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Hyperlinks in the text are intended as supplemental material, discussing elements of the science behind the science fiction. They are not intended as required reading for the story. Hyperlinks will be provided at the point in the story where it comes up, but all the links will also be collected at the bottom of the post for easy reading.
Thank you for reading! Me and my coauthor Darinost are gradually combining forces and blogs, so the joint comment section for our stories is currently located on discord! Come on in and let us know what you thought, we don’t bite.
Across the platforms of Maldoror’s space stations, cold caiman eyes were directed towards the great Temple of the Sunbreakers. The reptilian warrior-race had been observing its statuesque facade all day while indulging in their sadistic depravities, knowing that their hierarchs within were deciding the coming course of war. Earth, this reportedly ocean-rich, green, and developed planet, home to the humans, would be the next victim of the Dark Star. It was only a matter of time before a statue of the Earthlings would grace the pathway of war, just like their previous conquests.
All that remained was deciding upon a leader.
The temple’s massive double-doors opened and out strode Voerash, the Warlord instantly recognizable by his metal arm, cybernetic eye, and freakish size even for a Kthid. A posse of grey-scaled fighters stalked his footsteps, alongside a flame-hued Heitera with white hair. Every Kthid knew the significance of exiting first. It had meant that you lost. The victor always stayed behind to celebrate.
Their snouted faces were cloven in twine with toothy grins. So, it appeared that it would be Sarcand then whom for the first time would lead the great Kthid armada to bloodshed and rapine. Very well. Everyone started pondering with cold intellect how to leverage this to their favor. They also made mental notes not to get in Voerash’s way on the pathways… or to even be there as he passed.
With the politicking put behind them, the Kthid resumed their usual activity, tormenting the slaves. That was what they were here for, after all… to celebrate the festivities of the beginning of a new invasion. Their celebration was the equivalent of unending pain for those innumerable unfortunates, and any Heitera caught in their midst wasn’t much better of. No one knew that better than the enslaved Medical Officer of the Midgar-6, Anna Constantos.
Despite her once-curious nature, the scientist hadn’t been sharing their attentiveness to galactic decision-making. Her realm of experiences was greatly limited to the nature of the torment currently inflicted upon her while she was subject to the lustful wrath of the celebrating Kthid. Installed like an art exhibit on one of those many platforms, Dr Constantos was in a humiliating pile-driver position, her bottom raised skywards and her legs bent over her head. This perfectly displayed her pussy and asshole at the cost of putting an immense pressure upon her neck, which had long since numbed into an aching pain.
Her Master and the father of her children, Charnametros, was clearly still furious with her. He had placed her in this position and abandoned her to peruse some exotic whoremongering across the various platforms, enjoying the celebrations all around and the excess of fuckable playthings to distract him from his anger. In his absence, the doctor’s pussy had been plugged with an enormous dildo which stretched her vaginal fuck-hole to an agonizing degree. The shaft of said sex-toy was ribbed and bulbous, replete with tiny protrusions jutting outwards like spikes digging into the sensitive membrane of her womanhood. She could feel every single one of these knobs as they stabbed against her femininity, like an army of sharpened daggers pushing against her flesh. They hurt almost exactly enough to make her wish that they would cut into her and make her bleed to death, without actually having the sharpness to achieve it.
The dildo had created an air-tight seal of her cunt. Her pussy practically hugged its girthy contours like a glove, clogged like a stopper inserted into the neck of a flask. The message was as brutal as it was plain – Anna’s pussy was private property, off limits to anyone passing by. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for her ass. In complete opposite to her womanhood, Anna’s anus had been presented for the world to witness. Four tiny hooks had been inserted past that anal orifice and stabbed into the underside of the sphincter. Attached to these hooks were tough cords whose tails were bolted onto the floor, kept taut so to stretch her agonized shithole outwards, holding it completely open.
It was an obscene debasement of her anal passage, making that normally so diminutive and pert orifice into an unseemly gaping chasm whose fleshy grotto sunk deep into her vitals at a vertical angle. It was as if Charnametros wanted to expose the most vulgar and indecorous part of her body to his fellow Kthid, highlighting it for them to see like some lewd spectacle.
Just like the dildo-cork currently impaling her pussy communicated a simple message of “forbidden” in terms both stark and clear, the reconfiguration of her anus into an unseemly aperture sent the opposite announcement. Anna Constantos’s asshole was public property, fit to be taken for a free ride by any Kthid who saw her. All were welcome to stick their big scaly dicks into that orifice and have it violated.
And over the course of the day, many had done exactly that.
Anna’s present violator briefly ceased his humping and, just like every other Kthid within the massive structure, he cast his eyes towards the Temple of the Sunbreakers in the center. He squatted there on thick legs, big scaly cock halfway inserted into her ass, clawed hands holding onto her hips, and gazed into the distance with the singular focus of a tiger observing a prey upon the savanna. For Anna it only meant a brief interlude in her stupor of pain. Her agony-haggard mind wondered in the most primitive way possible why the excruciation had suddenly stopped without a climax. That never happened. But said Kthid was in no mind to explain to her the significance of Voerash exiting first, that this meant that Sarcand would be made Harvestmaster, or that the fate of her home planet had been sealed. He simply looked silently, feeling no more need to explain to her than she would to explain her fantasies to her favorite vibrator.
Having made his observation, the hulking malachite warrior simply resumed thumping into her rear, power plunging that enormous green dick into her over-abused anus with politics to think about. Whimpering and other agony-rich noises resumed spilling from Anna’s mouth. That reptilian soldier reamed her as if she was not a lifeform with feelings and sentience of her own but simply a slab of fuckable meat that would be thrown away as soon as he was finished, so he might as well get the most of it while it was still good.
The conquering space-dragon kept sodomizing her with a singular urge of malevolence. His dicks plunged in and out of her hook-stretched ass, seemingly not bothered at all by whatever he could feel of those tiny metal accouterments… if anything, the way they slid across his scaled cock seemed to just add texture to his ride. The lizard’s dick was like a motor-driven piston, mercilessly repeating the carnal maneuvers no matter what. As always with the Kthid, Anna was made to desperately wish for it to be over long before it actually was.
