dome of our city’s sky changed like that of the cockpit view-screen on Star Trek. I felt (in both senses) like the luckiest and most treasured woman alive (although I should probably still call myself a girl, as all of us were still teen and preteen in appearance; aging and atrophy weren’t possible in Inisfree).
Chapter 5: Evolution
The rains fell on us. We slept outside without cover. The rainfall chilled us to the bone at first, but we later, over many repetitions of this process, learned that such was mostly psychological now. We did not catch colds; we did not become fatigued from hypothermia or other ails. No matter how often or long we were made to sit or sleep out in the cool rains, even over many nights, we never became sick from it. Even nude atop the snowy plateau-peak of Inisfree's central mountain, we felt fine. And no matter how far we walked, my feet never blistered, cracked, or cramped. Something was strengthening us, even though, the Outlanders would have surely told us, we should be all but physically devastated from the new-environment stress alone.
For what seemed like one month (we could not be sure, for we had no calendars or other means of keeping track of dates and the passage of time), we were marched to and through a small desert, appearing barely two miles across from any of its axes. There were sand dunes of all the colors of the rainbow, as well as many colors beyond those. When the winds blew, the sands seemed to be gradually shifted by them, taking on slightly different snake-like ridges, yet, somehow, the areas distinguished by each of their various colors never moved. I wondered if the sands were being held in place somehow, or if they weren’t really sands at all. During the first nights, we noticed that those sands very subtly glowed internally; they were translucent, alighting the same colors at night as they had during the sunny desert days. I had not known sand of so many of these brilliant colors existed, let alone sand that was nocturnally bioluminescent.
More days passed, and I began to worry about being sunburned. I remembered sunburns in my past, as well as lessons in school that snow and sand both reflect more sunlight, and many people get worse burns in snowy areas and winter in deserts because they aren’t expecting that to happen. Most people don’t think sunburns happen in winter or around snow. Looking around, I knew we had flown extremely far south, so the hole in the atmosphere would be the size of a whole nation, and that meant more solar radiation was allowed in, even though the Sun would always be much lower on the horizon. We didn’t need as much direct sunlight to burn even more quickly than ever before. If we were, for whatever reason, to find ourselves outside the city, the glare from the snow and ice would blind and then burn us red as lobsters, possibly killing us before the winds or freezing temperatures did, and certainly before the also inevitable starvation or dehydration set in; Antarctica was the driest desert on the planet, and by far. The days became weeks, though, and no sun-burning occurred, (even) as far south as we were, as exposed to the solar radiation as we were, and as naked and surrounded by the fine, twinkling, sometimes faintly glowing sands of this Inisfreean desert we had been made to roam and sleep in. Had we become immune not only to drowning and sickness, but also from burning? Could cold temperatures, hot temperatures, and microorganisms no longer harm us? It certainly seemed the case…
Sleep deprivation also took place; anything the Outlander special forces soldiers and other enlisted personnel were put through, so were we. We were not only to be the sexiest Outlander girls of all time, but also the toughest, most well rounded, most self-reliant, most resilient, and most respectable. Inisfreeans settle for nothing; they want one thing; perfection, and they know how to extract and forge it. Denying us the right to clothing, voting, free speech, and even breathing (when we’d been drowned), were just the start; next they took our basic necessities; food, at times, water at others, then, naturally and finally, even our sleep. Not surprisingly, as with the other things taken from us, we discovered we could do without them –far better, and for far longer, at least, than anyone had ever been rumored to’ve back out in the Outlands. We realized we merely thought we were becoming tired and needy for the serotonin released only during deep sleep. Our fears subsided and faded back away into nothingness once enough sleep deprivation had occurred for us to realize we were really just craving and hoping for sleep out of the same habits that had caused us to fear the events leading to our exposure, capture, and extraction from the Outlands. So many, were the foundation-changing revelations that came to us during this period of our training and abilities-unlocking.
In time, we were told, we would realize how to generate our own strength and energies, no longer needing foods, drinks, or other conditions from which to draw such things. We did not understand this, and hoped for further schooling, but none came. We quickly deduced that we were expected to figure all of that out on our own; by ourselves, or as a group. Had we not been so curious and trusting at this point, and had we not experienced so many things at the hands of our captors which, before being flown here, would have seemed to us surely as magics and miracles, many of us, undoubtedly, would have wept bitterly at such a staggering statement; how could we, Outlanders having always thought ourselves bound-until-death to such things as food and water, go without them? We remembered how we had been drowned on the way here, then how we had gained the ability to hold our breaths underwater for so unbelievably long… Something was truly empowering us here, and we wondered aloud in our allotted free and personal time… just how far that empowerment would go.
The rains fell on us. We slept outside without cover. The rainfall chilled us to the bone at first, but we later, over many repetitions of this process, learned that such was mostly psychological now. We did not catch colds; we did not become fatigued from hypothermia or other ails. No matter how often or long we were made to sit or sleep out in the cool rains, even over many nights, we never became sick from it. Even nude atop the snowy plateau-peak of Inisfree's central mountain, we felt fine. And no matter how far we walked, my feet never blistered, cracked, or cramped. Something was strengthening us, even though, the Outlanders would have surely told us, we should be all but physically devastated from the new-environment stress alone.
For what seemed like one month (we could not be sure, for we had no calendars or other means of keeping track of dates and the passage of time), we were marched to and through a small desert, appearing barely two miles across from any of its axes. There were sand dunes of all the colors of the rainbow, as well as many colors beyond those. When the winds blew, the sands seemed to be gradually shifted by them, taking on slightly different snake-like ridges, yet, somehow, the areas distinguished by each of their various colors never moved. I wondered if the sands were being held in place somehow, or if they weren’t really sands at all. During the first nights, we noticed that those sands very subtly glowed internally; they were translucent, alighting the same colors at night as they had during the sunny desert days. I had not known sand of so many of these brilliant colors existed, let alone sand that was nocturnally bioluminescent.
More days passed, and I began to worry about being sunburned. I remembered sunburns in my past, as well as lessons in school that snow and sand both reflect more sunlight, and many people get worse burns in snowy areas and winter in deserts because they aren’t expecting that to happen. Most people don’t think sunburns happen in winter or around snow. Looking around, I knew we had flown extremely far south, so the hole in the atmosphere would be the size of a whole nation, and that meant more solar radiation was allowed in, even though the Sun would always be much lower on the horizon. We didn’t need as much direct sunlight to burn even more quickly than ever before. If we were, for whatever reason, to find ourselves outside the city, the glare from the snow and ice would blind and then burn us red as lobsters, possibly killing us before the winds or freezing temperatures did, and certainly before the also inevitable starvation or dehydration set in; Antarctica was the driest desert on the planet, and by far. The days became weeks, though, and no sun-burning occurred, (even) as far south as we were, as exposed to the solar radiation as we were, and as naked and surrounded by the fine, twinkling, sometimes faintly glowing sands of this Inisfreean desert we had been made to roam and sleep in. Had we become immune not only to drowning and sickness, but also from burning? Could cold temperatures, hot temperatures, and microorganisms no longer harm us? It certainly seemed the case…
Sleep deprivation also took place; anything the Outlander special forces soldiers and other enlisted personnel were put through, so were we. We were not only to be the sexiest Outlander girls of all time, but also the toughest, most well rounded, most self-reliant, most resilient, and most respectable. Inisfreeans settle for nothing; they want one thing; perfection, and they know how to extract and forge it. Denying us the right to clothing, voting, free speech, and even breathing (when we’d been drowned), were just the start; next they took our basic necessities; food, at times, water at others, then, naturally and finally, even our sleep. Not surprisingly, as with the other things taken from us, we discovered we could do without them –far better, and for far longer, at least, than anyone had ever been rumored to’ve back out in the Outlands. We realized we merely thought we were becoming tired and needy for the serotonin released only during deep sleep. Our fears subsided and faded back away into nothingness once enough sleep deprivation had occurred for us to realize we were really just craving and hoping for sleep out of the same habits that had caused us to fear the events leading to our exposure, capture, and extraction from the Outlands. So many, were the foundation-changing revelations that came to us during this period of our training and abilities-unlocking.
