Behind the Sun, Ch. 02 SeXStoRY

She woke in a small, cramped, urine-smelling cage among what looked like a dozen or so other naked, attractive young women between approximately eighteen and twenty-eight years of age and of an even mix of races. Each girl had her own cage, but the cage itself was only about five-by-five-by-five feet in dimensions, which meant that few of the girls could come to a full standing position. Her arms were chained behind her back and her feet chained approximately a foot apart, which would have made her incapable of anything faster than a slow shuffle had she been able to stand or walk in the first place. Her neck was sore as though she had pulled a muscle, but she did not feel d**gged. She looked down at herself with a stiff neck and noticed that the cold air of the ship (for surely that was what it was) had made her puffy, light-coloured nipples rise to full erection. What was this? Obviously she had been abducted for f***ed prostitution abroad, like the urban legends, but surely that couldn’t happen here, on a construction site in the Montreal suburbs. Didn’t things like that only happen to runaways and d**g addicts in urban centres? Part of her wanted to follow her instincts and scream, try to escape, even give her life to save her dignity, but her rational side appealed against such desperate measures. No, it was more logical to wait, to plan, to speak with the girls in adjacent cages to find out first of all where the HELL they were! She scrambled over to the left side of her cage, where a tall, voluptuous ginger girl with extremely large breasts was pressing her face against the bars. “Where are we?” she demanded without preamble. After all, this was not a situation that required polite introductions. “I have no goddamn idea,” said the girl in a smoker’s rasp. “Got here the same way you did, didn’t I?” Victoria nodded. “Fair point. Sorry to be so rude.” “No, that’s okay. I was just as panicked as you when I got here.” “When you got here,” said Victoria with a frown, “How long have you been here?” “Hour or two, maybe. You want more info you should talk to Danika over on your right. She’s been here for like, twelve hours or something.” The ginger girl paused briefly, her eyes on Victoria’s black-haired crotch. “By the way, did you know you’re bleeding?” Victoria froze and looked down. “That can’t be! I’m at least two weeks from my period!” Then she felt the sting in her vagina and labia that had heretofore been suppressed by adrenaline. “Oh, god,” she said in a dull, quiet voice. “I’ve been r**ed, haven’t I?” The other girl nodded with a look of pity on her face. “Looks like. And pretty hard, too, unless you’re a virgin.” Victoria shook her head, trying to hold back tears. “No, but I haven’t had sex in two years. That’s bound to have tightened me up.” “Look,” said the redhead in a compassionate voice. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know. I’m like, a couple feet away from you, after all. My name’s Carla, by the way,” she added, almost as an afterthought. Victoria stuck her hand through the bars. “Thanks. I’m Victoria, but you can call me Tori if you like. “Good to meet you, Tori,” said Carla, shaking her hand more firmly than one would in an ordinary situation, almost as though she were offering comfort. “I don’t know if Danika knows anything, but I guess you could try her and see if she knows where the fuck we are.” Tori nodded. “I’ll do that.” She crawled over to the bars and addressed the tall, thin black girl with a dreadlocked ponytail who sat pressed against the bars, watching Tori and Carla’s conversation. “Hey, d’you-” Her statement was interrupted by a loud, gruff voice speaking in a foreign accent that did not seem to belong to any defined ethnicity. “No talking, sluts, or you’ll feel my lash on your pretty paps!” Danika shrank against the far wall of her cage, a terrified look on her face. Tori could now see dark-red welts on her small, coffee-coloured breasts. Tori took her implicit advice and also adopted a submissive position. There was no good in getting injured in such a dirty environment, where her wounds would be likely to become infected. She heard the tramp of heavy boots approaching this line of cages and snuck a look through the bars to see a pair of tremendous feet clad in dirty, crudely sewn black leather boots with rudimentary hobnails on the metal soles. There was not a trace of either plastic or rubber in them, and they looked as though they had come from five hundred years in the past. The pillar-like legs above them were just as anachronistically encased in heavy, navy-blue hemp cloth with riveted black leather chaps and, far above her crouched position, almost at the level of the top of the cage, bulged an enormous codpiece of black leather. She could not help but wince at the sight of that codpiece. If that was what had r**ed her, there was no wonder that she had bled! When erect, that monster must be at least eight inches long! The legs flexed at the waist and a dirty, bulbous-nosed, blond-bearded face loomed over her cage, its gap-toothed mouth opened in a brownish grin and its small blue-grey eyes crinkled with laughter. “I see you are awake, little slut. I must say I enjoyed your nice little heat! Tight as a glana, but already opened, so I got to enjoy your sweetness on my rod.” Victoria did not know the words “heat” and “glana”, but she could make a good guess. She prudently lowered her head and curled up so that her arms and legs covered her breasts, and at least some of her folds. The hideous brute continued his discussion. “I like my sluts small. They have the tightest quims and no blubber to make ‘em slothful or height to make ‘em uppity. A little slave knows where she stands. She knows that old Vorkarm could break her tiny neck in an ihn if he pleases. But it’s nice when they have big paps, too. Gives me something to hold on to while I use ‘em, like reins on a tharlarion. A slut won’t fight when I’ve got hold of her paps. Well, enough chit-chat. It’s feeding time, and I won’t have my catch dying on me like that idiot Golham. The clod lost four of his twelve on the last voyage; it’s small wonder the Kurii killed him.” A key turned in the lock on the door of her cage, and she shrank as far away from the entrance as she could. It was remarkable how quickly v******e could change a tough, educated 21st-century woman into a cringing b**st. She rationalised it of course. A beating or another r**e could open her up to infection and a horrible death. Yes, that was logical, wasn’t it? Or was it cowardly? Vorkarm laughed at her obvious fear. “Never fear, slave! I’m feeding your pretty face with gruel, not your wet little heat with my truncheon. I fed the others while you were down, so now it’s your turn. Oh, I’d stuff your heat again if I could, but duty before pleasure! Now eat your slave-gruel and hold your tongue like the miserable slut you are.” He gave her one last evil grin and said quietly, “By the by, your quim was juiced when I pounded it!” Victoria fought back tears of shame. Was he telling the truth? Could her long spate of sexual deprivation have made her body betray her while she was unconscious, making her wet against her will for any kind of penetration, consensual or not? But she had bled, she could not have been very aroused! Yet perhaps it was not unreadiness that had made her bleed, but merely the size of his tool and the f***e with which he had used it. After all, she had never had rod nor dildo larger than six inches. She clenched her teeth in rage and shame, but controlled herself and turned to the metal bowl of greyish, lumpy gruel. It certainly looked unappetising, but she hadn’t eaten since noon, and it must be nearing nine or ten o’clock in the evening. She tried to bring her chained hands in front of her by stepping over them like an escape-artist so that she could eat with her hands, but she had no room to manoeuvre and her hands were chained so tightly that even her admirable flexibility could not shift their position enough to allow her legs. It looked as though she had no choice but to eat with her face in the bowl like an a****l. Outwardly resigned, but inwardly raging against her captors, her situation and herself, she placed her face near the bowl and began to lap and suck up the gruel as delicately as she could. It tasted like cold, overcooked oatmeal with a hint of the metallic medicinal flavour found in vitamin supplements and a strong overtone of fish. She did not gag, she had too much self-control for that, but the experience was decidedly unpleasant. When she had licked up as much as she could, she wiped her mouth on her arm and sat back against the far wall of the cage, lost in brooding thought.