This was not the Medical Officer’s first defilement. As such, slimy and porridge-thick seamen left inside her anus from previous Kthid visitants at least worked to lubricate her ass. Excess amounts of the stuff had oozed out from that battered orifice and spilled into the surrounding body-parts, smearing her loins and pussy-mound in the slushy white. Due to the elevated position of her bottom, gravity ensured that this seed always slushed groundward, forming pearly rivulets which ran across her upturned abdomen and breasts. Much had also been splattered onto her downed visage. Anna’s countenance was plastered with such an abundance of partly-dried seamen that one could scarcely recognized the pained ligaments or flustered visage underneath.
It had been hours since Charnametros had left her here and, increasingly, a small voice in her mind was screaming that he might not ever return. The Kthid were envious and greedy creatures with their playthings. For many, they would rather kill their possessions than simply hand them over to others to be defiled. For Anna to be designated for public punishment like this, she had needed to commit a grave failure. That failure was her oldest, Zathamar. A slave-mother was not expected to raise their children, certainly… no Kthid would trust a lower creature with that responsibility. She had met him, though. While the whelps didn’t live with their parents, they did see them usually once a fortnight, coming to bond with siblings and father, and during those time she had met all of her children… especially the eldest, Zathamar. He, like the rest of the whelps, spent the rest of the time handed off to one of the Judges that would teach and educate them, and sort them into a caste that befitted their talents and temperament.
That was the problem… and her failure. Zathamar had not been given a caste. The Judge had failed him, deeming him unworthy and incapable of contributing to Kthid society. It was too much of an insult for Charnametros to simply endure. Despite the fact that a sizable majority of Kthid progeny ended up among this undesired stratum of their brutish society, Charnametros hadn’t been able to let his disappointment go. Zathamar had been his first offspring to reach maturity… he needed a family line in order to advance in prestige and rank, both for the supporters and for the accolades and status that would come with it. Such base and simple things seemed to be the only things which the Kthid held in value. Anna had no doubts that he would have punished her if his first child had ended up being anything but a future Huntmaster in his own right, but clearly getting a lowly casteless was one disappointment too far.
Naturally, he blamed Anna for this failure, not himself. He told stories about how the Dark Star does not tolerate weakness and so its rays of unlight purged the feeble. Only brutality and strength is allowed to survive and prosper underneath its darkness. In accordance to this warped and wicked ideology, Charnametros’s – and probably all of the Kthid’s – response to such a failure could only be to double-down on his cruelty. He said that he had been too soft on Anna. Too gentle. That was why his child had been so weak. The Doctor was stunned that he even knew those words, let alone that he could believe it. One further uptick in brutality and she would be dead.
Being relegated to this position as public fucktoy was thus part of her punishment. She would be anally gorged until her asshole bleed. She would get to take every Kthid dick that passed her by and desired a fuck. Maybe then she would appreciate Charnametros more…
For all of her woe, Anna’s suffering was not a lonesome one. The platform she currently occupied was a small and inconspicuous one seemingly designated for public punishments like this. The Doctor was just one slave in a row of thralls who had somehow disappointed their owners and so been placed here to suffer the cruel vagaries of any Kthid whom just so happened to pass them by. She and her fellow unfortunates were all of different species, but they were unified through gender, enslavement and agony.
To underscore the low worth of this platform, it was directly connected to a stairwell seemingly leading to the bottom-most floor of the space-station where the casteless dwelled. Anna intuited that amidst such luxury of sexual decadence, only the casteless would want to bother with throwaways like them. All of the true Kthid warriors were at other platforms, indulging in its evil perversities and games of sadism. For these failed Kthid, it had to be deeply frustrating not to get to fuck their pussies as progeny was the great luxury deprived to them, on account of the failure of their genes or minds.
It would have been bad enough… but the slave next to Anna was dying, and the sorrowful eyed doctor could do nothing about it.
The Faliran just next to her was scarcely moving as her violator drilled her ass from an identical position to Anna’s. She had laid there since Anna arrived and had already been blasted in semen and woefully manhandled by her masters. The poor alien looked more thrown away than punished. As if she had been discarded and forgotten, left with the intentions of dying on the spot, and for the last hour or two she had been barely moving and had an audible rasp in her breath. Constantos could spare her few thoughts of sympathy, so caught up in her own rape, but she’d found the mental space anyway, begging for whichever monster was taking her to let her help the other woman. She begged to be allowed to treat her. She begged for them to stop hurting her. She begged them to just be a little more gentle. The Kthid who had sodomized her hooked-open anus time and time again had ignored her… just like this one now as he geared up for his paroxysm.
This nearness of his pending orgasm caused his burly muscular thighs to invest even more vigorous zest in viciously plugging and re-plugging her rectum. He skewered her so ferociously that Anna could feel his engorged dick scrapping against the protrusive knobs that lined her pussy-buried dildo. The immense friction between them seemed to burn through the thin membrane separating her vagina and bowels. Were her vocal cords at full lung-power, the doctor would have bellowed in agony at the blistering feeling… that had been exactly what she had done the first few times a Kthid had pummeled her in this position. But enfeebled from hours of rectal abuse as she was, Anna could only groan and grunt out her agony, her torn and burning vocal cords utterly failing to explain her pain.
The nasty splurging sounds that accompanied the downward anal plunges of her rapist filled the air and the semen inside of her was churned by the violent motions until it practically bubbled like a witch’s broth. For Anna it fizzled like an acid inside of her, and soon her latest rapist would be donating his own payload of gelatinous jizz into that well-punished orifice. “UURRRGGHHH! FOR THE GLORY OF THE DARK STAR!” the casteless snarled, seeking divine favor at the moment of orgasm. The hurt he had inflicted upon Anna was his oblation, the spilling of seed its completion.
He came, and inside her crammed ass it was as if a shaken champagne bottle had suddenly been uncorked, its scummy fizz spurting outwards with the power of a fireman’s hose. This slimy rape-seed wasn’t allowed to befoul untouched membrane-walls but instead splattered into the previous loads of cum ejaculated therein, the practical ocean of gooey spunk which existed within her receiving its latest refill. With his conquering masculine climax completed, Anna and her very existence seemed wholly jettisoned from the Kthid’s mind. That muscular lizard rapist simply pulled out his now semi-flaccid cock with a satisfied grunt, turned away from her, and strode away, doubtless towards his next wicked deed. Her immense suffering had been to the green-skinned savage a mere pastime.