In time, we were told, we would realize how to generate our own strength and energies, no longer needing foods, drinks, or other conditions from which to draw such things. We did not understand this, and hoped for further schooling, but none came. We quickly deduced that we were expected to figure all of that out on our own; by ourselves, or as a group. Had we not been so curious and trusting at this point, and had we not experienced so many things at the hands of our captors which, before being flown here, would have seemed to us surely as magics and miracles, many of us, undoubtedly, would have wept bitterly at such a staggering statement; how could we, Outlanders having always thought ourselves bound-until-death to such things as food and water, go without them? We remembered how we had been drowned on the way here, then how we had gained the ability to hold our breaths underwater for so unbelievably long… Something was truly empowering us here, and we wondered aloud in our allotted free and personal time… just how far that empowerment would go.
Chapter 6: Ascension
Like so many Outlander societies, fraternal orders, and civilizations, Inisfree is not without its ranks and promotion opportunities. After becoming better acquainted with our newfound superhuman abilities when in the company of Inisfree and its Inisfreeans; our captors and masters in both bondage and wisdom, we were further educated about things we would likely not be able to deduce on our own. The short, mindblowingly beautiful and sexy Inisfreean girls told us of their educational system; how 20 grades in school culminated in them earning the right –by becoming pleasing enough to the city’s sole male- to be considered his Master Females and pseudo-wives. Though we would be allowed (sometimes commanded) to learn much of what they had in their school system and academy, we would never be called Damsels (their junior high school title), Dames (their high school title), Companions (their graduate title as they mastered all things sexual at their equivalent of a university), Warrior-esses (their post-graduate equivalent, which meant military service and the mastery thereof), Master Females (their title indicating completion of the entire Inisfreean curriculum and vocational tours-of-duty rotations), or pseudo-wives. Instead, being slaves, we would eventually –hopefully- earn, through how genuinely passionate and skilful we were about pleasing our masters and their master (the one male), the tier/echelon/caste/rite/level/status of ‘approved-of slaves’; those Outlanders who didn’t volunteer to serve Inisfree, but who came into good standing with the Inisfreeans after their indoctrination and successive interactions with them.
Our target; our goal… became not to flee our Inisfreean owners and dictators, …but to prove ourselves sexy enough –by their standards (staggering by any measure)- to be deemed fit enough to try out for membership in the Alpha Delta Omega (ADO) sorority. This would afford us additional slack and freedoms, which were naturally sought after, even though, even as slaves, we were already living well beyond the wildest legends of all-powerful goddesses in ancient mythology; more still was to be had… if only we could push ourselves and deserve it.
ADO was the hierarchy potentially available to us, though only Outlander teen girls who volunteered for Inisfreean servitude were guaranteed places and positions starting within its organization, as opposed to where we much more lowly and frequently degraded slaves were kept. Every now and then, exceptionally pleasing slaves were allowed to attempt the rites of passage that make ADO such a signature sorority; the only one on Earth completely based on rewarding femininity and sensuality prowess. Red robes and other garments, such as red armbands, came first. Next came the blue ones. Finally, the black. The robes, as so many Inisfreean articles of clothing, were subtly translucent, showing off our curves and the smoothly curving areas of lit tans and shadows that made us so distinctively female and tautly young. Our nipples and pussy slits, bellybuttons and pelvic dimples would always show through those robes of the ADO initiates. This, however, we had learned to love and show off at all times.
The sexual equivalent of the most elite special operations and warfare organizations, being a member (sorority sister) of ADO meant one was the best of the best any Outlander could be; it meant we were outshone and overshadowed only by the Inisfreeans themselves, for those Outlanders who rise up through and past the three tiers of ADO (red, blue, and black), earn the title Concubine, as well as lifelong duty assignments to the Inisfreean Space fleet. That, we later realized, meant immortality, for 1) with that much exposure to Inisfree and its Inisfreeans, one is so healthy it is almost impossible to get hurt, much less die, and 2) once an Outlander is in that much of the Inisfreeans' good graces, it is virtually unheard of and inconceivable for the Inisfreeans to ever wish or choose to cast them back out to the realm from which they were plucked. In other words, earning our way into and up through ADO was the only possible, available ‘insurance policy’ girls like us (kidnapped, press-ganged, conscripted Outlanders) could ever hope to have. Money, favor, and clout didn’t exist in the Inisfreean realm. All we had to use as leverage was our will to use our now-perfected beauties for our Inisfreean masters as skillfully as we could imagine –at all times, in all ways, for the right reasons the Inisfreeans would appreciate, including when we didn’t think any Inisfreean was looking.
For an Outlander to ascend in any way in the realm of Inisfree, she proves herself worthy of the secrets of ADO. Then she proves herself in the ADO events, which are almost always orgy parties. Then she proves herself as a Concubine of Inisfree’s Space fleet. And that is the extent to which she may ascend.
What our late Outlander acquaintances and authorities had considered holy, Inisfree showed us was just terrorism and child-abuse. What those same acquaintances and authorities had considered hurtful and criminally insane, Inisfree showed us gave us breakthroughs in physical and mental (emotional and spiritual) strength. And what those acquaintances and authorities had considered obscene, inappropriate, shameful, and dirty, Inisfree showed us in actuality and practice always gave us incredible feelings of stability, serenity, and self-worth. What was banned in the Outlands was expected here in Inisfree; elite military training, logical and critical thinking, individual conclusions about personal and collective spirituality and purpose (destiny/calling), free love, healing through holistic, loving touch, etc.. Our ascension in general meant grasping these things just as much as it meant striving to be approved for ADO and beyond.
Like so many Outlander societies, fraternal orders, and civilizations, Inisfree is not without its ranks and promotion opportunities. After becoming better acquainted with our newfound superhuman abilities when in the company of Inisfree and its Inisfreeans; our captors and masters in both bondage and wisdom, we were further educated about things we would likely not be able to deduce on our own. The short, mindblowingly beautiful and sexy Inisfreean girls told us of their educational system; how 20 grades in school culminated in them earning the right –by becoming pleasing enough to the city’s sole male- to be considered his Master Females and pseudo-wives. Though we would be allowed (sometimes commanded) to learn much of what they had in their school system and academy, we would never be called Damsels (their junior high school title), Dames (their high school title), Companions (their graduate title as they mastered all things sexual at their equivalent of a university), Warrior-esses (their post-graduate equivalent, which meant military service and the mastery thereof), Master Females (their title indicating completion of the entire Inisfreean curriculum and vocational tours-of-duty rotations), or pseudo-wives. Instead, being slaves, we would eventually –hopefully- earn, through how genuinely passionate and skilful we were about pleasing our masters and their master (the one male), the tier/echelon/caste/rite/level/status of ‘approved-of slaves’; those Outlanders who didn’t volunteer to serve Inisfree, but who came into good standing with the Inisfreeans after their indoctrination and successive interactions with them.
