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Corie Billings was a lovely, coltish young girl when the pirates hit her father's freighter. Her youth didn't stop her from becoming one of their sex toys. But her cunning kept her alive. And somehow, using her body and brains, Corie managed to win a spot on the crew of the pirate ship Panther. But her relative safety is about to evaporate, as a new captain takes over, a sadist who builds high tech painful torment machines and uses her to test them. She thinks she's found a way out when he sells her into slavery on a dark, mysterious planet, but instead she finds the captain was merely an amateur. And she has been sold to a much more imaginative madman. Soon her very DNA is being altered, her body changed, transformed into a living sex toy who will soon be driven mad by the force of the sexual pleasure forced upon her.

Product type: EBook    Published by: author - self-published    Published: 11 / 2010

We do not recommend this book for readers under 18 years of age

No. words: 35500

Style: BDSM/Bondage - Content: Moderate -    Male Dom - M/F, SciFi BDSM/Bondage, Sex Slavery / Training

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  MS Word  Text  RTF  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

Current all-time sales ranking: #220


Excerpt..

His hands moved instinctively to her breasts as she kissed him, then she brought the stim tube to her lips, drew the smoke into her mouth. She kissed him again, blowing the smoke into his. Unlike her, he drew it in deep, grunting in satisfaction as it set his lungs tingling.
"Are you feeling nice, sweetie?" she cooed, bringing the tube to his lips.
"Yeahhhhhh," he sighed softly.
She let her hands massage his chest.
"Captain?"
He grunted.
"The next time we're near Epsilon Prime, do you think maybe I could go down with you?"
His eyes didn't open but his lips curled up into a smile.
"You don't get enough on Panther?" he chuckled.
"Just to see new stuff, Captain," she said idly.
"Epsilon isn't for you, baby," he muttered, dull eyed. "It's an evil place full of evil bastards and cheap whores."
"Then we'd fit right in," she said brightly.
He chuckled softly, kneading her breasts.
"Think you're gonna make your fortune at the Style racks, baby?"
"May-be," She drew the word out.
"And what would you do with it?"
"I dunno, what's anyone do with money?"
"You ain't anyone. Epsilon ain't for you."
"I'd be good," she promised poutily.
"Too much trouble," he said in a grunt. "Ain't many women out this far, and damn few look like you. I take you down there... “His eyes moved up and down her body "I'd have every two-bit twerp with an ache in his pants wanting the loan of you, half of them willing to gut me to take you away."
He drew in a deep breath from the stim tube and laid his head back with a groan.
"I can, you know, dress down," she said.
He smiled again, staring up at the ceiling. "You can't hide what you've got, baby, not for long. An old toothless hag would be enough to cause murder down there." He drew his head forward, eyes blinking as he inspected her elfin face. He blew out a deep breath and chuckled. "They got a look at this soft warm white flesh and all hell'd break loose."
"They must have some women here," she said in irritation.
"This isn't the Argon sector, Cori, where Hudson Bay whipped along plush routes between Cluster planets. There ain't nothing here but agricultural and mining combines. Men work twelve hours a day, seven days a week for the combines. It's pure muscle work. There's no room for women, and sure as hell no room for kids. Fact is, if this was two years ago when Panther needed a new engine and we had damn all in credits I'd bring you and the whores down, rent a room, and put you on your backs for all comers for whatever they'd pay. Five minutes a pop. We'd have them lined up for miles."
She stiffened at his words, and drew back.
"Make enough for a new engine in a few days," he said, chuckling weakly and laying his head back against the seat again.
He didn't notice the ice in her eyes as he sucked contentedly from the stim tube.
Panther had begun life as a destroyer. She had six torpedo tubes in her bow and an engine which could once outrace almost anything in space. The six tubes in her stern had been removed, along with all the equipment and crew which supported them, to make room for more cargo holds. Since her last naval crew had mutinied she had raided shipping in the frontier sectors of the slowly expanding Terran Empire.
To galactic east was a gaggle of mostly single system governments, everything from hereditary kingdoms to theocracies to military dictatorships. All of them were heavily armed, but none of them showed much concern with happenings beyond their borders, and there were a lot of empty systems to traverse between one and another. Panther had begun taking advantage of that in the last year, and was doing much better because of it. The torpedoes she was now carrying were a generation ahead of the ones she'd had only a year before. True, they were still simple nukes, not gravitonics, but their guidance and EMC systems were impressive for a frontier raider. The engines had recently been overhauled and the control systems steadied, and she now had something which approached a backup environmental system, an unheard of luxury only a few years earlier.
She was designed for a crew of one hundred and twenty nine. She carried sixty two, some of them of uncertain status, like Cori, and twenty-one coolies, men brought aboard from low-tech worlds, mostly willingly, to do the scut work of maintenance. She also had a few “whores”, pretty young women taken off ships Panther had pirated. Few of them lasted long. Some killed themselves, some were killed by angry, drunken crewmen, and others were offloaded somewhere, sold to other pirates or combine managers. The only things Cori ever did aboard Panther which she remembered with shame were the episodes with those captives, when she was forced to act the part of the uncaring, cold-hearted crew-member and laugh at their abuse.
Never show weakness, never show fear. And if you had a heart make sure it was walled in ice where no one could see it.
She passed one of the coolies in his red jumpsuit, on his knees working on an air conduit. He looked up at her hungrily but did not move or speak. If he annoyed her she could put a gravity knife through him and the other crewmen would just laugh. She was crew now, after all, even if she weren't entirely trusted by some of the officers. And she was as close to expert with a gravity knife as the ship had, courtesy of Tal McGregor, a missile tech who had exchanged lessons for access to her body.
Grover was right. She had no need of money. What she wanted she traded her body for. She had been stupid to even suggest otherwise. She would only need money if she were planning to leave Panther and the last thing she wanted was for Grover to think she was even thinking along those lines. She had spent years convincing him she had no interest in leaving, painting a portrait of a girl who had been abused by a violent father, and had no other relatives in a cold, uncaring universe to turn to. He believed her, or seemed to, but had yet to allow her to leave the ship, even with him to watch her.
Eventually he would relent, or his successor would. Eventually she would find a way to get off this tub and blow it up behind her. There were escape pods, and ways to play with the drive that would -- but that was a last resort, one of those plans sliding around the back of her mind waiting the right set of circumstances.
She entered her quarters, a small steel box barely longer than her. She was the only non officer to have her own quarters, a sign of status, and, of course, an acknowledgement that she'd get no sleep in with any other crew members.
Not that she slept there. She hadn't occupied her bunk in weeks. She slept with one or another of the officers each night, tolerating their not always unpleasant grunting and fondling and humping in exchange for placating whatever ill-feelings they might have about her.
Of the six officers, two were likeable, and, under other circumstances, might have turned out to be reasonably good men. Two were cyphers, speaking little, showing little emotion, doing their jobs and having sex with her with equal lack of emotion. And then there was Sub-lieutenant Abrams and Lieutenant Parnel, sly, sleazy, cowardly, vicious, vindictive weasels, the both of them. She disliked them more than anyone else on Panther, for their cruelty was unpredictable, and they had ambition. She spent more effort playing up to them than she did to the other four, and did her best to appear both stupid and harmless around them.