The unplugging of Anna’s anus had another vile secondary consequence, as it did each new frothy fusillade into her guts. There simply was not enough space within her rectum to house all of that testicular soup. A Kthid’s balls simply churned out too much impregnating fluid in each triumphant climax, and with her gaping anal pit overfilled there was only one way for its sludge to flow… out.
And since Anna’s posture was upturned with her ass in the air, gravity would dictate its trajectory.
Even though she had been abused to the point of cognitive destruction, the enslaved doctor winced as vile stale semen plummeted like a dirty eruption of slime down over her visage. Much of that ill-tasting glop ended up inside her mouth and was forced to be swallowed, the rest splashing to the side, through her hair and into her sunken eye sockets. There simply was such an abundance of said sperm that if she didn’t drink it, then she would have choked from the force of its outflow. Stale Kthid semen tasted utterly disgusting and was even worse than when warm. A part of her wished that she could allow this disgusting chunky seed to clog her windpipe, coagulate into a seal that prevented the passage of oxygen, to finally kill her. But she couldn’t… this was her penance, to suffer like this for how she had failed those under her care. Anna even had to fume her nostrils so that those pathways were not blocked.
For the moment, there was no new monster to fuck her. That wasn’t much of a blessing. With no new abuse to distract her, Dr Constantos was instead forced to linger on the damage that had already been inflicted on her. Her upraised hips had been pounded until she had lost all sense in them, treated like crash cushions for Kthid pelvises to thump into. Her legs were similarly numb everywhere the cramps weren’t still feeling like fire poured into her muscles. While all this was happening, Anna was simultaneously forced to balance that tar-pit of spunk sluicing around inside her chasm-like anus. Anytime she swayed too vigorously, a mouthful of that sludge came spilling out, and invariably it fell over her humiliated features.
Activity on this platform had died down. Not as many Kthid were around. A few still coupled with the immobilized slaves who were here to be punished, but Anna was allowed to remain unmolested at least for a while. That was no peace for her, though. Instead, she turned her head towards the dying Faliran, watching as she slowly worked her way towards death. In truth, her body was so broken and pained that Anna wasn’t sure if anything could be done to save her anymore, but she still wanted to try. One more person that she had failed to save. One more she had watched suffer and die.
When Anna heard the approaching footsteps, she winced, hoping the newcomer wouldn’t head towards her. Unfortunately, it was not to be. The sound began as light thuds and then grew louder the closer he approached, and she squeezed her eyes shut, her blood freezing in terror. She did not want to be raped again. Anna would have given anything to make the behemoth ignore her. The Kthid grew closer and despite herself Anna felt herself reacting almost like a terrified child, closing her tear-stained eyes tightly, behaving under the delusion that it would be better at least not to see what was coming as the heavy footfalls were almost upon her.
Anna ceased breathing as they stopped momentarily in front of her, clenching her eyes as she awaited the inevitable.
Then… the Kthid passed her by.
Anna exhaled and wept with tightly-strung emotion. The trauma these scaly stellar-aged demons had inflicted upon her had ruined the woman’s psyche. She wished that she could hate Charnametros, but she just felt too afraid of him to feel hate… terror of the Kthid, of all the Kthid, was just a force overwhelming. The fact that she wasn’t being touched again filled her with relief enough that she couldn’t hold it in anymore.
A few seconds later, though, a queer sensation settled itself upon Anna’s nerves. If he wasn’t there for her… then what was he doing? Something was horridly amiss. Carefully, furtively, the Medical Officer peeked around from underneath eyes so narrowed that one could have thought them closed. What was going on?
The Kthid had stopped before the Faliran that lay right next to her in line. Her own violator was gone and the broken limbed, nearly carapace-less insectoid alien now made glottal groaning whines akin to an animal slowly dying. Her pain appeared to be downright insentient. The woman had been abandoned here to expire and she was on the cusp of doing just that with no possibility of recovery… only it would still take hours for this merciful end to finally arrive.
Anna spied the casteless brute… and he was casteless, that much was obvious from his lack of clothing, armor, and technology. He just peered down at her with a countenance that was neither savage nor hateful but… blank, inspecting, pondering. He was the rarest of sights… On the whole, most of the Kthid she had seen were not contemplative… preferring action. The casteless, even more so… most were so consumed with their lusts after their deprivation that it was hard for one to even be in the presence of eligible females without trying immediately to take advantage.
What in all of space was he be thinking?
The question made Anna’s figure stiffen with tension as if expecting a jump scare to spring out at her at any time. Half a decade as a slave of the Kthid had taught her that the only surprises were bad ones… and her own imagination never managed to live up to the depravity her conquerors were capable of.
That thick-thewed brute remained, his eyes bearing into the Faliran’s semi-dead form. Then, his eyes shifted from left to right, spying his surroundings in either direction to see that he wasn’t being watched. The space-dragon even glanced over his own shoulder, the look quick yet diligent.
Slowly, the Kthid looked left and right, barely moving his body. His mouth moved softly, speaking words that Anna could not hear, too quiet to even reach his own ears. Then, moving with a decisive and swift motion, the casteless reached down towards the Faliran’s bound form, wrapped both hands around her face, and twisted. The tortured alien was already more than half gone… death needed just the slightest push to fully envelope the long suffering woman. The intended long, lingering death ended in a second with the crack of her neck, her whimpering ceasing mid-groan, silence overtaking her as she gave up her ghost… this abandoned creature was reduced to a corpse.
The Kthid who had done the deed departed with all haste, wordlessly… but despite his furtive action, he did take a moment to swipe his hand softly over her face… her eyes closing as he lowered the lids over them. Then he was gone, unnoticed by any.
Anna blinked, stunned… her pain-traumatized mind struggling with how to process what had just transpired. Her mind was slow, and thinking hurt and left her feeling dizzy, but she tried anyway. Initially, it was easy to jump to the obvious conclusion. Sadism. Murder lust. Evil. The green-hued monster had just been strolling by and seen an opportunity to destroy something he couldn’t have, to see something that had once been alive reduced from a person to a used up, dead sex object. The nearly lifeless Faliran offered the perfect opportunity to snuff another lifeform from existence. It had barely taken any effort, like grabbing a cookie while you were already passing through a kitchen.
There were too many details that did not add up.
Why the secretive looks and furtive actions? He had acted as if doing something underhanded and wrong. The casteless was not supposed to have been doing that. What’s more, this meant that he had just gambled on a risk with such limited gain or benefit to himself… while Anna had no trouble imagining one would kill a prisoner for no reason other than he could, the fact that he had not stayed behind afterward to ride the brutal rush of pleasure with another of the slaves didn’t make sense. No, no matter how she sliced it, it didn’t make sense for it to be sadism that had motivated him to kill that slave.