Our target; our goal… became not to flee our Inisfreean owners and dictators, …but to prove ourselves sexy enough –by their standards (staggering by any measure)- to be deemed fit enough to try out for membership in the Alpha Delta Omega (ADO) sorority. This would afford us additional slack and freedoms, which were naturally sought after, even though, even as slaves, we were already living well beyond the wildest legends of all-powerful goddesses in ancient mythology; more still was to be had… if only we could push ourselves and deserve it.
ADO was the hierarchy potentially available to us, though only Outlander teen girls who volunteered for Inisfreean servitude were guaranteed places and positions starting within its organization, as opposed to where we much more lowly and frequently degraded slaves were kept. Every now and then, exceptionally pleasing slaves were allowed to attempt the rites of passage that make ADO such a signature sorority; the only one on Earth completely based on rewarding femininity and sensuality prowess. Red robes and other garments, such as red armbands, came first. Next came the blue ones. Finally, the black. The robes, as so many Inisfreean articles of clothing, were subtly translucent, showing off our curves and the smoothly curving areas of lit tans and shadows that made us so distinctively female and tautly young. Our nipples and pussy slits, bellybuttons and pelvic dimples would always show through those robes of the ADO initiates. This, however, we had learned to love and show off at all times.
The sexual equivalent of the most elite special operations and warfare organizations, being a member (sorority sister) of ADO meant one was the best of the best any Outlander could be; it meant we were outshone and overshadowed only by the Inisfreeans themselves, for those Outlanders who rise up through and past the three tiers of ADO (red, blue, and black), earn the title Concubine, as well as lifelong duty assignments to the Inisfreean Space fleet. That, we later realized, meant immortality, for 1) with that much exposure to Inisfree and its Inisfreeans, one is so healthy it is almost impossible to get hurt, much less die, and 2) once an Outlander is in that much of the Inisfreeans' good graces, it is virtually unheard of and inconceivable for the Inisfreeans to ever wish or choose to cast them back out to the realm from which they were plucked. In other words, earning our way into and up through ADO was the only possible, available ‘insurance policy’ girls like us (kidnapped, press-ganged, conscripted Outlanders) could ever hope to have. Money, favor, and clout didn’t exist in the Inisfreean realm. All we had to use as leverage was our will to use our now-perfected beauties for our Inisfreean masters as skillfully as we could imagine –at all times, in all ways, for the right reasons the Inisfreeans would appreciate, including when we didn’t think any Inisfreean was looking.
For an Outlander to ascend in any way in the realm of Inisfree, she proves herself worthy of the secrets of ADO. Then she proves herself in the ADO events, which are almost always orgy parties. Then she proves herself as a Concubine of Inisfree’s Space fleet. And that is the extent to which she may ascend.
What our late Outlander acquaintances and authorities had considered holy, Inisfree showed us was just terrorism and child-abuse. What those same acquaintances and authorities had considered hurtful and criminally insane, Inisfree showed us gave us breakthroughs in physical and mental (emotional and spiritual) strength. And what those acquaintances and authorities had considered obscene, inappropriate, shameful, and dirty, Inisfree showed us in actuality and practice always gave us incredible feelings of stability, serenity, and self-worth. What was banned in the Outlands was expected here in Inisfree; elite military training, logical and critical thinking, individual conclusions about personal and collective spirituality and purpose (destiny/calling), free love, healing through holistic, loving touch, etc.. Our ascension in general meant grasping these things just as much as it meant striving to be approved for ADO and beyond.
Chapter 7: Expulsion
Terrifying us to our cores, and shocking us into realizing that we still had at such deeply ingrained levels a useless negativity-exaggeration knee-jerk reaction to big changes and so many other things, was the day we were mock cast out from the city that had spared us from the end of our world as we knew it. The Inisfreeans unceremoniously, and without any provocation, simply exiled us, banishing us far away from the gigantic, towering, cargo-airplane-like ramp on the outside of Inisfree’s Perimeter Wall.
As it slowly and silently rose back up to seal behind us, leaving not even the faintest trace of its outline for us to find it by, we began to wonder if our newfound abilities to disregard food, water, air, sleep, heat, radiation, and cold… were as pronounced –or if they even still existed- outside that great city of otherwise permanent healing and wizardry.
Braving the Antarctic ice plains that spread out from the ever-concealed sphere-shield around Inisfree, we marched. We had no maps, no clothes, no technology, and no idea if there was any point in moving at all. Why not just sit there and wait to freeze to death? Wouldn’t we eventually freeze to death, anyway? Or, perhaps equally or even more likely, wouldn’t the wind eventually just pick up enough to blow us many miles over and across the ice that coated most of this entire continent, sliding us off the edge and down into an abysmal crevice in one of the cleaving ice shelves? Our troop of nude girls, in our 20s now, though still appearing, all of us, about 13 to 15, regardless of who had been 9 or closer to 17 when we’d been kidnapped by the Inisfreeans, moved out away from the fading ice cliff Perimeter Wall of Inisfree… out of nothing more than wanting something to do before (if) we were to die.
This is where and when the crying resumed, although it certainly was not from tears of joy. So many of us felt rejected, hopeless, wronged; tried and found guilty without any due process –or even any indication of how we’d erred or how to make up for it. We wandered in desolation and hopelessness, as well as confusion and returning fears that spread out of the pits of our stomachs and the muscles of our feet and toes. I felt certain I was beginning to experience dizziness, hunger pangs, hallucinations, dehydration, palpitations, hypothermia, fatigue from overexposure to the Sun’s rays, and worse. Part of me thought this was just psychosomatic, but a much larger part of me feared the worst. That fear of what seemed sure to come… almost made me forget how much I ached to be protected, holistically instructed, and sexually used by my new masters; my owners, teachers, guides, counselors, overseers, and lovely girlfriends, the Inisfreeans. I struggled to wipe my tears away, which had frozen onto my cheeks in the extreme cold of Antarctica.
Having lost sight of the perfectly hidden city called Inisfree, one last thought –one final glimmer of something to hope for- passed before my mind’s eye; it was a vision –a daydream- of myself mutually embracing their emperor and god-king, the one they called The Governor. We were naked and fucking, I mounting him in the position I’d been taught to call ‘the cowgirl’. That was it; there was no elaboration within my mind’s eye. The wind had picked up, instantly recapturing all my attention. Several of the girls in our group of slaves were now lost; out of sight and shouting range –or, perhaps, they’d just lost the will to respond.