And, of course, there was Lieutenant Wayne. Wayne was the most dangerous man on the ship. He had killed two officers and three crew for a variety of reasons, and no one dared cross him. He had been the worst of them during her first months aboard Panther. Most of the crew were simple and crude. Wayne was neither. Wayne had not been nearly as interested in her body as he had been in her mind. She had watched him with other female captives over the years, and had found his attitude unchanging. He toyed with them and hurt them, not so much their bodies as their minds. He was like a sadistic child plucking the wings off butterflies. He humiliated, degraded and broke them - and then lost interest.
He had lost interest in her when she had stopped showing fear or embarrassment or even care at the things he did to her. When she responded with dull-eyed obedience and nothing more. He was not one of the officers she slept with now, except on rare occasions when he was feeling up to having another try at degrading her, shocking her, or sticking her out. She was grateful for that. It took a lot to hide her hatred of him when he got close, and putting up with his sexual games on a regular basis was likely to push her closer to doing something desperate.
She did not like to think about what he would do if he took over from Grover. It was easily possible he had been forced to keep his sport toned down so as to not rob the others of their own pleasure. Freed of such considerations he might put the Marquis de Sade to shame, and she was the most likely subject for him to start in on.
But desperation had gotten her nowhere in her early years. Cold-blooded planning was her only hope, and making use of anything - including her body - which might help her bring her plans to fruition. Her long term plans were unchanged - getting off Panther and seeing every man aboard die in pain and despair. Her short term plan was, at the moment, stopping Wayne from getting the captaincy.
She unlocked her clothes cupboard and examined the contents briefly. Most were left behind by previous female captives, picked up in shopping expeditions by whatever man she could encourage to buy things for her, or altered from standard crew gear. For the most part it was all too tight, low cut, or revealing for her liking, but there was little she could do about that.
The vest, for example, was too tight, too short, and too open at the sides and middle. Her pants were too tight, too low slung and too thin. She tried to dress like a woman who was just incidentally revealing bits and pieces of herself. As far as the crew were concerned she loved sex, and loved showing herself off.
Sex and her attractiveness were weapons for her, as well as her protection.
Besides, Grover was right. Dressing up in a baggy jumpsuit would not have lowered the interest of the male crew in getting their hands on her. It would not have freed her of the need to placate the officers who wanted her, or of playing up to Grover.
And it would make it harder for her to use her assets in the most efficient manner possible.
She stripped and stepped into the sonic shower, washing off the smell of Grover and considering her options. Normally a First Officer had little chance of winning an election if it were even close to fair. The First Officer was in charge of discipline, and by the time the captaincy came up there were too many crewmen who remembered being put in the shock box or on slag duty by Jimmy the One.
But Wayne was clever. He had had a lot to do with Panther's new state of wealth, and had made sure word of that got down to the crew. Any time now, once her refitting was finally complete Panther would be heading for greener pastures, where she could take out the fast, modern freighters who raced between the Cluster worlds. Seizing just one of those and then selling her would bring every man aboard Panther a fortune, enough to stay drunk or zoned for a year.
There were more than a few crew looking forward to him taking over, and she had to do her best to dissuade them.
The black pants were tight and clingy, the leather like material turned sheer just below her groin, and all the way up her hips... Atop them she wore a thin halter which pulled her breasts together from the sides and pushed them up from beneath - offering them up for inspection in the deep cleavage. She dangled her gravity knife prominently from the front of her belt and headed up the corridor, then down the lift to the lower sections of the ship, where the cargo bays and docking ports were located.
And where the slave girls were kept. She reminded herself of that as a hatch opened up the corridor and she briefly heard a miserable cry of pain before the hatch closed once again. She steeled herself to ignore it even as she approached the hatch and passed it on her way to the cargo office.
The hatch opened again and she stiffened as a voice called out to her.
She turned, bracing her face into casualness. It was Sub-Lieutenant Abrams, and he was half scazzed as he leaned against the open hatch. “C’mere, Billings,” he drawled, gesturing bonelessly.
She strode back, fighting to keep her distaste from her face. Abrams was a geek, and a mean one who hated women. Probably been turned down by every woman who ever came near who had a choice, she thought sourly.
“Wanna see what I built?” he asked with a leer.
He didn’t wait for her to answer, but took her wrist and yanked her into the compartment after him. There were several more men there, including Sub-Lieutenant Parnel, another sleaze, and a couple of senior techs. They were slouched against the walls, laughing at what occupied the centre of the room. Cori looked, felt startled, then shocked, but forced her face to look amused.
One of the slave girls was there. She wasn’t surprised by that. She was surprised at the depths of depravity she was witnessing, though. It had taken Abrams considerable time and effort to bring a perverted idea like this to reality.
There was a wide post in the centre of the room, and a number of strong metal arms protruded from it in various directions. The girl, a tiny, big breasted blondes who was barely nineteen, Cori knew, was bent, belly down over the post. Clamps on the ends of the metal arms held her ankles down and well apart. Each of her toes was encased in a narrow metal ring which spread them apart and, she guessed, pulled them painfully outward.
Her arms were pulled straight down and shackled in place. Her hair was tied with wire into a thick braid and pulled straight up, holding her head horizontal. There were metal bands around the base of the girl’s heavy breasts, squeezing them down like fat, red balloons, Thinner, smaller bands circled her fat nipples, squeezing them out like dark red raspberries.
Her jaw was lined with metal clamps jammed in beneath her teeth on either side of her mouth. In her bent over position her bottom and sex were lewdly visible and vulnerable, and a half dozen powered arms rose behind her, each containing a menacing looking implement.
Even as Cori watched one of them, under the guidance of a control wand Parnel was holding, rose and turned in. On its end was a fat, thick, ringed and studded metal - Cori fought off terms like “cock” or “dildo” and decided to call it a torture device instead. It certainly wasn’t designed to give sexual pleasure.
As she watched, the fat metal thing thrust itself against the girl’s sex opening and with machinelike strength pushed unhesitantly through into her body. She screamed in pain as her sex lips were roughly stretched wide, as the fat ringed metal cock drove up through her belly with brusque efficiency, filling her utterly.
“Please! Please!” she sobbed, her voice filled with pain, her words distorted by the metal clamps attached to her jaws. “I’ll do anything you want! I’ll be good!”
The men laughed, and Cori forced herself to give a hollow laugh as well. The thing drove deep, at least a foot into her slim young body, then began to pump in and out. At the same time another of the arms moved, this one holding a studded metal cock which thrust deep into the girl’s anus. Another scream and sob of despair erupted from the girl as it buried itself in her rectum, then began to twist and turn and pump in and out.
Two more metal arms rose beneath her. At the end of each was a dozen thin metal fingers each ending in a rubber suction cup. They closed around her taut, bloated breasts and began to knead them while a narrow tube pressed in around her nipples and began to such rhythmically.
The cock thing in the girl’s anus pulled out, the arm hissing as it drew the thing up and back. A second arm thrust an even fatter metal cock down into her rectum, and Cori winced internally as she saw the strain on the girl’s anal opening.
“Bet you’d like to try my little toy out, eh, Billings?” Abrams sneered.
“But you do such a good job, Mr. Abrams,” she said. “Why would I need a machine?”
There were sneers from the others, the techs who were jealous they couldn’t touch her, but Abrams merely sniffed, having no real reply.
The fat cock in the girl’s belly were pumping faster, tearing up her insides. She’d be heavily bruised or worse after this.


