Daemon
If you find yourself alone, riding in the green fields with the sun on
your face, do not be troubled. For you are in Elysium, and you’re already dead!
Gladiator (2000, the Movie)
The ropes pulled her arms behind so tightly her nipples popped.
She liked it; she liked the way it made her feel, the way it pointed her
tits and curved her back, the way it forced her to stand straight, unashamed of
her nudity. She was proud of her tall, lean body and happy the tight ropes made
modesty impossible.
“Spread your legs please, Petya, and get up on your toes.”
She obeyed without thinking feeling her calves pushing against her skin
and knowing a muscle-shadow was now highlighting her thigh. As a
dancer--erotic--she could stay on her toes for a long time...and would if he
wanted. She desperately wanted the job they had discussed. As the full-time
“companion” of a planet-manager, she would live well in the present and earn
enough money in the future to have real choices. It was the opportunity of a
lifetime for someone like her and she wasn’t going to screw it up.
It was more than ambition thought that spurred her obedience--she wanted to obey him; she wanted to please him. It was a weird and
novel feeling, which she knew emanated from being buck-naked and hardbound in
front of a powerful Russian man.
He reached between her legs and slowly drew his hand up her pussy
running his middle finger between her cunt lips. The finger passed over her
clit and she shuddered as if she was cold.
She wasn’t cold. The enormous fireplace in the great room of his Ural
dacha was blazing at her back. If anything, the radiant heat on her bare skin
was too hot. She could feel her blood pooling near the surface making it more
sensitive.
He lifted his hand and touched his wet finger to her lips. She smiled
and extended her tongue, tasting herself. She knew it would be wet down there.
She began to move her body sensuously stretching like a cat. The prospect of a
good fucking was in her eyes. Her nipples hardened.
He moved to her side and brought his hand down hard on her ass. She fell
forward clumsily then turned towards him, her face full of righteous anger.
“Oww, FUCK! That hurt, take it easy. There’s no need for any of that.”
He appeared no to hear; he just continued to circle then stopped when he
was back at her front.
“Get back on your toes and spread your legs,” he said softly...firmly.
She obeyed.
“First, don’t move when you are being touched unless I give you permission
to move; you are here for my pleasure not yours. Second, your pain serves a
purpose, my purpose; never question me about it again. Third, any disrespect is
forbidden especially swearing. Fourth, keep your mouth shut until I tell you to
open it, and never, ever tell me what to do.”
She felt her pussy clutching. Men did not speak to her that way...ever.
Either they were as meek as kittens or as aggressive as wild pigs. It was rare
to have a man speak to her with a command voice. She met all kinds at the club;
but this one was different.
“If I send you to Neptune29, Petya, I want to be sure you will be
accepted, understand?” She nodded contritely. “This is why I conduct these
interviews myself.”
“Down...”
Instantly, she fell to her knees on the thick rug, her legs spread
enough to show her full mound, her back straight. He stepped back and nodded,
pleased.
How did I know to get on my knees? She wondered. “Down” could mean a
hundred different things. How did I know he wanted me on my...
She lost her train of thought as she watched him undress. She knew he
wanted his cock sucked--which she was happy to do--but this wasn’t going to be
just any blowjob. First, his cock was soft; she had sucked hundreds of cocks
since puberty and each time they were hard as wooden clubs when they came out.
His was soft. Second, he was holding a leather riding
crop in his hand. She stared numbly at his cock and his crop as he stepped
close.
“I’m not a teenage boy, Petya, I raise my flag only for someone truly
deserving. Is that you?”
She looked up then without hurrying leaned forward into his crotch. She
missed the use of her hands but compensated in other ways. The man was
impressed. There wasn’t anything weird or perverse in her cocksucking, but
there was something different--she loved what she was doing. She started by
passionately kissing his shaft with closed eyes; then she licked his penis head
and sucked it into her mouth, scraping it with her teeth, teasing and playing
with it. When his cock inevitably hardened and stood erect, she reached between
his legs with her mouth and coddled his balls as if they were diamonds.
No normal man could resist such worship of his genitals--his cock grew
large and throbbed, pulsating with power; the veins on the side distended like
cords--but she didn’t rush to it. Instead, she resumed her work on his balls,
drawing them into her mouth and masticating them until they ached with seminal
pressure. Only then, did she reach up and take his cock into her mouth. It fit
like a hand in a glove.
She opened her eyes and looked up...ready
He grabbed a handful of her hair in his left hand then raised the crop
high and brought it down hard on the back of her thigh. The pain was sharp and
it caused her slender body to jerk violently. A moment later, it was gone.
“Ohhh,” she moaned as her eyes rolled back, shocked by the pain, but
also instinctively understanding that he needed the crop to take her where he
wanted to go. He was like a connoisseur of fine wines; he had selected exactly
the right implement to make this meal unforgettable.