White-out is what happens when there is so much snow during a blizzard that you can no longer see; when visibility goes down to within a few feet around your person, and all you can do is crawl and feel about in the caking madness. White-out is what happened next; a truly odd thing, I thought, and perhaps a fluke of nature, after what our Inisfreeans had told us about how nonexistent moisture and rainfall were all across this whole continent of theirs. Still, the soft, silent, white-out of a blizzard came; it fell on us like a heavy curtain, finishing off the last of our hopes and dreams –even our lingering hopes and dreams to one day be more-prized possessions; to one day become better (more pleasing) slaves of the Inisfreeans. We could see nothing; in front of us, physically or further ahead in life. I didn’t bother to continue looking or calling out for the other girls, bonded and attached to one another as we had grown over the unknown length of time we had invested in our new Inisfreean lives and lifestyles.
It took the Inisfreeans one full year, we later were informed at the debriefing, to feel it was the right time to once again pluck us out of the Outlands. Standing in the cavernous rectangular box that is the dark, shadowy, featureless first chamber of the Pearly Gates passageway sequence, we listened with almost blank stares and expressionless faces to what we were being told; we were still in shock after what had been done to us, being kicked out of the only remaining city left standing on Earth, and for a full year, no less –with no explanation or guidance whatsoever. We had all been lost in the wastes of Antarctica, left there to wander, lose each other, and die. We had been forced to overcome our fears in the most difficult way any of us could now think of; alone on a world now dead, killed and completely reshaped by the masters who had seemingly stopped caring about us in the slightest. It was one of their final tests and methods of stabilization; it forced us to go insane and then recompose ourselves. We were now as close to the Inisfreeans as we might ever be, save our growth as ADO and fleet Concubines, should we prove acceptable for that.
The titanic, rectangular, drawbridge-like outer hatch of this first chamber of Inisfree’s Pearly Gates system silently rose back up and sealed just as seamlessly behind us. It was large enough that I felt certain a skyscraper or aircraft carrier could fit neatly inside its dimensions with room to spare. The Inisfreean girl in charge of our expulsion-exercise debriefing, a full year’s time after it had begun without warning, now finished speaking to us and motioned us deeper inside; back home… to what had become ‘our’ Inisfree… Like ghosts, almost, still reeling and recovering from the predominantly and massively psychological trauma that had just been inflicted upon us, obediently and instinctively we marched back in. This had been so much worse than even drowning, we now all thought. It then occurred to me that I was acutely aware of the feelings indicative of changes in mood and thinking; I could feel the auras of the other girls around me. I could feel, rather than hear, their thoughts! We’d become empathic! I could feel each of the other girls was now feeling and realizing this, too! Isolation and hopelessness seemed to’ve again –and much further- empowered and supercharged us all. These Inisfreeans sure were clever in their rapid, brutal applications of otherworldly techniques.
Terrifying us to our cores, and shocking us into realizing that we still had at such deeply ingrained levels a useless negativity-exaggeration knee-jerk reaction to big changes and so many other things, was the day we were mock cast out from the city that had spared us from the end of our world as we knew it. The Inisfreeans unceremoniously, and without any provocation, simply exiled us, banishing us far away from the gigantic, towering, cargo-airplane-like ramp on the outside of Inisfree’s Perimeter Wall.
As it slowly and silently rose back up to seal behind us, leaving not even the faintest trace of its outline for us to find it by, we began to wonder if our newfound abilities to disregard food, water, air, sleep, heat, radiation, and cold… were as pronounced –or if they even still existed- outside that great city of otherwise permanent healing and wizardry.
Braving the Antarctic ice plains that spread out from the ever-concealed sphere-shield around Inisfree, we marched. We had no maps, no clothes, no technology, and no idea if there was any point in moving at all. Why not just sit there and wait to freeze to death? Wouldn’t we eventually freeze to death, anyway? Or, perhaps equally or even more likely, wouldn’t the wind eventually just pick up enough to blow us many miles over and across the ice that coated most of this entire continent, sliding us off the edge and down into an abysmal crevice in one of the cleaving ice shelves? Our troop of nude girls, in our 20s now, though still appearing, all of us, about 13 to 15, regardless of who had been 9 or closer to 17 when we’d been kidnapped by the Inisfreeans, moved out away from the fading ice cliff Perimeter Wall of Inisfree… out of nothing more than wanting something to do before (if) we were to die.
This is where and when the crying resumed, although it certainly was not from tears of joy. So many of us felt rejected, hopeless, wronged; tried and found guilty without any due process –or even any indication of how we’d erred or how to make up for it. We wandered in desolation and hopelessness, as well as confusion and returning fears that spread out of the pits of our stomachs and the muscles of our feet and toes. I felt certain I was beginning to experience dizziness, hunger pangs, hallucinations, dehydration, palpitations, hypothermia, fatigue from overexposure to the Sun’s rays, and worse. Part of me thought this was just psychosomatic, but a much larger part of me feared the worst. That fear of what seemed sure to come… almost made me forget how much I ached to be protected, holistically instructed, and sexually used by my new masters; my owners, teachers, guides, counselors, overseers, and lovely girlfriends, the Inisfreeans. I struggled to wipe my tears away, which had frozen onto my cheeks in the extreme cold of Antarctica.
Having lost sight of the perfectly hidden city called Inisfree, one last thought –one final glimmer of something to hope for- passed before my mind’s eye; it was a vision –a daydream- of myself mutually embracing their emperor and god-king, the one they called The Governor. We were naked and fucking, I mounting him in the position I’d been taught to call ‘the cowgirl’. That was it; there was no elaboration within my mind’s eye. The wind had picked up, instantly recapturing all my attention. Several of the girls in our group of slaves were now lost; out of sight and shouting range –or, perhaps, they’d just lost the will to respond.
White-out is what happens when there is so much snow during a blizzard that you can no longer see; when visibility goes down to within a few feet around your person, and all you can do is crawl and feel about in the caking madness. White-out is what happened next; a truly odd thing, I thought, and perhaps a fluke of nature, after what our Inisfreeans had told us about how nonexistent moisture and rainfall were all across this whole continent of theirs. Still, the soft, silent, white-out of a blizzard came; it fell on us like a heavy curtain, finishing off the last of our hopes and dreams –even our lingering hopes and dreams to one day be more-prized possessions; to one day become better (more pleasing) slaves of the Inisfreeans. We could see nothing; in front of us, physically or further ahead in life. I didn’t bother to continue looking or calling out for the other girls, bonded and attached to one another as we had grown over the unknown length of time we had invested in our new Inisfreean lives and lifestyles.
It took the Inisfreeans one full year, we later were informed at the debriefing, to feel it was the right time to once again pluck us out of the Outlands. Standing in the cavernous rectangular box that is the dark, shadowy, featureless first chamber of the Pearly Gates passageway sequence, we listened with almost blank stares and expressionless faces to what we were being told; we were still in shock after what had been done to us, being kicked out of the only remaining city left standing on Earth, and for a full year, no less –with no explanation or guidance whatsoever. We had all been lost in the wastes of Antarctica, left there to wander, lose each other, and die. We had been forced to overcome our fears in the most difficult way any of us could now think of; alone on a world now dead, killed and completely reshaped by the masters who had seemingly stopped caring about us in the slightest. It was one of their final tests and methods of stabilization; it forced us to go insane and then recompose ourselves. We were now as close to the Inisfreeans as we might ever be, save our growth as ADO and fleet Concubines, should we prove acceptable for that.