Excerpt..

His hands moved instinctively to her breasts as she kissed him, then she brought the stim tube to her lips, drew the smoke into her
mouth. She kissed him again, blowing the smoke into his. Unlike her, he drew it in deep, grunting in satisfaction as it set his lungs
tingling.

"Are you feeling nice, sweetie?" she cooed, bringing the tube to his lips.

"Yeahhhhhh," he sighed softly.

She let her hands massage his chest.

"Captain?"

He grunted.

"The next time we're near Epsilon Prime, do you think maybe I could go down with you?"

His eyes didn't open but his lips curled up into a smile.

"You don't get enough on Panther?" he chuckled.

"Just to see new stuff, Captain," she said idly.

"Epsilon isn't for you, baby," he muttered, dull eyed. "It's an evil place full of evil bastards and cheap whores."

"Then we'd fit right in," she said brightly.

He chuckled softly, kneading her breasts.

"Think you're gonna make your fortune at the Style racks, baby?"

"May-be," She drew the word out.

"And what would you do with it?"

"I dunno, what's anyone do with money?"

"You ain't anyone. Epsilon ain't for you."

"I'd be good," she promised poutily.

"Too much trouble," he said in a grunt. "Ain't many women out this far, and damn few look like you. I take you down there... “His eyes
moved up and down her body "I'd have every two-bit twerp with an ache in his pants wanting the loan of you, half of them willing to gut me
to take you away."

He drew in a deep breath from the stim tube and laid his head back with a groan.