What could this all mean? No matter how she twisted or turned the facts towards what experiences had thought her to expect out of the Kthid… the case just would not fit.
Anna was by now so familiar with Kthid cruelty that the obvious answer escaped her for over a minute.
As realization hit, the Medical Officer gasped so vigorously that the stale sperm lake inside her rectum sluiced around and spilled over the edge down to her face. She was stunned enough that she barely even noticed. After five years, Anna had just now witnessed something she’d never before seen out of that cruel, tyrannical species.
It had been… mercy?
CRACK! The whip thundered as it impacted savagely against soft woman-flesh. “EEEEYYYYAAAAAHHHHHH!” Martina Barzola shrieked skywards, her wail enough to blow an eardrum. The whip cracked again, even louder as it redoubled its attack, not even allowing the curvaceous Hispanic woman to finish her agonized screaming before striking home again. “IIIEEEEYYAAAHHH! AMARA! AMARA PLEASE STOP!” the Lieutenant-Governess hollered. “YOU’RE HURTING ME SO BA-NNNIIIIAAAAHHHHH!”
The woman’s crazed pleading caused the onlooking Kthid to explode with bellowing cachinnations. Amara wiped the hot sweat from off her brow and then flung her aching arm once again, slashing another cut in the white fabric she and all of the other slaves that had returned from the dyson swarm wore. This time, she lashed against the dark-haired beauty’s breasts with her savage bullwhip, having avoided that area for quite some time so to leave her unexpecting when it finally came. This snap of the whip not only broke Martina’s falsetto but also caused her ample udders to wobble and sway around with great force, rebounding after they tackled into one another. The Lieutenant-Governor’s normally dazzling visage was a contortion of pained lines. Everyone cheered… including, most loudly, Sarcand. These few blows had just won Amara much favoritism with her master.
They were back onboard the Death of Hope, Sarcand having been granted several of the human slaves to entertain his staff for the invasion preparation. Each woman that returned from the misery of the Sunbreakers wore white. It was supposedly a mark of leave, a sign that they had permission to be taken from the Sunbreakers. To Amara, they looked more like flags of surrender to a conquering army as Sarcand took them, and her, back to his ship. Even after having been appointed Harvestmaster, the Warlord apparently did not judge Maldoror’s space stations as safe enough to stay in overnight… and after seeing how hostile many of the other powers were towards him, Amara suspected he was right. Still, unable to stay in safety or not, achieving his feat of ascension had placed him in the most festive mood Amara had ever seen. As such, he had orchestrated a little competition between his favorite pets to entertain him.
All five of his Heitera were here, all of them set to whip a member of their fellow species. Amara had been paired with Martina and so now the Hispanic woman’s shapely figure suffered the misfortune of her fate. This all happened concurrently, so the Faliran Queen Thia was next to her, flogging a fellow insectoid Faliran. Each time the whip cracked, Thia’s flinch was almost as extreme as that of the other woman. One step further was one of the Alician girls… of course, she was whipping the other, since she was the only other Alician on board. The snake was almost being flayed with strokes of the whip. Next to her, the High Priestess Lylyssa likewise battered the body of one of her fellow Nys.
Their targets were all suspended via mounts hanging from the ceiling and imprisoning their hands, arms raised above their heads as if chained so that they needed to balance upon the balls of their feet. The rules of this game, such as it was, were simply… Sarcand wished to be entertained and to celebrate, so whomever could entertain him the most by torturing their victim would be declared the winner. But in games such as these, Amara had long since learned that there were no winners… merely losers. Losing meant that you would have to suffer horribly. The winner might merely be left alone… and the sad part was that that paltry reward seemed like the sweetest mercy to Amara at the moment. The last thing she wanted was to spend another full night with Sarcand, enduring horrific torture and being reamed for hours, sodomized until she was no longer able to stand. Naturally, they’d all do anything to avoid a session like that. As such, Amara swung her whip with intention to maximize Martina’s hurt… and while she hated herself for it, it would go no better for the Hispanic woman if Sarcand saw her trying to protect her. She would suffer more just so Sarcand could watch it affect his Heitera.
“A-AMARA, NOOOO-GGIIIAAAAHHHHH!” Barzola shouted as the next insanity-inducing blow arrived, its impact noise-ringing across the chamber. Amara flicked her hair out of her eyes, looking over at Sarcand to see if he was enjoying… and to her frustration it seemed like he was barely watching. Mostly he was discussing with his officers, no doubt making plans. Like this, his final decision as to the loser of this game would be a fickle and poorly-informed one… Yet the consequences were such that none of the Hetaira dared slow down. Such was life slaving under the callous-hearted Warlord.
They were in a public area and so a multitude of other Kthid and slaves were nearby, many engaged in painful copulation while watching the show. Jokes and ribs were exchanged between the various casted Kthid with much greater frequency and mirth than usual, even as they fucked their slaves, most of which centered around Sarcand’s triumph, or upon Voerash and his perceived lack of virility. The triumph that had just been granted to Sarcand had lowered all of their tensions and inhibitions. Amara, Princess Thia, Lylyssa, and the twins were in reality just background entertainment for this general bacchanal going on around them. Even their suffering mattered little to the Kthid.
These sorts of competitions were fairly regular between the three Hetaira. In fact, it was Sarcand’s primary mode of watching entertainment. Afterwards, punishment… or the lack of punishment, itself a heavenly reward, was dished out.
In events like these where the group of them vied to hurt one another, Thia tended to come out on top, but when the three of them vied to hurt an innocent Lylyssa was usually a high-performer. The fanatical High-Priestess could flog her victims with an energy that seemed boundless and a commitment that seemed to belong to the Kthid themselves. Regarding the Kthid as Gods simply infused her with a level of zealotry that neither Amara nor Princess Thia could match. No matter how woefully her fellow Nys screamed, the fish-creature would keep digging in her pain-dealing instrument. Occasionally, the High-Priestess would yell out proclamations at her victim. “The Kthid are our Gods!” or “You are suffering because the Divine wills it!” It was almost as if she were trying to justify her actions with metaphysical arguments, seeming to throw herself into it with absolute devotion.