The titanic, rectangular, drawbridge-like outer hatch of this first chamber of Inisfree’s Pearly Gates system silently rose back up and sealed just as seamlessly behind us. It was large enough that I felt certain a skyscraper or aircraft carrier could fit neatly inside its dimensions with room to spare. The Inisfreean girl in charge of our expulsion-exercise debriefing, a full year’s time after it had begun without warning, now finished speaking to us and motioned us deeper inside; back home… to what had become ‘our’ Inisfree… Like ghosts, almost, still reeling and recovering from the predominantly and massively psychological trauma that had just been inflicted upon us, obediently and instinctively we marched back in. This had been so much worse than even drowning, we now all thought. It then occurred to me that I was acutely aware of the feelings indicative of changes in mood and thinking; I could feel the auras of the other girls around me. I could feel, rather than hear, their thoughts! We’d become empathic! I could feel each of the other girls was now feeling and realizing this, too! Isolation and hopelessness seemed to’ve again –and much further- empowered and supercharged us all. These Inisfreeans sure were clever in their rapid, brutal applications of otherworldly techniques.
Chapter 8: The Great Beyond
When I finally saw the Governor in the flesh for the very first time, I was petrified; I was so nervous I might in any of the slightest little, barely conceivable ways offend this great man who, I had been told, had built up all of this unbelievable city using nothing more than his own mind. Would he actually excommunicate me from Inisfree? Would I this time die, perishing in the Outlands immediately adjacent impregnable Inisfree; Antarctica? I was trembling, shaking, about to pass out, even. But then his wonderful, wonderfully loving eyes met mine.
“I see through the eyes of my Inisfreeans, you see,” he smiled gently to me, keenly aware that his pun had been clear to me. He had walked up to me, of all these girls now fully trained as slaves along with me. I had been picked, and I was a deer caught in the proverbial headlights. I said nothing, I thought nothing, and I moved not. “When they approved of you,” he spoke on to me, disregarding all this, “and continued your training with each lesson and day, it was really I who was approving of you.” As he rested his larger, warm, clearly powerful hands around my upper arms, just below their shoulders, I realized then, with those words he had chosen to send to me, that what he was really saying was ‘I love you. Do not be scared. You are the fraction of a percent of all humankind who has been found worthy of being raptured and spared from the terraforming apocalypse that finally left prophecy to become real,… and now, passing history.’ Spoken aloud, all my fellow Outlander girls standing there as slaves-in-training with me got the very welcome message, too.
I eventually made my way to and through the many rites of ADO, ending up, much to my extreme delight and surprise, as a Concubine of the fleet of Inisfree. Traveling with the Inisfreeans across the Cosmos and many other dimensions, sometimes called ‘realms’, I enjoyed fucking and sucking on a truly cosmic level (in both senses of the term), making love in massive orgies with humanoid and other beings from a trillion inhabited, advanced, enlightened worlds and more. As a representative of Inisfree (however low-ranking I was, amongst them), I was supremely proud of myself, as well as my station –and as well of my ‘sisters’ in the Concubine Corps. I was also supremely proud of what our Inisfreean masters had proven; how they had proven so many wonders attainable, and, in doing so, how they had proven themselves forever worthy of making themselves, and remaining, all of our masters and dictators.
Adventuring out across the entire Universe and Mega-verse, we will always have more stories of using love and sex, instead of obsolete warfare, to make first-contact with all whom we encountered out here. I had once mistakenly thought, though easily understandable, given the circumstances of my first upbringing, that earning a degree and a man’s last name would be the pinnacle of my mortal existence, and that horrors and death were certain. Thanks to the Inisfreeans, however, I had reversed all that; I now knew that perfection and immortality were both so easily achievable by so many, and that the only hell was that which the Outlanders had created in their foolishness, and that the only purgatory was our faux-exile for a year from Inisfree. I had now realized with a shiver coursing down through my entire body, just how much I had coveted the thought of not only losing my given name in its entirety (instead of just having my surname changed), but also having it replaced with a number; how alien and backward a concept to all the Outlanders who had once occupied our now-healed world! Yet here I was, loving and cherishing my new designation not by my parents with a Christian, birth-name, …but as Concubine 30,257, formerly (promoted from) slave-slut 102,984. My old name didn’t even matter anymore; things were that good. I had shed it like a snake sheds any given layer of its skin; it mattered not anymore. This was just the way of things here, and I was loving it. *The only thing I can think to compare this moment to would be the earning of the Eagle-Globe-and-Anchor by a new Marine, or the earning of the SEAL Trident (Special Warfare Insignia) by a sailor freshly graduated from BUD/S.
We hope… in time… that you, too, will be deemed worthy to try out to join us here, far off, out and away from Earth and even (in time, if you graduate each of the training evolutions) Inisfree. You won’t be disappointed. There are no words for the elation and certainty you will then, if so blessed, feel… See you then? Namaste.
When I finally saw the Governor in the flesh for the very first time, I was petrified; I was so nervous I might in any of the slightest little, barely conceivable ways offend this great man who, I had been told, had built up all of this unbelievable city using nothing more than his own mind. Would he actually excommunicate me from Inisfree? Would I this time die, perishing in the Outlands immediately adjacent impregnable Inisfree; Antarctica? I was trembling, shaking, about to pass out, even. But then his wonderful, wonderfully loving eyes met mine.
“I see through the eyes of my Inisfreeans, you see,” he smiled gently to me, keenly aware that his pun had been clear to me. He had walked up to me, of all these girls now fully trained as slaves along with me. I had been picked, and I was a deer caught in the proverbial headlights. I said nothing, I thought nothing, and I moved not. “When they approved of you,” he spoke on to me, disregarding all this, “and continued your training with each lesson and day, it was really I who was approving of you.” As he rested his larger, warm, clearly powerful hands around my upper arms, just below their shoulders, I realized then, with those words he had chosen to send to me, that what he was really saying was ‘I love you. Do not be scared. You are the fraction of a percent of all humankind who has been found worthy of being raptured and spared from the terraforming apocalypse that finally left prophecy to become real,… and now, passing history.’ Spoken aloud, all my fellow Outlander girls standing there as slaves-in-training with me got the very welcome message, too.
I eventually made my way to and through the many rites of ADO, ending up, much to my extreme delight and surprise, as a Concubine of the fleet of Inisfree. Traveling with the Inisfreeans across the Cosmos and many other dimensions, sometimes called ‘realms’, I enjoyed fucking and sucking on a truly cosmic level (in both senses of the term), making love in massive orgies with humanoid and other beings from a trillion inhabited, advanced, enlightened worlds and more. As a representative of Inisfree (however low-ranking I was, amongst them), I was supremely proud of myself, as well as my station –and as well of my ‘sisters’ in the Concubine Corps. I was also supremely proud of what our Inisfreean masters had proven; how they had proven so many wonders attainable, and, in doing so, how they had proven themselves forever worthy of making themselves, and remaining, all of our masters and dictators.