"I can, you know, dress down," she said.

He smiled again, staring up at the ceiling. "You can't hide what you've got, baby, not for long. An old toothless hag would be enough
to cause murder down there." He drew his head forward, eyes blinking as he inspected her elfin face. He blew out a deep breath and chuckled.
"They got a look at this soft warm white flesh and all hell'd break loose."

"They must have some women here," she said in irritation.

"This isn't the Argon sector, Cori, where Hudson Bay whipped along plush routes between Cluster planets. There ain't nothing here but
agricultural and mining combines. Men work twelve hours a day, seven days a week for the combines. It's pure muscle work. There's no room
for women, and sure as hell no room for kids. Fact is, if this was two years ago when Panther needed a new engine and we had damn all in
credits I'd bring you and the whores down, rent a room, and put you on your backs for all comers for whatever they'd pay. Five minutes a
pop. We'd have them lined up for miles."

She stiffened at his words, and drew back.

"Make enough for a new engine in a few days," he said, chuckling weakly and laying his head back against the seat again.

He didn't notice the ice in her eyes as he sucked contentedly from the stim tube.

Panther had begun life as a destroyer. She had six torpedo tubes in her bow and an engine which could once outrace almost anything in
space. The six tubes in her stern had been removed, along with all the equipment and crew which supported them, to make room for more cargo
holds. Since her last naval crew had mutinied she had raided shipping in the frontier sectors of the slowly expanding Terran Empire.

To galactic east was a gaggle of mostly single system governments, everything from hereditary kingdoms to theocracies to military
dictatorships. All of them were heavily armed, but none of them showed much concern with happenings beyond their borders, and there were a
lot of empty systems to traverse between one and another. Panther had begun taking advantage of that in the last year, and was doing much
better because of it. The torpedoes she was now carrying were a generation ahead of the ones she'd had only a year before. True, they were
still simple nukes, not gravitonics, but their guidance and EMC systems were impressive for a frontier raider. The engines had recently been
overhauled and the control systems steadied, and she now had something which approached a backup environmental system, an unheard of luxury
only a few years earlier.

She was designed for a crew of one hundred and twenty nine. She carried sixty two, some of them of uncertain status, like Cori, and
twenty-one coolies, men brought aboard from low-tech worlds, mostly willingly, to do the scut work of maintenance. She also had a few
“whores”, pretty young women taken off ships Panther had pirated. Few of them lasted long. Some killed themselves, some were killed by
angry, drunken crewmen, and others were offloaded somewhere, sold to other pirates or combine managers. The only things Cori ever did aboard
Panther which she remembered with shame were the episodes with those captives, when she was forced to act the part of the uncaring,
cold-hearted crew-member and laugh at their abuse.

Never show weakness, never show fear. And if you had a heart make sure it was walled in ice where no one could see it.

She passed one of the coolies in his red jumpsuit, on his knees working on an air conduit. He looked up at her hungrily but did not
move or speak. If he annoyed her she could put a gravity knife through him and the other crewmen would just laugh. She was crew now, after
all, even if she weren't entirely trusted by some of the officers. And she was as close to expert with a gravity knife as the ship had,
courtesy of Tal McGregor, a missile tech who had exchanged lessons for access to her body.

Grover was right. She had no need of money. What she wanted she traded her body for. She had been stupid to even suggest otherwise.
She would only need money if she were planning to leave Panther and the last thing she wanted was for Grover to think she was even thinking
along those lines. She had spent years convincing him she had no interest in leaving, painting a portrait of a girl who had been abused by a
violent father, and had no other relatives in a cold, uncaring universe to turn to. He believed her, or seemed to, but had yet to allow her
to leave the ship, even with him to watch her.

Eventually he would relent, or his successor would. Eventually she would find a way to get off this tub and blow it up behind her.
There were escape pods, and ways to play with the drive that would -- but that was a last resort, one of those plans sliding around the back
of her mind waiting the right set of circumstances.

She entered her quarters, a small steel box barely longer than her. She was the only non officer to have her own quarters, a sign of
status, and, of course, an acknowledgement that she'd get no sleep in with any other crew members.

Not that she slept there. She hadn't occupied her bunk in weeks. She slept with one or another of the officers each night, tolerating
their not always unpleasant grunting and fondling and humping in exchange for placating whatever ill-feelings they might have about her. />
Of the six officers, two were likeable, and, under other circumstances, might have turned out to be reasonably good men. Two were
cyphers, speaking little, showing little emotion, doing their jobs and having sex with her with equal lack of emotion. And then there was
Sub-lieutenant Abrams and Lieutenant Parnel, sly, sleazy, cowardly, vicious, vindictive weasels, the both of them. She disliked them more
than anyone else on Panther, for their cruelty was unpredictable, and they had ambition. She spent more effort playing up to them than she
did to the other four, and did her best to appear both stupid and harmless around them.

And, of course, there was Lieutenant Wayne. Wayne was the most dangerous man on the ship. He had killed two officers and three crew
for a variety of reasons, and no one dared cross him. He had been the worst of them during her first months aboard Panther. Most of the crew
were simple and crude. Wayne was neither. Wayne had not been nearly as interested in her body as he had been in her mind. She had watched
him with other female captives over the years, and had found his attitude unchanging. He toyed with them and hurt them, not so much their
bodies as their minds. He was like a sadistic child plucking the wings off butterflies. He humiliated, degraded and broke them - and then
lost interest.