For their part, the two Alicians almost always performed well when they were made to join in. The fact that she was tormenting a version of herself did not mean she held back at all, and whichever one was in charge tormented without doubt or hesitation. In all the times they had played a similar game, Amara had never seen the two lose. That mean that, like usual with this game, Amara Black and Thia were left in a race not to be at the bottom… And on this night, after everything she had been through, Amara definitively felt herself as possessing the edge… several edges.
First, it was a great boon to her that she had just been the subject of such misfortune with the Sunbreakers… the doom of her home, and Sarcand’s proclamation to see her impregnated and ready for delivery amidst the ruins of Earth. The Warlord always lent a hint of favoritism to whatever Heitera was currently impregnated with his child… it was practically the only reliable form of mercy she could expect.
Her second advantage was the biological nature of the Falirans. Humans were soft-skinned creatures from head to toe and so were easy to damage with ghastly instruments such as a leather bullwhip. Falirans, however, sported figures where their soft fleshy bits were interspersed with layers of hardened carapace. This carapace could be broken, but not all of it had been, and during sadistic torture-shows like this, it got in the way of inflicting scream-inducing damage. The high-strung Princess had to be more selective with her blows. Furthermore, Thia could not hurt the other woman without hurting herself. Amara judged that it gave her hands some hesitance, robbing her of some of the necessary power and sadism to triumph.
Amara’s third great boon, however, was unexpected. Martina, as it turned out, was an excellent screamer! Of all the colonists and crew members that had been captured onboard the Midgar-6, Martina stood out from the crowd as having some of loudest, most expressive pained screams she could use to vocalize her hurt. This made her a perennial favorite with the Kthid… probably the main reason Sarcand had kept her from among the humans. The woman just could not control agony, and the Kthid enjoyed seeing her suffer.
“AMARA! AMARA STOP!” the ex-Governess shouted in a brief interlude between blows. “DON’T HURT ME PLEASE! PLEASE I’LL DO ANYTHING! PLEASE JUST DON’T–EEEEIIIAAAAHHHH!”
The fallen Captain stifled a grimace as she swatted with her arm in a trio of lashes. Amara did not enjoy hurting Martina. She had not fallen that far into the bottomless pit of depravity which now constituted her life. But… what she wanted didn’t seem to matter. She saw herself as having no other possible course of action. And, critically, she could not show any hints of sympathy for Martina’s suffering in front of Sarcand. That would instantly deluge her of any favoritism she may have earned, and only hurt them both more… and so the Captain remained hard-eyed and dedicated, deadset upon her task.
“EEEYYYAAAHHHH!” Martina screamed again as the whip-blows buffeted her naked skin. The woman’s curvaceous form was an elaborate decoration of welts and stripe-like bruises, their ghastly redness contrasting against her natural tawny hue. The forbidden allure of taking enjoyment from this sadism hung ever present in Amara’s psyche. Schadenfreude… the sense that her only comfort was that someone else was more miserable than her. It was like a tantalizing path towards damnation. Experiencing pleasure in torturing others in situations like that was the only sort of gratification or self-actualization that her current predicament offered. This was of course the path that Miranda must have walked. Thia too, it seemed… and it would be so easy to start down that path herself. Almost every single incentive of her life guided her in that direction. If Miranda couldn’t hold out, then how could she?
The Kthid all guffawed loudly at some inane joke. Their shared boisterous laughter proved even louder than the screaming of the four victims whom they were now in complete ignorance of. Panting so hard that her naked ribcage bobbed, Amara was finally forced to break for a second. She sagged down as she took a breather, massaging her aching shoulder… and it was only because she did just then that she saw it.
The room was packed… not just with Kthid, but with other slaves as well. Many of them were Heitera since the ship had offloaded almost every slave that was not, and most of those were in the process of serving their owners… but not all. Some of the Heitera, human and alien, rested… left on the ground where they lay when their masters finished with them, or making themselves presentable and pretty to rape once more. And some of the aliens moving through the chamber were not Heitera at all but servants, Arane seeing to their owner’s needs… bringing them food or drink, fetching objects and bringing them, or seeing to the slaves they were responsible for caretaking.
Most of the six-armed women were indistinguishable to Amara, not people she recognized. It wasn’t that they looked the same – if anything, their facial features seemed to have an even wider variety than human faces did – but she had never once heard a name for a single one of them. It made it hard to place them in her memory, to remember if she had seen them before. All of them but one.
The Arane that she knew only as Nameless might have actually been the best sneak that the fallen Captain had ever encountered. It wasn’t that she was good at hiding, exactly… she didn’t skulk in shadows, or hide behind the furniture. She simply moved like a shadow, reappearing and disappearing like some sort of apparition, and not because of anything supernatural… she just had a talent for blending in and avoiding notice, seeming unobtrusive and unworthy of notice. She could come and go almost like a shadow… something that made her very well-fitted to avoid distractions in her service to Sarcand. It allowed her to serve as the handmaiden of his Heitera extremely efficiently. In fact, Amara usually didn’t notice her arriving until after she was already there, as evidenced by the fact that the only Arane on the ship she knew was passing by barely five feet away from her and she hadn’t noticed it was her. If it had only been her, then Amara probably wouldn’t have noticed this time, either.
But it was not the six-armed handmaiden who drew Amara’s eyes… it was the two Faliran slaves with their far less graceful movements as the Arane passed by them shoulder to shoulder… and Amara watched as the battered, exhausted, rape traumatized insect dropped it. She watched, practically in slow motion, as a metallic object tumbled out of the bundle of clothing that the Arane handed to the other slave, and a Kthid weapon, a pistol, fell slowly to the deck.
Amara had only a moment to think, and time seemed to slow.
Amidst the perverse bacchanal of celebrating Kthid warriors, when everyone was distracted, one of the Arane had just attempted to smuggle a weapon to one of the Faliran. Nameless was engaged in smuggling weapons… to other slaves. It was almost unbelievable to Amara… The freedom she and the other slaves had on the Death of Hope was a gilded cage and they all knew it. They couldn’t get to anything important. In all her years, she had never even gotten an inkling that something like this could be possible. All Kthid weapons were biocoded… even if she could steal one of their firearms, it would do her no good, and the repercussions for being caught were simply too great for it to even be worth trying. For a slave to even attempt something like this meant a fate worse than death if caught.