Adventuring out across the entire Universe and Mega-verse, we will always have more stories of using love and sex, instead of obsolete warfare, to make first-contact with all whom we encountered out here. I had once mistakenly thought, though easily understandable, given the circumstances of my first upbringing, that earning a degree and a man’s last name would be the pinnacle of my mortal existence, and that horrors and death were certain. Thanks to the Inisfreeans, however, I had reversed all that; I now knew that perfection and immortality were both so easily achievable by so many, and that the only hell was that which the Outlanders had created in their foolishness, and that the only purgatory was our faux-exile for a year from Inisfree. I had now realized with a shiver coursing down through my entire body, just how much I had coveted the thought of not only losing my given name in its entirety (instead of just having my surname changed), but also having it replaced with a number; how alien and backward a concept to all the Outlanders who had once occupied our now-healed world! Yet here I was, loving and cherishing my new designation not by my parents with a Christian, birth-name, …but as Concubine 30,257, formerly (promoted from) slave-slut 102,984. My old name didn’t even matter anymore; things were that good. I had shed it like a snake sheds any given layer of its skin; it mattered not anymore. This was just the way of things here, and I was loving it. *The only thing I can think to compare this moment to would be the earning of the Eagle-Globe-and-Anchor by a new Marine, or the earning of the SEAL Trident (Special Warfare Insignia) by a sailor freshly graduated from BUD/S.
We hope… in time… that you, too, will be deemed worthy to try out to join us here, far off, out and away from Earth and even (in time, if you graduate each of the training evolutions) Inisfree. You won’t be disappointed. There are no words for the elation and certainty you will then, if so blessed, feel… See you then? Namaste.
Chapter 9: Life and Love as an Inisfreean Concubine
I do not know if I did something displeasing to him (the Inisfreean Governor), or if it was simply his will in that moment that he enjoy assailing me as followed; he placed his palm on my forehead, his fingers and thumb starting around the sides of my scalp and face, and used that strong position to thrust my whole body backward, nearly giving me whiplash in the process. I slid across the floor, realizing as I reminded my body to accept its trajectory because it was his will that I be slid thusly, that I probably couldn’t get whiplash, having become, as far as I could tell, invincible. I reminded myself of my Inisfreean slave education; that it was not for my caste to wonder what had been the motivation for this or any action by my master of masters. I was to enjoy the fact that I was receiving attention, no matter of what kind, from a master. I deeply did, needing little of this reminding.
He left me to lie there on the floor where I had stopped sliding, for he had not indicated that I was permitted to stop from impacting anything as I slid, nor rise again, even if only so much as to sit up and wait for his next assault. I remained spread out like a ragdoll, slid into the corner, as he ignored me while dozens of other Concubines and Inisfreeans pleased him. I smiled to myself as I remembered how an Inisfreean Concubine has her title capitalized, as she is worlds above and apart (literally) from any Outlander concubine.
When it was my destined time to receive his attentions again, he confidently and brilliantly fondled and groped me, appraised my body and motions, as well as my aura and all I projected and radiated, and then directed me to assume the Gorean slave-girl kneeling position, which I joyously and rapidly did. Maintaining that position, as well as the bearing which my master desired, I received many lashings of his stinging whip, leaving me reddened across my always-bare pussy and tits. I marveled at how such reddening could occur, given that nothing seemed to be able to harm me; surely, I reasoned, in the realm of a man who can form an entire city with only his will, such reddening in spite of otherwise invulnerability was also due completely to his incredible will; that of a god. I took my dozens of lashes and was allowed to cry for him; to further arouse him. Taking me, still reddened and sore, whip-stung and trembling from the adrenalin of the whole event, he and many of the other Concubines and Inisfreeans (all his property) used my body for their pleasures until I thought surely I must rest.
Rest never came, for 1) I was their slave-slut (Concubine, so a high-ranking slave-slut, but still, in essence, a slave-slut) to be done with as they willed, for however long they willed it, even if it meant extinguishing me; even if it meant killing me in the process of pleasing themselves, and 2) they were showing me in their sly and tough-love Inisfreean way that I still didn’t need the sleep which my habits and lingering erroneous Outlander mentality had me thinking I would eventually need and succumb to. Once they, perhaps near 100 in number, had all filled me with their sexual juices, I was pushed out of the bed, at which point I slipped over its side and fell to the floor, thudding down upon it where I remained, void of permission to change my position in any way. Comfort would only come to me if it aroused them to give it, and the same was true for nourishment. I put these things out of my mind. It was becoming easier and more natural every time.
I could easily be disintegrated or otherwise dispatched in any number of ways the Inisfreeans could imagine and then will into existence, but I was being kept. It was their will that I remain and please them. This was because I was pleasing to them; arousing to them. Soaked in all my bliss holes and with a well-used shine spread across my entire body, I lied there with a drunken smile on my face, feeling their many pooled and merging liquids and fluids sloshing around inside me, flowing and trickling and streaming out of me, and making me as happy as any female can be. I had been so thoroughly enjoyed and utilized that every cell in my body felt loved and longed for; lusted for. Such was the highest level of happiness and peace one can attain.
Regardless of whether I was serving the sexual needs of Inisfreeans exploring Deep Space via their fleet, or back home in my (their, beloved Inisfree, rather, as I, being a slave, cannot be possessive even in speaking of anything; I cannot even say ‘my Master’ in one of that phrase's senses), I was happy if being paid attention to or used in any capacity. Inisfree’s population includes more than one billion trillion Inisfreeans, all of whom are my master-of-master’s children, for he engineered and ‘birthed’ them all (via his city, which is the only way an Inisfreean can reproduce). In addition to those multiple sextillion children of his, all of whom are also his sex-slaves, he has untold numbers of sex-slaves (sometimes called slave-sluts, as previously mentioned) from untold numbers of worlds our fleet has traveled to (although Inisfreeans don’t actually travel very often at all; instead, they open and move a portal around them or their vessel, appearing at their destination as the portal closes around and behind them, without having moved across the linear distance to that destination at all). This means that those who serve this one man called the Governor of Inisfree… are, for all intents and purposes, without number. My point in telling you this is that he still makes time for us all, and still easily maintains all of our youthful beauties for eternity –all by nothing more than the power of his mind; his will. Firstly, try to understand this by comparing it to the fact that all of the technological wonders taken for granted by Americans in the 21st century were completely unimaginable to many billions of other people all around the world at the same time, and certainly to all people of all nations just a generation or two before their advent. Likewise, Inisfreean technological and other wonders are unknown, and would be (similarly) regarded, by all outsiders; by all Outlanders. Even though in one generation's time we humans went from being able to manage only a few people to billions of people and nearly infinite complex computations every second and automatically, humans would still have a difficult time believing that Inisfreeans had taken that technological evolution one step further by becoming able to automatically manage a few multiples more. Secondly, understand how flattering, thrilling, and sexually supercharging it is for any one Outlander teenage girl to be so frequently summoned and used to her fullest by one such a god-man. That was why I felt the way I did; why we all always feel as we do when he is near.
With this context in mind, I looked back with great nostalgia and fondness of even the memory when I had first been kidnapped, claimed, humbled, and broken by my Inisfreean god and goddesses; of when they had made me taste my own loss of control of my bowels in public with strangers and friends alike from my hometown, then drowned me on top of all that, helping me overcome my fears by maxing them and my pains out so many times. I had learned that Navy SEALs, too, get drowned as part of their advanced training. How honored we had been, in retrospect; stray Outlander girls of little worth other than our by-chance looks, that beings so powerful and capable as these Inisfreeans had not only taken the time to notice and extract us, but given us the world’s most elite and secretive trainings, as well. Wow, is all I can think to say; I feel so damn loved; so much more so than I’d ever had the capacity even to dream of as an Outlander long before.