She began to bob her head, tightening her lips hard on the upstroke. Her
tongue formed into a chute darting out at the perigee of her stroke to touch
his balls. His cock’s head began to bang against her uvula but it didn’t push
on into her throat nor did the hand in her hair force her. It was more a
reminder on her captivity, of the absolute certainty of him prevailing. She
tasted his pre-ejaculate in the back of her mind and instinctually her muscles
tensed for the coming climax.
The crop kept the tempo with its pain-filled beat. A shockingly painful
slap on her thighs met every fourth stroke of her bobbing head. She had no
defense, no way to prevent or abate the pain. She didn’t want to; the terrible
excitement was driving her to new heights of feeling, it was stimulating her in
way she had never dreamed possible.
Without conscious thought, she increased the length of her down stroke
and took the head of his penis into her throat, squeezing it with her neck
muscles. Each time it went a bit farther, each time she squeezed a bit harder.
There was no intellect involved in the act anymore; they were animals operating
on instinct, driven by physical stimulation, feelings, and natural bodily
drugs.
She jerked suddenly from a vicious crop stroke while her tongue was
probing his balls and he grunted, stiffened, and ejaculated. She felt his hot
jism on her throat wall and shook like a dog shedding water. The action
intensified and prolonged his contractions.
She continued to suck his cock for a full minute even after her own
delicious contractions had tied her muscles in knots. When it was over, he
guided her back on her haunches and let her sit, bound and numb. Her delirious
body trembled with aftershocks for a long time.
He hired her.
***
Forget about love...
By the 22rd Century, most people were struggling day-to-day just to
survive. Mother Earth’s teat, which men had sucked on ravenously for millennia,
was going dry. Eyes turned to the night sky and the stars for salvation.
Millions of Earth-like virgin planets beckoned. They were man’s best
hope for survival--his only hope--but the vastness of space was too formidable
a barrier. People were like ants gathered on the edge of a great ocean dreaming
the impossible. Then, one day, the impossibility of space travel became
possible. It was man’s greatest scientific achievement.
Nations formed confederations and rushed to colonize the planets. They
soon realized that planetary colonization typically consumed more scarce
resources than it provided. This led to conflict as nations competed for the
most lucrative prizes. It became increasingly clear only the strongest and most
committed, only those willing to put aside their morality, would survive.
From “The
First Elysium War” by Franz Van Grouten
From the beginning, his
parents knew he was different.
Robert Jefferson Speck, born
on New Year’s Day, 2200, in Galveston, Texas lived inside his mind refusing to
socialize in any meaningful way. Intellectually, he was “gifted,” but his
school psychologist added that his self-isolation was a form of extreme mental
illness.
He recommended
institutionalization, writing,
“Robert says whatever is on
his mind without any regard for the consequences. His intelligence and brutal
honesty cause extreme emotional distress in others. He needs professional
help.”
Robert brought this
diagnosis home soon after when he described in detail to his cancer-stricken
grandmother the horrendously agonizing death that awaited her. He was right of
course, but his mother never forgave him.
At age 15, he left home
abruptly and joined the merchant space-marine. His parents were secretly
elated. A year later, they received notification that Daemons had attacked his
cargo ship and taken the crew prisoner. They reacted with appropriate shock and
sadness, but in truth, they felt badly for his captors.
2220 / AsiaPac Starship APS Kathmandu
Vanna was terrified of the shears. It was a stupid thing to focus on
given her situation, but their cold metal on her skin made it all horrifyingly
real, everything else seemed like a dream, a nightmare from which she would
soon awake.
Her delusion was understandable. Her captors had placed a hood over her
head and a collar around her neck. The collar had wrist-cuffs affixed to the
back that they used to secure her raised arms. She was blind and helpless as
the shears cut off her clothes. She felt them on her breasts and suddenly her
nipples were free. She felt the muscles in her vagina tighten as she realized
she had no way to protect them.
“Please...,” she whispered pitifully and unheard into the hood.
She shook her head in frustration. It was impossible even to beg. Her
mind raced desperately over the options. She wanted to...to fall to her knees
and plead for his mercy, to offer him her mouth, anything..., but she could not
move.
My mouth, she thought miserably! Would I really get down on my knees and
suck his cock? Why not...it’s all I have left. These are space
Daemons...criminals...fucking pirates with no mercy or compassion. They stopped
starships on the way to the colonies and took what they wanted, including
women. There was a robust black-market for sex-slaves in the colonies.
Still, he was still a man.
Men had always been nice to her. She was beautiful...desirable. It was a
terrible thing to say, but that’s just the way things were; beauty had value
and she had always been able to use that currency to her advantage. She could
use it again if only she could see, if only, if only her tormentor could see
her; if only he could see how beautiful she was, how
scared she was...