Which told Amara immediately that her suppositions were wrong. It was possible, somehow, to get through the biocoding. It was possible to steal and use Kthid weapons… for if it was not, Nameless would not be so foolish as to risk it. The woman who made it through life by being unnoticeable would not draw attention to herself by doing something so pointless.
And now she, and the slave she was smuggling it to, were going to die for the attempt, unless-
Amara made her decision in a micro-second and moved.
The weapon hit the ground with a metallic clang. It wasn’t much, not over the raging party, but it was more than enough to draw the attention of several Kthid, immediately looking around for the source of the weapon. They would have found it in seconds… but by the time they did, Amara had already repositioned herself, standing over the fallen weapon, just a few feet from where she had been. She quickly bent down, reaching for it. She was spotted, of course… the watchful Kthid guards, now alerted, saw her immediately. Almost before she could begin trying to tuck it into her white dress they were on top of her, forcefully grabbing her and pinning her down to the deck.
“You there!” a Kthid guard growled almost at her ear. “What do you think you’re doing when you’re supposed to be whipping?” In typical Kthid fashion, the casted warrior did not wait for Amara to answer – he simply grabbed her, bodily flipped her over, and ripped open the dress until he could see what it was. “Huntmaster Sarcand!” the guard bellowed.
The Kthid uproarious laughter died down within the second. As did the clamorous noises of whips impacting against flesh. Even the screaming of their victims went silent. Every eye in the chamber turned so to look at Amara… especially those of Nameless and the two women she was trying to smuggle to, their eyes wide and panicked. The former Captain felt that she could feel the Grim Reaper’s eyes on her back as well, felt like she could feel his breath on her neck.
“What is this?” Sarcand growled, his voice low and quiet.
“The slave had procured a weapon, Harvestmaster,” the soldier said grimly. He handed the pistol over to his superior, and the towering lizard inspected it. It barely looked like anything in his hands… a hold out weapon, something that the Kthid might use for personal defense in close combat.
When he looked back down towards her, her master’s reptilian eyes were grim. “Explain yourself,” he said quietly, his voice almost reasonable. His eyes saw too much. Amara said nothing… a lie could only reveal more than silence. This had been a terrible idea. There was only one conclusion that could save her, and even that would cost her a dire price. He needed to – Amara saw it as his eyes widened, then narrowed. “Not even you are so foolish as to try to use that on me. It wouldn’t kill me, and if you did you’d have done it already,” he said, his voice staying low and trembling with anger. “So you either intended to kill one of your rivals, or…”
Amara put her hand over her stomach and looked away from him.
For a monster so large, Sarcand moved incredibly quickly. He rose in a smooth, swift motion that reminded her of nothing so much as a samurai’s draw from ancient movies, and delivered a backhand to the face so quickly and so harshly that the Heitera saw double. Amara toppled to the ground in a spin, and the dazed woman noted that feet were moving away from her as quickly as they could. “You… bitch!” Sarcand snarled quietly.. Holding Amara close, the Huntmaster exposed his fang-filled mouth in an expression of livid furor. Some froth spilled from his gums and down onto Amara’s visage. “My child…” he whispered, his rage all but making his gaze glow.
Amara should have been happy. He had come to the conclusion she wanted him to, taking suspicion away from Nameless and the other rebels… but the cost was going to be terrifying. Killing a womb-lodged child was among the worst things a slave could do. Sarcand would have probably – no, definitely – punished her less severely for attempting to kill him than end the child he wanted to force on her. Sarcand stood consumed in quiet rage, wordless, as if he could not articulate or fantasize a punishment grievous enough to retaliate against this act of destruction. He held onto Amara’s arm so hard that she thought the bone would break.
Then… Sarcand’s grimace of anger slowly mollified into a thin, knowing smile. “Well then…” he said with characteristic certainty. ”I guess this means that you are the loser of tonight’s competition.” He looked around the silent room and that moved Amara’s gaze with it. The whippings, she noticed, had stopped… and Thia was already helping get the other slaves down. Tending to the Nys and Faliran injuries while the Alician tended to her clone sister. She hadn’t hesitated for a second, but her gaze did linger on Amara, her cold, expressionless face unreadable. Was that contempt in her expression? Mockery of her stupidity? Gladness that she was suffering so that Thia would not? Or something else?
“Clean this mess up,” Sarcand commanded. The newly-appointed Harvestmaster at once set off towards his chambers, Amara practically flung off her feet as he dragged her after him like a weightless coat fluttering in the breeze. Mortal terrors overtook Amara’s psyche. She dreaded what was about to occur like she dreaded death. The warlord was obviously enraged, likely to do such things to her he had never before done.
Only… death would not come this night.
The realization struck her like an epiphany.
Until Earth had been conquered… Amara remained simply too much of an erotic obsession to Sarcand for him to snuff her from existence. Killing her would mean killing a part of his triumph. That the self-aggrandizing Kthid simply could not do. Amara was precious to him because Amara symbolized victory. She was the crown-jewel of Earth’s defeat. His ego wouldn’t permit him to kill her.
It meant that she was safe… for a certain definition of safe, anyway.
The ex-Captain of the Midgar-6 wondered if she would not have preferred death.
As soon as they had passed the doorway, Sarcand hurled Amara across the room. The dark-skinned woman went airborne, her vision spinning around, crashing against the bed with a hurtful pang against her left hip. Amara clenched her teeth so to not make any outcries of pain while laying against his resting space. She heard the Huntmaster’s stomping footfalls move towards her, and already she felt chills of trepidation travel down her spine at the option she had pursued.
Yet Sarcand did not approach her. He instead walked towards a nearby bureau. Its shelves and drawers were torn open and he started rummaging through the items therein. This was where the Kthid kept all of his whips and instruments and other assorted devices of torture. He took his time finding what he was searching for. Then the space-dragon turned his tail around and faced her. Sarcand walked over, looming above her in size. The downed Earthling noticed his expression before she noticed the devices he held in his massive hand… and there was an angry sneer upon those snouted lips, a glint in his reptilian eye, not at all the vexing infuriation he had showed before in public. That reactionary mood had dropped into something which nearly resembled a sense of humor… of gaiety, even. It was unnerving.