What’s more; having had my sexuality unblocked (freed from the obvious mental and physical/legal/societal/religious blockages caused by the truly insane ways of the Outlands of the previous Age (as Earth had now been terraformed, healed, and set into motion for a beautiful repopulation in this new Age), my whole body and being was now operating at its maximum potential; in its most natural, unhindered, shameless, gracefully gliding and striding way. My chakras were all activated and aligned. My life-force was full strength, and my aura radiating like the Sun. I was vastly more intelligent, clever, informed, aware, intuitive, alert, agile, and capable in general. My system had been completely cleaned out and renovated. Even my mind had been un-brainwashed, as it were, and I was now a bundle of encouragement and joy. This new level of existence, which the Inisfreeans had ensured all we raptured Outlanders all ascended to, had freed me from the once unshakable distractions which plagued, stressed, tired, and exasperated us all when we’d lived amongst the crazy, self-damning Outlanders. No longer backed up, confused, drained, and worn out by such things (such as the wrongful peer-pressure-based blockages of our innocent and glorious sexualities), our minds were working more like biological supercomputers. Mine, as had all the other girls’, had now revealed my destiny; my true purpose and calling in life –and my heart, also now cleared of all its burdens and distractions, had confirmed this vision. The Inisfreeans, through their sexuality-unblocking and amplifying techniques program, had not only liberated and immortalized me, but freed me so much that I never again needed any help to realize my own inner truths and most beautiful tendencies.
I was about to share these realizations with the next Inisfreean I saw nearest me, but then I remembered they could already sense it in their hearts and minds. One of them, those stunningly sexy, flawless little girls, mesmerizingly swayed her way up to me, warmly cupped my breasts in her smooth hands, rested her forehead against my own, let her eyelids close over rainbow-flickering irises, and softly spoke her aromatic breath directly into my parting lips for her. “Go now, ascended and enlightened one. Sister of the holistic light, we of Inisfree now set you free again. You are strong and fast as Supergirl, so no realm of our Outlands will ever again torment or lessen you. Having your individual life-purpose discovered, you are now ready to go pursue it however your spirit feels is best. We will be watching with great joy and interest. Namaste.”
And with that, that little Inisfreean girl had willed us both to teleport back from Deep Space to one of the airport-style terminal gates of Inisfree’s Civilian Aerospaceport. Stepping out of this door-sized, Stargate-like portal together, our embrace smoothly ended, and she smiled serenely to me with knowing and loving eyes whose irises were slowly changing through all the colors. She let her thoughts be known to me; only in my mind, directly transmitting them there in such a way that only my brain would be able to receive them; ‘Go to your room here, great Concubine of Inisfree, and pack what you need, preparing for your next great adventure; your quest back out into the Outlands… to be your own free spirit… and to see how long you wish it. Amen.’ The ‘amen’ meant ‘so be it; let it come to pass’, and it was a nice way the Inisfreeans had of saying something a bit deeper than just ‘farewell’, while simultaneously restoring goodness to a word once wracked with the negative connotations heaped upon it by the ways of the Outlands' Xian horde. We dipped our heads in bow to one another (the first time ever any Inisfreean had not waited for me, a girl of a lesser caste, to acknowledge the Inisfreeans first with my own bow, like a military salute), and off I pranced.
Others would not receive such a blessing. Some would never wish or seek it. I, on the other hand, had been not only so rare a girl as to be selected for Inisfreean training, but to also earn my greatest mental and total freedom by, ironically, becoming one of their slaves. Such are the miracles and genius of Inisfree. Such are the Inisfreean Way which I know in my heart I will surely, someday, return to. Amen.
I do not know if I did something displeasing to him (the Inisfreean Governor), or if it was simply his will in that moment that he enjoy assailing me as followed; he placed his palm on my forehead, his fingers and thumb starting around the sides of my scalp and face, and used that strong position to thrust my whole body backward, nearly giving me whiplash in the process. I slid across the floor, realizing as I reminded my body to accept its trajectory because it was his will that I be slid thusly, that I probably couldn’t get whiplash, having become, as far as I could tell, invincible. I reminded myself of my Inisfreean slave education; that it was not for my caste to wonder what had been the motivation for this or any action by my master of masters. I was to enjoy the fact that I was receiving attention, no matter of what kind, from a master. I deeply did, needing little of this reminding.
He left me to lie there on the floor where I had stopped sliding, for he had not indicated that I was permitted to stop from impacting anything as I slid, nor rise again, even if only so much as to sit up and wait for his next assault. I remained spread out like a ragdoll, slid into the corner, as he ignored me while dozens of other Concubines and Inisfreeans pleased him. I smiled to myself as I remembered how an Inisfreean Concubine has her title capitalized, as she is worlds above and apart (literally) from any Outlander concubine.
When it was my destined time to receive his attentions again, he confidently and brilliantly fondled and groped me, appraised my body and motions, as well as my aura and all I projected and radiated, and then directed me to assume the Gorean slave-girl kneeling position, which I joyously and rapidly did. Maintaining that position, as well as the bearing which my master desired, I received many lashings of his stinging whip, leaving me reddened across my always-bare pussy and tits. I marveled at how such reddening could occur, given that nothing seemed to be able to harm me; surely, I reasoned, in the realm of a man who can form an entire city with only his will, such reddening in spite of otherwise invulnerability was also due completely to his incredible will; that of a god. I took my dozens of lashes and was allowed to cry for him; to further arouse him. Taking me, still reddened and sore, whip-stung and trembling from the adrenalin of the whole event, he and many of the other Concubines and Inisfreeans (all his property) used my body for their pleasures until I thought surely I must rest.
Rest never came, for 1) I was their slave-slut (Concubine, so a high-ranking slave-slut, but still, in essence, a slave-slut) to be done with as they willed, for however long they willed it, even if it meant extinguishing me; even if it meant killing me in the process of pleasing themselves, and 2) they were showing me in their sly and tough-love Inisfreean way that I still didn’t need the sleep which my habits and lingering erroneous Outlander mentality had me thinking I would eventually need and succumb to. Once they, perhaps near 100 in number, had all filled me with their sexual juices, I was pushed out of the bed, at which point I slipped over its side and fell to the floor, thudding down upon it where I remained, void of permission to change my position in any way. Comfort would only come to me if it aroused them to give it, and the same was true for nourishment. I put these things out of my mind. It was becoming easier and more natural every time.
I could easily be disintegrated or otherwise dispatched in any number of ways the Inisfreeans could imagine and then will into existence, but I was being kept. It was their will that I remain and please them. This was because I was pleasing to them; arousing to them. Soaked in all my bliss holes and with a well-used shine spread across my entire body, I lied there with a drunken smile on my face, feeling their many pooled and merging liquids and fluids sloshing around inside me, flowing and trickling and streaming out of me, and making me as happy as any female can be. I had been so thoroughly enjoyed and utilized that every cell in my body felt loved and longed for; lusted for. Such was the highest level of happiness and peace one can attain.