She felt him cut off her panties. She had never been naked in front of a
man. It felt...humbling. Her body was full of sensitive spots; she knew, she
had touched them and felt the effect. What if he touched
her...? What if he made her feel those same
sensations? What if...?
His hand pushed her legs open then cupped her cunt. She froze as his
other hand continued to cut off her pants. Her eyes rolled back into her head
and her eyelids fluttered wildly, unseen inside the hood.
After a few seconds, she began to examine her reaction. His hand wasn’t
moving, either to stimulate or...penetrate. His contact was terribly intimate
but it was clinical, detached, like a doctor’s examination.
Clinical...wasn’t that strange? How could a normal man with normal
sexual desires strip a woman like her and feel nothing? It didn’t add up. A
part of her mind was analyzing, asking questions while the rest was
short-circuiting.
If he wasn’t stimulated, perhaps it was because he had done it many
times before. How many times; how many times did it
take before a man became desensitized? Probably dozens, maybe scores. How many
cunts did he hold before he felt nothing?
“Please...don’t touch me,” she whispered again, surprised at how absurd
her words sounded inside the hood. He couldn’t hear and even if he heard, he
didn’t care. He was a shepherd shearing a lamb; he didn’t even hear the frantic
bleating after a while.
Ignore him and stay calm, she thought. The capture of the Kathmandu by a Daemon ship was a rare
and unlucky event leading to this unfortunate incident. She was enduring a
horrible trial, but it’s only temporary. Her father will pay the ransom and I
will be set free, free to continue with my life as if this never happened. In a
few days, all of this will be a terrible memory.
He gently fondled her calf lifting her bare feet so he could gather her
shredded clothes. Suddenly, she realized that he was not the person she needed
to fear. He was a functionary, a servant. His role was to prepare her for
something...for someone.
Surprisingly, she began to get used to the fear, to the nudity. In fact,
she felt almost grateful he had stripped off her clothing. Now, everyone could
see how special she was, how incredibly beautiful she was. She knew she had an
amazing body. Men slobbered over it, fawned over it. Her looks gave her an
advantage with these animals. Once they uncovered her head, her eyes, lips,
skin, and hair would do the rest. It was going to be okay.
He ran his hand along her bare flank then grabbed the ring at the front
of her collar and pulled her down. She followed his lead dropping to her knees.
He pushed her shoulders back and she settled onto her folded legs, slumping
into a heap from the tension.
Clearly, they had separated her from the others because of her looks; because of her lean sensuous body and provocative face.
She was different...better than the other girls. She had always tried to hide
her conceit. Polite society didn’t tolerate narcissists very easily, but that
would be a mistake here. She needed to promote her beauty not hide; she needed
to provoke their savage, primitive instincts...not to the point where they took
action of course, only to where they understood her real value.
They didn’t appreciate anything by money. They had viciously killed the
men who had defended the ship then stripped and bound the young women who had
surrendered...the “pretty” men too. It was horrible--they didn’t just bind the
men who surrendered; they humiliated them, took their manhood away, their
pride.
The cock-rings were the worst. They stripped the men, tied their hands
behind, and locked a leather strap with rings behind each man’s scrotum. There
was no resistance after that, no surliness, no pulling away. Within a few minutes,
the Daemons had effectively transformed them into obedient cattle, nose-ringed
bulls they could lead round with a rein.
What they had done to the men was an atrocity. Somehow, it seemed
infinitely worse to strip and humiliate the men; somehow, it seemed wrong for
them to cower just because their balls were in danger. Her reaction to watching
them cut the clothes off the women was mild in comparison. The nudity and
captivity of the women seemed almost, well, almost appropriate, but stripping
the men, humiliating them...this was going too far. In many ways, it was worse
than murdering them.
Moreover, why had they hooded her? Was this also about humiliation? Were
they taking pictures, pictures to shock her father into paying a bigger ransom?
He would be offended of course, humiliated that she had allowed herself to
be...
The man touched her nipple with his fingers and she jerked back. She
wanted to lash out at him, at the disrespect, at the impertinence he was
showing her, but there was no way to do that. Instead, she twisted her torso
and tried to get up. She had had enough of this. Suddenly, something stung her
on the calf causing a sharp pain to shoot up her leg.
It was a whip or a crop of some kind, perhaps a cane.
He had whipped her; she couldn’t believe it. He had struck
her...physically. She opened her mouth wide and screamed into the black leather
then began to buck wildly. He held firmly onto her nipple and continued to
strike her calves.
After a while, she stopped; the pain was too intense. Her legs were
burning and her rock-hard nipple was aching. She stayed quiet knowing he would
make her suffer again if she moved.
It was her first lesson in obedience.