“This is reassuring,” he said softly, activating the rod he carried in his hand. The tip of it crackled once with electric energy arching between two connection points before it went dormant. Seeing that flare jolted Amara’s sinews with dread. On sheer instinct she flinched away, and Sarcand’s free hand reached out and clasped her ankle, pulling her straight back towards him. Amara fought as best she could, but the Kthid monster easily outwrestled her one-armed, pinning her against that mattress no matter how she bucked and struggled until she was recumbent and helpless. This was the simplest joy of Sarcand’s life… proving the difference in strength between him and others. The Kthid saw no other source for authority. “I thought I had lost you, Captain. Welcome back…”
The malachite giant brought that prong before her eyes and showed off another high-energy flare of current. The sudden bangs and snaps and crackles tautened every nerve inside Amara’s systems. She responded with a grimace, half of hate, half of fear. For all her bold and forward insolence, her body instinctively understood the rippling pain it would bring. “I thought I had destroyed you. Gone too far, too quickly. That you had shattered, rather than break like your sister.”
Amara couldn’t keep herself from screaming as he stabbed the electrical instrument against her left tit. The entire mound caved inwards as he blasted it with thunderous voltage, and that whole side of her body, centering on her breast, became one huge hotspot of pain. Amara’s protruding dark nipple seemed to swell outwards as if it were about to pop. Her whole body shuddered underneath him, yet no shock seems to transfer to him… the armor in his scales seemed to protect the bastard from suffering its affects. The sound this rarefied torture produced was like a fuse bursting, and Amara thrashed beneath it.
The moment he deactivated that initial burst, Amara’s arms started grappling with his one pinning hand. One zap in and she immediately had had enough of this. Being electrocuted had felt like being slammed shut inside some iron maiden! “You were starting to bore me, Amara,” the Harvestmaster taunted. “Your spirit seemed to be in a rut. What more did I have to look forward to with you, save the destruction of your home world?”
Amara screamed again as he effortlessly overwhelmed her struggles and gave the same treatment to her other tit. This time, he pressed down directly on her nipple itself, and the little bud burned so much as it was assaulted that Amara wondered if it might have exploded or been seared off. Sarcand allowed the current to flow through her longer this time, allowing it to properly tighten and clench every muscle within her flesh.
The pain ended, and a sudden, terrifying thought came to Amara. He knew. He knew she wasn’t as broken as she acted. If he guessed… “I had no idea that you still had that much defiance hiding within you,” he taunted as he loomed over her. “I thought you were hollow of anything left but a desire to please. But no… you are her sister after all.” Sarcand stabbed with that instrument… yet did not direct a discharge! Amara produced a whimpering noise and flopped like a fish in spite of it in anticipation of the pain that didn’t come, so overmastered by fear of that electrocution. “And yet… not quite the same,” he said slowly. “You’re more devilish than your sister. More hidden. She was so arrogant and high-strung that I always knew what she was thinking. Yet you’ve managed to keep what is left of yourself lidded, like a chalice of frothing poison.”
Sarcand began guiding that double-pronged prod downwards, oscillating its movements like a slithering snake. Amara bucked with her hips to try and get off him yet it was no use. His intentions were clear as day. The Kthid intended to zap her in the only area that hurt more than her tits. The very organ which made her a female. “Please, master,” she whimpered. “You can’t. Your child will-”
“No,” Sarcand hissed with a chuckle. “My stock is stronger than that. And if you fail to birth him, we will start again. You will not escape your future, Amara… the birth, or your torment.” He placed the tip against her labia… and triggered it.
This time, Amara couldn’t even feel the sting itself. She couldn’t feel the heat, or the burn, or anything. All she felt was pain. All she saw was white. The agony was so great that her thighs clutched around his forearm. Had he been an Earthling man she probably would have been able to crack that bone from how hard she clutched. Instead, she just clung to her rapist in utter anguish, shrieking her way through the torture. The current radiated outwards through her body, creating rippling waves of pain with her sex as its epicenter. He kept it going much longer this instance. Long enough for the sweat on her skin to begin to boil off her as tiny sparks arced between them. It was an agony that made her body writhe like waves crashing against seaside cliffs.
“Hmm… not bad,” Sarcand said appreciatively upon breaking the current. Amara’s flesh practically sizzled as he relented. She could not gather her thoughts because they seemed to be racing at lighting-speed, giving her flashes of emotions and images and sensations of excruciating hurt. Her body likewise kept shuddering for several seconds afterward. White froth escaped the corners of her lips and trailed down her cheeks.
“So you see, I am not angry at you, human,” he chuckled. “Not at all. In fact, I am quite pleased that there is more to you than I had begun to suspect. I am proud of you. What I am not… is merciful.” As if drawing out the comparison for her, the Harvestmaster stabbed the tool into Amara’s pussy. Despite the fact that it was the slimmest prong she had taken in… well, in years at this point… it still exploded her body with uproarious terror. Sarcand had lodged that pain-inducing device right against her sex, the very nexus of her womanhood. Were he to flip the button then it was possible her very womb would be scorched. Something tugged at the very arteries of Amara’s heart, a fear both puissant and unique and wholly female.
“M-Master Sarcand,” she said in a pitifully subservient voice, vocal cords hijacked by some survival instinct lodged deep inside of her. “It can’t survive that. You’d kill any child I may carry for you.”
He smiled down at her, grinning widely enough to expose jagged teeth. “Perhaps yes. Perhaps this will need to wait until we stand in the ruins of your family home.” He retracted the device only slowly. “Better replace this instrument with something more… fecund.” Sarcand jeered and moments later his now rigid dick replaced it for that task. That colossal column of scaly green was placed tip-first against Amara’s quim and began to push. She whimpered even more weekly than usual as it bifurcated her cunt and began to push in. Her body still trembled with the muscle shakes from the residual shock, and everything in her body felt tenderized and vulnerable to him. Her still aching pussy-folds were in no position to be outstretched and brutally distended… but Sarcand didn’t care in the slightest.
“This is how you will break,” he pleasurably gasped upon bottoming out within her vagina, pushing his cockhead against the cervix which the prod had previously poked. Amara’s twisted in agony as this happened. Despite her self-sacrificing heroics, the only expression the woman was able to make was one of ignominy and fear. “By the time I am finished, you will have just enough of that strength left to make the person you used to be weep,” he promised her. “You will stand before the leaders of humanity, and you will pick which ones I rape and how, and you will be grateful I gave you the opportunity. You will pick the ones you like the least, and convince yourself that they deserve it… and lie to yourself as you lick their sorrow off my cock.”