He had lost interest in her when she had stopped showing fear or embarrassment or even care at the things he did to her. When she
responded with dull-eyed obedience and nothing more. He was not one of the officers she slept with now, except on rare occasions when he was
feeling up to having another try at degrading her, shocking her, or sticking her out. She was grateful for that. It took a lot to hide her
hatred of him when he got close, and putting up with his sexual games on a regular basis was likely to push her closer to doing something
desperate.

She did not like to think about what he would do if he took over from Grover. It was easily possible he had been forced to keep his
sport toned down so as to not rob the others of their own pleasure. Freed of such considerations he might put the Marquis de Sade to shame,
and she was the most likely subject for him to start in on.

But desperation had gotten her nowhere in her early years. Cold-blooded planning was her only hope, and making use of anything -
including her body - which might help her bring her plans to fruition. Her long term plans were unchanged - getting off Panther and seeing
every man aboard die in pain and despair. Her short term plan was, at the moment, stopping Wayne from getting the captaincy.

She unlocked her clothes cupboard and examined the contents briefly. Most were left behind by previous female captives, picked up in
shopping expeditions by whatever man she could encourage to buy things for her, or altered from standard crew gear. For the most part it was
all too tight, low cut, or revealing for her liking, but there was little she could do about that.

The vest, for example, was too tight, too short, and too open at the sides and middle. Her pants were too tight, too low slung and too
thin. She tried to dress like a woman who was just incidentally revealing bits and pieces of herself. As far as the crew were concerned she
loved sex, and loved showing herself off.

Sex and her attractiveness were weapons for her, as well as her protection.

Besides, Grover was right. Dressing up in a baggy jumpsuit would not have lowered the interest of the male crew in getting their hands
on her. It would not have freed her of the need to placate the officers who wanted her, or of playing up to Grover.

And it would make it harder for her to use her assets in the most efficient manner possible.

She stripped and stepped into the sonic shower, washing off the smell of Grover and considering her options. Normally a First Officer
had little chance of winning an election if it were even close to fair. The First Officer was in charge of discipline, and by the time the
captaincy came up there were too many crewmen who remembered being put in the shock box or on slag duty by Jimmy the One.

But Wayne was clever. He had had a lot to do with Panther's new state of wealth, and had made sure word of that got down to the crew.
Any time now, once her refitting was finally complete Panther would be heading for greener pastures, where she could take out the fast,
modern freighters who raced between the Cluster worlds. Seizing just one of those and then selling her would bring every man aboard Panther
a fortune, enough to stay drunk or zoned for a year.

There were more than a few crew looking forward to him taking over, and she had to do her best to dissuade them.

The black pants were tight and clingy, the leather like material turned sheer just below her groin, and all the way up her hips...
Atop them she wore a thin halter which pulled her breasts together from the sides and pushed them up from beneath - offering them up for
inspection in the deep cleavage. She dangled her gravity knife prominently from the front of her belt and headed up the corridor, then down
the lift to the lower sections of the ship, where the cargo bays and docking ports were located.

And where the slave girls were kept. She reminded herself of that as a hatch opened up the corridor and she briefly heard a miserable
cry of pain before the hatch closed once again. She steeled herself to ignore it even as she approached the hatch and passed it on her way
to the cargo office.

The hatch opened again and she stiffened as a voice called out to her.

She turned, bracing her face into casualness. It was Sub-Lieutenant Abrams, and he was half scazzed as he leaned against the open
hatch. “C’mere, Billings,” he drawled, gesturing bonelessly.

She strode back, fighting to keep her distaste from her face. Abrams was a geek, and a mean one who hated women. Probably been turned
down by every woman who ever came near who had a choice, she thought sourly.

“Wanna see what I built?” he asked with a leer.

He didn’t wait for her to answer, but took her wrist and yanked her into the compartment after him. There were several more men there,
including Sub-Lieutenant Parnel, another sleaze, and a couple of senior techs. They were slouched against the walls, laughing at what
occupied the centre of the room. Cori looked, felt startled, then shocked, but forced her face to look amused.

One of the slave girls was there. She wasn’t surprised by that. She was surprised at the depths of depravity she was witnessing,
though. It had taken Abrams considerable time and effort to bring a perverted idea like this to reality.

There was a wide post in the centre of the room, and a number of strong metal arms protruded from it in various directions. The girl,
a tiny, big breasted blondes who was barely nineteen, Cori knew, was bent, belly down over the post. Clamps on the ends of the metal arms
held her ankles down and well apart. Each of her toes was encased in a narrow metal ring which spread them apart and, she guessed, pulled
them painfully outward.

Her arms were pulled straight down and shackled in place. Her hair was tied with wire into a thick braid and pulled straight up,
holding her head horizontal. There were metal bands around the base of the girl’s heavy breasts, squeezing them down like fat, red balloons,
Thinner, smaller bands circled her fat nipples, squeezing them out like dark red raspberries.

Her jaw was lined with metal clamps jammed in beneath her teeth on either side of her mouth. In her bent over position her bottom and
sex were lewdly visible and vulnerable, and a half dozen powered arms rose behind her, each containing a menacing looking implement.

Even as Cori watched one of them, under the guidance of a control wand Parnel was holding, rose and turned in. On its end was a fat,
thick, ringed and studded metal - Cori fought off terms like “cock” or “dildo” and decided to call it a torture device instead. It certainly
wasn’t designed to give sexual pleasure.