Regardless of whether I was serving the sexual needs of Inisfreeans exploring Deep Space via their fleet, or back home in my (their, beloved Inisfree, rather, as I, being a slave, cannot be possessive even in speaking of anything; I cannot even say ‘my Master’ in one of that phrase's senses), I was happy if being paid attention to or used in any capacity. Inisfree’s population includes more than one billion trillion Inisfreeans, all of whom are my master-of-master’s children, for he engineered and ‘birthed’ them all (via his city, which is the only way an Inisfreean can reproduce). In addition to those multiple sextillion children of his, all of whom are also his sex-slaves, he has untold numbers of sex-slaves (sometimes called slave-sluts, as previously mentioned) from untold numbers of worlds our fleet has traveled to (although Inisfreeans don’t actually travel very often at all; instead, they open and move a portal around them or their vessel, appearing at their destination as the portal closes around and behind them, without having moved across the linear distance to that destination at all). This means that those who serve this one man called the Governor of Inisfree… are, for all intents and purposes, without number. My point in telling you this is that he still makes time for us all, and still easily maintains all of our youthful beauties for eternity –all by nothing more than the power of his mind; his will. Firstly, try to understand this by comparing it to the fact that all of the technological wonders taken for granted by Americans in the 21st century were completely unimaginable to many billions of other people all around the world at the same time, and certainly to all people of all nations just a generation or two before their advent. Likewise, Inisfreean technological and other wonders are unknown, and would be (similarly) regarded, by all outsiders; by all Outlanders. Even though in one generation's time we humans went from being able to manage only a few people to billions of people and nearly infinite complex computations every second and automatically, humans would still have a difficult time believing that Inisfreeans had taken that technological evolution one step further by becoming able to automatically manage a few multiples more. Secondly, understand how flattering, thrilling, and sexually supercharging it is for any one Outlander teenage girl to be so frequently summoned and used to her fullest by one such a god-man. That was why I felt the way I did; why we all always feel as we do when he is near.
With this context in mind, I looked back with great nostalgia and fondness of even the memory when I had first been kidnapped, claimed, humbled, and broken by my Inisfreean god and goddesses; of when they had made me taste my own loss of control of my bowels in public with strangers and friends alike from my hometown, then drowned me on top of all that, helping me overcome my fears by maxing them and my pains out so many times. I had learned that Navy SEALs, too, get drowned as part of their advanced training. How honored we had been, in retrospect; stray Outlander girls of little worth other than our by-chance looks, that beings so powerful and capable as these Inisfreeans had not only taken the time to notice and extract us, but given us the world’s most elite and secretive trainings, as well. Wow, is all I can think to say; I feel so damn loved; so much more so than I’d ever had the capacity even to dream of as an Outlander long before.
What’s more; having had my sexuality unblocked (freed from the obvious mental and physical/legal/societal/religious blockages caused by the truly insane ways of the Outlands of the previous Age (as Earth had now been terraformed, healed, and set into motion for a beautiful repopulation in this new Age), my whole body and being was now operating at its maximum potential; in its most natural, unhindered, shameless, gracefully gliding and striding way. My chakras were all activated and aligned. My life-force was full strength, and my aura radiating like the Sun. I was vastly more intelligent, clever, informed, aware, intuitive, alert, agile, and capable in general. My system had been completely cleaned out and renovated. Even my mind had been un-brainwashed, as it were, and I was now a bundle of encouragement and joy. This new level of existence, which the Inisfreeans had ensured all we raptured Outlanders all ascended to, had freed me from the once unshakable distractions which plagued, stressed, tired, and exasperated us all when we’d lived amongst the crazy, self-damning Outlanders. No longer backed up, confused, drained, and worn out by such things (such as the wrongful peer-pressure-based blockages of our innocent and glorious sexualities), our minds were working more like biological supercomputers. Mine, as had all the other girls’, had now revealed my destiny; my true purpose and calling in life –and my heart, also now cleared of all its burdens and distractions, had confirmed this vision. The Inisfreeans, through their sexuality-unblocking and amplifying techniques program, had not only liberated and immortalized me, but freed me so much that I never again needed any help to realize my own inner truths and most beautiful tendencies.
I was about to share these realizations with the next Inisfreean I saw nearest me, but then I remembered they could already sense it in their hearts and minds. One of them, those stunningly sexy, flawless little girls, mesmerizingly swayed her way up to me, warmly cupped my breasts in her smooth hands, rested her forehead against my own, let her eyelids close over rainbow-flickering irises, and softly spoke her aromatic breath directly into my parting lips for her. “Go now, ascended and enlightened one. Sister of the holistic light, we of Inisfree now set you free again. You are strong and fast as Supergirl, so no realm of our Outlands will ever again torment or lessen you. Having your individual life-purpose discovered, you are now ready to go pursue it however your spirit feels is best. We will be watching with great joy and interest. Namaste.”
And with that, that little Inisfreean girl had willed us both to teleport back from Deep Space to one of the airport-style terminal gates of Inisfree’s Civilian Aerospaceport. Stepping out of this door-sized, Stargate-like portal together, our embrace smoothly ended, and she smiled serenely to me with knowing and loving eyes whose irises were slowly changing through all the colors. She let her thoughts be known to me; only in my mind, directly transmitting them there in such a way that only my brain would be able to receive them; ‘Go to your room here, great Concubine of Inisfree, and pack what you need, preparing for your next great adventure; your quest back out into the Outlands… to be your own free spirit… and to see how long you wish it. Amen.’ The ‘amen’ meant ‘so be it; let it come to pass’, and it was a nice way the Inisfreeans had of saying something a bit deeper than just ‘farewell’, while simultaneously restoring goodness to a word once wracked with the negative connotations heaped upon it by the ways of the Outlands' Xian horde. We dipped our heads in bow to one another (the first time ever any Inisfreean had not waited for me, a girl of a lesser caste, to acknowledge the Inisfreeans first with my own bow, like a military salute), and off I pranced.
Others would not receive such a blessing. Some would never wish or seek it. I, on the other hand, had been not only so rare a girl as to be selected for Inisfreean training, but to also earn my greatest mental and total freedom by, ironically, becoming one of their slaves. Such are the miracles and genius of Inisfree. Such are the Inisfreean Way which I know in my heart I will surely, someday, return to. Amen.
Preface:
Fewer than 1% of all humans were considered for preliminary screening as prospective guests of the first city in Antarctica, Inisfree. Of that less than 1%, less than half of it made it to the next stage of clandestine remote review. Of them, less than 15% were approved to at least be helped to survive the major Earth terraforming event scheduled soon to come. Of them, about 2% made the final cut; these 144,000 were the first humans, all girls, to be permitted to undertake the city's ultra-prestigious kajirae (female pleasure slave) candidate training program. Sarah Conrad from the United States was one of these astronomically lucky young girls.
Fewer than 1% of all humans were considered for preliminary screening as prospective guests of the first city in Antarctica, Inisfree. Of that less than 1%, less than half of it made it to the next stage of clandestine remote review. Of them, less than 15% were approved to at least be helped to survive the major Earth terraforming event scheduled soon to come. Of them, about 2% made the final cut; these 144,000 were the first humans, all girls, to be permitted to undertake the city's ultra-prestigious kajirae (female pleasure slave) candidate training program. Sarah Conrad from the United States was one of these astronomically lucky young girls.