He began to thrust inside of her. “This electricity could have possibly killed your womanhood… yet it also makes your pussy hug my dick with much more appreciation!” he taunted, moving his hips with expert athleticism. As he did this he shoved the prod against her navel like someone looking to stake a coffin-sleeping vampire. The alien monster hit dead center and skewered that little furrow, promptly torturing it with blistering pain. Once again the deleterious currents zapped through her, and Amara writhed against the bed under high duress. Such burning pain bolted through her that she was no longer even able to fight his pinning arm.
Any hope that it would be too much for him while inside her, however, proved short lived. “It tickles my cock!” he laughed at the feeling of that voltage through her body. “It makes you so tight, slave, and when I slam against your womb it almost hurts!”
Her master began intermittently flipping the electric baton OFF and ON. Sometimes he would coincide this scorching with the burrowing strokes of his cock… sometimes not. He never allowed himself to become predictable, changing up his rhythm so she could never prepare herself for the anguish. Either way, it made Amara’s vaginal-lips feel like they were on fire as he pumped. The agony of him mercilessly rutting and outstretching her was coupled with the agony of being all but cooked alive by the voltage buzzed. All of this electricity also compelled her vaginal muscles to clamp down around his shaft even harder, and with the burns around her pussy that was yet another fresh level of agony. Sarcand’s girth was already so vast that her womanly tunnel always attempted to deflate and expel that rod back out, but now it seemed like every muscle in her body was trying – and failing – to help achieve it.
Amara shrieked as the electricity felt so overwhelming that it radiated out to her hair. Those lengthy red tussles stiffened and went rigid. Meanwhile, Sarcand’s potent cock thumped against her cervix, reminding her womanhood who was its master. Throughout the sadistic fucking, Amara tried to cling to what mattered. That she had done the right thing. That Nameless and the Faliran were scheming something, something harmful to the Kthid… and preventing any damage to their plan was worth it. After all, her own plan seemed… hopeless when she was like this, suffering beneath him. Her secrets tugged excruciatingly against her lips, making her want to spill her furtive knowledge. A sudden dagger struck at Amara’s heart. What if the Huntmaster would see through this? Figure out the truth upon her pain-wrecked brows? She redoubled her efforts to endure. The treacherous twang to give in could not succeed. Not now, not when she had at last found the first sliver of resistance against the galactic conqueror-race.
Sarcand grunted as he bludgeoned her quim, the sound coming out more like short, sharp roars of a massive predator. The Huntmaster was so excited by the new spirit he had detected – and doubtless her tightened hole – that he was quickly gathering up arousal to ejaculate. Meanwhile, the crackling zaps kept coming. The voltage wounded her both regionally and through body-wide pulses which traveled outwards through her nervous system. The pain was so overweening that Amara swore she could nearly feel the synapses connecting her brains short-fuse and pop.
“What’s the matter? Already retreated back into your shell?” Sarcand heckled as Amara clenched her teeth and tried to keep the truth within her. Being a fortress while being reamed straight through and mercilessly electrocuted was so difficult it felt like her body would rupture and burst. “You don’t fool me, human. I see you clearly now…”
The centerpiece of her agony had now become her navel. That sunken, skewered crevice blazed like a magma-filled chamber which radiated ever downward. Yet while it established these roots of agony the sunken place also gave off smoke like a fireplace. He had blistered its sensitive skin so badly that it blackened and bruised from voltage alone. She didn’t answer his taunts.
Sarcand chuckled. “No matter. You’re lying there, scheming, thinking of how to wound me next. This I do not detest. I long to see what bits of womanly cunning and ire your future will bring me,” Sarcand added, that sentence coming as close to romantic pillow-talk as he ever had. With another plunge, the malachite green caiman was brought over the threshold of orgasm. He splurged his too-hot cock sauce inside her. The ejaculation was slapdash and chaotic, a fusillade of gooey seed, as impromptu and messy as this hate-filled fuck. The Harvestmaster did not spare her the double-pronged prod as he did this. He kept that device stabbed into her navel so that the current could flow unhindered. This made her shudder and vibrate as the semen blasted inside her nexus which he had threatened to destroy. The way it “tickled” his meat-prong apparently made his scrotum ejaculate out more gunk than normal, prolonging his rapture for what seemed like minutes.
Amara shouted, blaring out the extremeness of her pain, and the only reason her face wasn’t a mess of tears was that it felt like the shocks had burned them away. The spasming her flesh endured shook the jizz around inside her something fierce. Her womanhood was turned into some shaking pot whose walls also undulated, centralized around her master’s hard cock, and his issue splashed and sloshed around against it. It made her feel cheaper and more ignoble than ever before, a humiliation for her bravery to go against him.
Sarcand reached out and stroked a finger against her spasming cheek, fondling it almost… intimately.
“You may keep your burning spirit veiled from me currently, Heitera,” he worded with seething lusts known only to the Kthid species. ”Yet I long to see how that mask will tear and rupture when I destroy your home world. Then whatever true flame exists within you will be tamed completely then… your will, made to serve me. Ohhh… how sweet your final defeat will be…”
Amara winced as his long reptilian tongue emerged and licked her grimacing visage. Pained and disgusted, she turned her gaze away and tried to think. It had been worth it to do something heroic, she realized. She… she hadn’t felt like she was capable of it anymore. Proving herself wrong was… it was a comfort.
Then something occurred to her.
She hadn’t realized it at the time… hadn’t had a spare nanosecond to think before acting, but… in her mind, she had been thinking like a human. That Nameless had been working with those Faliran, and maybe others… arming them, preparing them to attempt… something. Escape, perhaps. To Amara, that was a familiar thought. Something that could be done on a small scale. And that was her mistake.
She had been thinking of the two Faliran who had nearly been caught as individuals… but the Faliran had a hive mind of sorts, their minds are all linked and the nexuses of this webwork were their insectoid Queens. They might all be individuals… but if members were arming themselves, Thia would know about it. The aliens could communicate in ways completely incomprehensible to the Kthid… and to Amara.
Once she thought about it, it was so obvious. Why would her handmaiden who spent all her time around Sarcand’s harem be the one they had somehow convinced to smuggle weapons for them? How would they know the Arane at all? If those two Falirans had been Nameless’s accomplices in her smuggling… then it meant that it was more than just them in on the ploy. Their small resistance was being directed by Thia herself.
And the Faliran were hoarding weapons.