As she watched, the fat metal thing thrust itself against the girl’s sex opening and with machinelike strength pushed unhesitantly
through into her body. She screamed in pain as her sex lips were roughly stretched wide, as the fat ringed metal cock drove up through her
belly with brusque efficiency, filling her utterly.

“Please! Please!” she sobbed, her voice filled with pain, her words distorted by the metal clamps attached to her jaws. “I’ll do
anything you want! I’ll be good!”

The men laughed, and Cori forced herself to give a hollow laugh as well. The thing drove deep, at least a foot into her slim young
body, then began to pump in and out. At the same time another of the arms moved, this one holding a studded metal cock which thrust deep
into the girl’s anus. Another scream and sob of despair erupted from the girl as it buried itself in her rectum, then began to twist and
turn and pump in and out.

Two more metal arms rose beneath her. At the end of each was a dozen thin metal fingers each ending in a rubber suction cup. They
closed around her taut, bloated breasts and began to knead them while a narrow tube pressed in around her nipples and began to such
rhythmically.

The cock thing in the girl’s anus pulled out, the arm hissing as it drew the thing up and back. A second arm thrust an even fatter
metal cock down into her rectum, and Cori winced internally as she saw the strain on the girl’s anal opening.

“Bet you’d like to try my little toy out, eh, Billings?” Abrams sneered.

“But you do such a good job, Mr. Abrams,” she said. “Why would I need a machine?”

There were sneers from the others, the techs who were jealous they couldn’t touch her, but Abrams merely sniffed, having no real
reply.

The fat cock in the girl’s belly were pumping faster, tearing up her insides. She’d be heavily bruised or worse after this.


Excerpt..

His hands moved instinctively to her breasts as she kissed him, then she brought the stim tube to her lips, drew the smoke into her

mouth. She kissed him again, blowing the smoke into his. Unlike her, he drew it in deep, grunting in satisfaction as it set his lungs

tingling.


"Are you feeling nice, sweetie?" she cooed, bringing the tube to his lips.


"Yeahhhhhh," he sighed softly.


She let her hands massage his chest.


"Captain?"


He grunted.


"The next time we're near Epsilon Prime, do you think maybe I could go down with you?"


His eyes didn't open but his lips curled up into a smile.


"You don't get enough on Panther?" he chuckled.


"Just to see new stuff, Captain," she said idly.


"Epsilon isn't for you, baby," he muttered, dull eyed. "It's an evil place full of evil bastards and cheap whores."


"Then we'd fit right in," she said brightly.


He chuckled softly, kneading her breasts.


"Think you're gonna make your fortune at the Style racks, baby?"


"May-be," She drew the word out.


"And what would you do with it?"


"I dunno, what's anyone do with money?"


"You ain't anyone. Epsilon ain't for you."


"I'd be good," she promised poutily.


"Too much trouble," he said in a grunt. "Ain't many women out this far, and damn few look like you. I take you down there... “His eyes

moved up and down her body "I'd have every two-bit twerp with an ache in his pants wanting the loan of you, half of them willing to gut me

to take you away."


He drew in a deep breath from the stim tube and laid his head back with a groan.


"I can, you know, dress down," she said.


He smiled again, staring up at the ceiling. "You can't hide what you've got, baby, not for long. An old toothless hag would be enough

to cause murder down there." He drew his head forward, eyes blinking as he inspected her elfin face. He blew out a deep breath and chuckled.

"They got a look at this soft warm white flesh and all hell'd break loose."


"They must have some women here," she said in irritation.


"This isn't the Argon sector, Cori, where Hudson Bay whipped along plush routes between Cluster planets. There ain't nothing here but

agricultural and mining combines. Men work twelve hours a day, seven days a week for the combines. It's pure muscle work. There's no room

for women, and sure as hell no room for kids. Fact is, if this was two years ago when Panther needed a new engine and we had damn all in

credits I'd bring you and the whores down, rent a room, and put you on your backs for all comers for whatever they'd pay. Five minutes a

pop. We'd have them lined up for miles."


She stiffened at his words, and drew back.


"Make enough for a new engine in a few days," he said, chuckling weakly and laying his head back against the seat again.


He didn't notice the ice in her eyes as he sucked contentedly from the stim tube.


Panther had begun life as a destroyer. She had six torpedo tubes in her bow and an engine which could once outrace almost anything in

space. The six tubes in her stern had been removed, along with all the equipment and crew which supported them, to make room for more cargo

holds. Since her last naval crew had mutinied she had raided shipping in the frontier sectors of the slowly expanding Terran Empire.


To galactic east was a gaggle of mostly single system governments, everything from hereditary kingdoms to theocracies to military

dictatorships. All of them were heavily armed, but none of them showed much concern with happenings beyond their borders, and there were a

lot of empty systems to traverse between one and another. Panther had begun taking advantage of that in the last year, and was doing much

better because of it. The torpedoes she was now carrying were a generation ahead of the ones she'd had only a year before. True, they were

still simple nukes, not gravitonics, but their guidance and EMC systems were impressive for a frontier raider. The engines had recently been

overhauled and the control systems steadied, and she now had something which approached a backup environmental system, an unheard of luxury

only a few years earlier.


She was designed for a crew of one hundred and twenty nine. She carried sixty two, some of them of uncertain status, like Cori, and

twenty-one coolies, men brought aboard from low-tech worlds, mostly willingly, to do the scut work of maintenance. She also had a few

“whores”, pretty young women taken off ships Panther had pirated. Few of them lasted long. Some killed themselves, some were killed by

angry, drunken crewmen, and others were offloaded somewhere, sold to other pirates or combine managers. The only things Cori ever did aboard

Panther which she remembered with shame were the episodes with those captives, when she was forced to act the part of the uncaring,

cold-hearted crew-member and laugh at their abuse.


Never show weakness, never show fear. And if you had a heart make sure it was walled in ice where no one could see it.


She passed one of the coolies in his red jumpsuit, on his knees working on an air conduit. He looked up at her hungrily but did not

move or speak. If he annoyed her she could put a gravity knife through him and the other crewmen would just laugh. She was crew now, after

all, even if she weren't entirely trusted by some of the officers. And she was as close to expert with a gravity knife as the ship had,

courtesy of Tal McGregor, a missile tech who had exchanged lessons for access to her body.


Grover was right. She had no need of money. What she wanted she traded her body for. She had been stupid to even suggest otherwise.

She would only need money if she were planning to leave Panther and the last thing she wanted was for Grover to think she was even thinking

along those lines. She had spent years convincing him she had no interest in leaving, painting a portrait of a girl who had been abused by a

violent father, and had no other relatives in a cold, uncaring universe to turn to. He believed her, or seemed to, but had yet to allow her

to leave the ship, even with him to watch her.


Eventually he would relent, or his successor would. Eventually she would find a way to get off this tub and blow it up behind her.

There were escape pods, and ways to play with the drive that would -- but that was a last resort, one of those plans sliding around the back

of her mind waiting the right set of circumstances.


She entered her quarters, a small steel box barely longer than her. She was the only non officer to have her own quarters, a sign of

status, and, of course, an acknowledgement that she'd get no sleep in with any other crew members.


Not that she slept there. She hadn't occupied her bunk in weeks. She slept with one or another of the officers each night, tolerating

their not always unpleasant grunting and fondling and humping in exchange for placating whatever ill-feelings they might have about her.
/>

Of the six officers, two were likeable, and, under other circumstances, might have turned out to be reasonably good men. Two were

cyphers, speaking little, showing little emotion, doing their jobs and having sex with her with equal lack of emotion. And then there was

Sub-lieutenant Abrams and Lieutenant Parnel, sly, sleazy, cowardly, vicious, vindictive weasels, the both of them. She disliked them more

than anyone else on Panther, for their cruelty was unpredictable, and they had ambition. She spent more effort playing up to them than she

did to the other four, and did her best to appear both stupid and harmless around them.


And, of course, there was Lieutenant Wayne. Wayne was the most dangerous man on the ship. He had killed two officers and three crew

for a variety of reasons, and no one dared cross him. He had been the worst of them during her first months aboard Panther. Most of the crew

were simple and crude. Wayne was neither. Wayne had not been nearly as interested in her body as he had been in her mind. She had watched

him with other female captives over the years, and had found his attitude unchanging. He toyed with them and hurt them, not so much their

bodies as their minds. He was like a sadistic child plucking the wings off butterflies. He humiliated, degraded and broke them - and then

lost interest.


He had lost interest in her when she had stopped showing fear or embarrassment or even care at the things he did to her. When she

responded with dull-eyed obedience and nothing more. He was not one of the officers she slept with now, except on rare occasions when he was

feeling up to having another try at degrading her, shocking her, or sticking her out. She was grateful for that. It took a lot to hide her

hatred of him when he got close, and putting up with his sexual games on a regular basis was likely to push her closer to doing something

desperate.


She did not like to think about what he would do if he took over from Grover. It was easily possible he had been forced to keep his

sport toned down so as to not rob the others of their own pleasure. Freed of such considerations he might put the Marquis de Sade to shame,

and she was the most likely subject for him to start in on.


But desperation had gotten her nowhere in her early years. Cold-blooded planning was her only hope, and making use of anything -

including her body - which might help her bring her plans to fruition. Her long term plans were unchanged - getting off Panther and seeing

every man aboard die in pain and despair. Her short term plan was, at the moment, stopping Wayne from getting the captaincy.


She unlocked her clothes cupboard and examined the contents briefly. Most were left behind by previous female captives, picked up in

shopping expeditions by whatever man she could encourage to buy things for her, or altered from standard crew gear. For the most part it was

all too tight, low cut, or revealing for her liking, but there was little she could do about that.


The vest, for example, was too tight, too short, and too open at the sides and middle. Her pants were too tight, too low slung and too

thin. She tried to dress like a woman who was just incidentally revealing bits and pieces of herself. As far as the crew were concerned she

loved sex, and loved showing herself off.


Sex and her attractiveness were weapons for her, as well as her protection.


Besides, Grover was right. Dressing up in a baggy jumpsuit would not have lowered the interest of the male crew in getting their hands

on her. It would not have freed her of the need to placate the officers who wanted her, or of playing up to Grover.


And it would make it harder for her to use her assets in the most efficient manner possible.


She stripped and stepped into the sonic shower, washing off the smell of Grover and considering her options. Normally a First Officer

had little chance of winning an election if it were even close to fair. The First Officer was in charge of discipline, and by the time the

captaincy came up there were too many crewmen who remembered being put in the shock box or on slag duty by Jimmy the One.


But Wayne was clever. He had had a lot to do with Panther's new state of wealth, and had made sure word of that got down to the crew.

Any time now, once her refitting was finally complete Panther would be heading for greener pastures, where she could take out the fast,

modern freighters who raced between the Cluster worlds. Seizing just one of those and then selling her would bring every man aboard Panther

a fortune, enough to stay drunk or zoned for a year.


There were more than a few crew looking forward to him taking over, and she had to do her best to dissuade them.


The black pants were tight and clingy, the leather like material turned sheer just below her groin, and all the way up her hips...

Atop them she wore a thin halter which pulled her breasts together from the sides and pushed them up from beneath - offering them up for

inspection in the deep cleavage. She dangled her gravity knife prominently from the front of her belt and headed up the corridor, then down

the lift to the lower sections of the ship, where the cargo bays and docking ports were located.


And where the slave girls were kept. She reminded herself of that as a hatch opened up the corridor and she briefly heard a miserable

cry of pain before the hatch closed once again. She steeled herself to ignore it even as she approached the hatch and passed it on her way

to the cargo office.


The hatch opened again and she stiffened as a voice called out to her.


She turned, bracing her face into casualness. It was Sub-Lieutenant Abrams, and he was half scazzed as he leaned against the open

hatch. “C’mere, Billings,” he drawled, gesturing bonelessly.


She strode back, fighting to keep her distaste from her face. Abrams was a geek, and a mean one who hated women. Probably been turned

down by every woman who ever came near who had a choice, she thought sourly.


“Wanna see what I built?” he asked with a leer.


He didn’t wait for her to answer, but took her wrist and yanked her into the compartment after him. There were several more men there,

including Sub-Lieutenant Parnel, another sleaze, and a couple of senior techs. They were slouched against the walls, laughing at what

occupied the centre of the room. Cori looked, felt startled, then shocked, but forced her face to look amused.


One of the slave girls was there. She wasn’t surprised by that. She was surprised at the depths of depravity she was witnessing,

though. It had taken Abrams considerable time and effort to bring a perverted idea like this to reality.


There was a wide post in the centre of the room, and a number of strong metal arms protruded from it in various directions. The girl,

a tiny, big breasted blondes who was barely nineteen, Cori knew, was bent, belly down over the post. Clamps on the ends of the metal arms

held her ankles down and well apart. Each of her toes was encased in a narrow metal ring which spread them apart and, she guessed, pulled

them painfully outward.


Her arms were pulled straight down and shackled in place. Her hair was tied with wire into a thick braid and pulled straight up,

holding her head horizontal. There were metal bands around the base of the girl’s heavy breasts, squeezing them down like fat, red balloons,

Thinner, smaller bands circled her fat nipples, squeezing them out like dark red raspberries.


Her jaw was lined with metal clamps jammed in beneath her teeth on either side of her mouth. In her bent over position her bottom and

sex were lewdly visible and vulnerable, and a half dozen powered arms rose behind her, each containing a menacing looking implement.


Even as Cori watched one of them, under the guidance of a control wand Parnel was holding, rose and turned in. On its end was a fat,

thick, ringed and studded metal - Cori fought off terms like “cock” or “dildo” and decided to call it a torture device instead. It certainly

wasn’t designed to give sexual pleasure.


As she watched, the fat metal thing thrust itself against the girl’s sex opening and with machinelike strength pushed unhesitantly

through into her body. She screamed in pain as her sex lips were roughly stretched wide, as the fat ringed metal cock drove up through her

belly with brusque efficiency, filling her utterly.


“Please! Please!” she sobbed, her voice filled with pain, her words distorted by the metal clamps attached to her jaws. “I’ll do

anything you want! I’ll be good!”


The men laughed, and Cori forced herself to give a hollow laugh as well. The thing drove deep, at least a foot into her slim young

body, then began to pump in and out. At the same time another of the arms moved, this one holding a studded metal cock which thrust deep

into the girl’s anus. Another scream and sob of despair erupted from the girl as it buried itself in her rectum, then began to twist and

turn and pump in and out.


Two more metal arms rose beneath her. At the end of each was a dozen thin metal fingers each ending in a rubber suction cup. They

closed around her taut, bloated breasts and began to knead them while a narrow tube pressed in around her nipples and began to such

rhythmically.


The cock thing in the girl’s anus pulled out, the arm hissing as it drew the thing up and back. A second arm thrust an even fatter

metal cock down into her rectum, and Cori winced internally as she saw the strain on the girl’s anal opening.


“Bet you’d like to try my little toy out, eh, Billings?” Abrams sneered.


“But you do such a good job, Mr. Abrams,” she said. “Why would I need a machine?”


There were sneers from the others, the techs who were jealous they couldn’t touch her, but Abrams merely sniffed, having no real

reply.


The fat cock in the girl’s belly were pumping faster, tearing up her insides. She’d be heavily bruised or worse after this.


Reviews

I quite enjoyed this one and look forward to the further adventures of... 4 out of 5 (ojim)

Best Selling Books This Year By Argus

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Author Information

Argus is a man with long experience and credits in the publishing world. He has had almost two hundred novels published in the United Kingdom and The United States, by such publishers as Beeline, Star, Nexus, Chimera, Silver Moon, and Olympia. He has also been published in dozens of magazines.

 


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 Publishers Suite   

Affiliate Program

Contact Us

Terms and Conditions

Protection Policy

Privacy Policy

Refund Policy

This Site Owned By Fiction4All - Copyright Ó 2015