It costs men one hundred credits if they want to have sex with me. I do all of the work, but of the earnings, I keep zero. An average of twenty men per day – that’s two thousand credits a day, from each slave. It’s not surprising that the brothels on the Hub are very lucrative, and can afford to use their profit to buy the highest quality slaves.
The Hub never sleeps, and outsiders on pleasure trips arrive here at all hours. So we work in shifts – sixteen hours on duty, eight hours to rest. I see the other Dystyr female – Illonya – during the overlap of our hours. Being of the same species we’re naturally drawn together, by shared understanding of the experience and the disgrace suffered by a captive Dystyr woman.
Competition between the brothels is fierce, so during our hours in service, we are displayed prominently to attract customers. The front of our establishment, open to the Hub’s Mezzanine level, comprises a row of vertical cages, much like an upright coffin in their proportions, marking the boundary of the venue. We must stand in these cages for hours at a time, nude. A session in the cages starts off being reasonably bearable, but become terribly uncomfortable, with the alloy bars permitting no resting position for tired legs. Furthermore, it’s difficult to reposition our arms quickly in the confined space, and that makes us very vulnerable. The gangs of marauding males on their vacation trips like to tease us, pinching and prodding, and enjoying a free grope of a woman’s defenseless body, until Jabal gets annoyed with our wailing and tells them they must pay, or leave.
But we all prefer the serving in the cages to the final part of the boundary – the wall. A high wooden structure, it is configured with hinged openings, located at the height of an adult female’s waist. One opening is cut to fit the torso, and two are just large enough for a woman’s wrists. Leaning forward, one of us is locked into this wall for every shift, her body bisected by the woodwork, her arms trapped at her sides. The woodwork prevents the victim seeing anything of their lower body, and with the position pushing their rear out behind them, whoever is in the wall feels horribly vulnerable.
On my first time in there, a man raped me, and I never even saw his face. I don’t know if he paid. His fingers were there first, without warning, and then his penis was inside me. The wall blocks the view from staff in the brothel of our upper bodies, so in the wall we’re even more vulnerable than in the cages. It’s rare to make it through a shift without some drunken imbecile rushing up, and laughing just like his actions are all some college prank, he will jerk off over the unlucky girl’s face. One day without warning a stranger struck me hard enough to knock me out, and I woke up in the back room being healed.
So when someone wants to rape me back in one of the private rooms, it’s almost a relief.
The session of anal sex with the man who said I was something special is quite brief, and thirty minutes later he’s down a hundred credits, and I’m standing back in the cage with a sore backside.
A Dystyr male approaches my cage next, but he decides he prefers Illonya, who is the hapless female in the wall today. Taking the woman while still in the wall is cheaper, as the house is saved the time of moving her to and from the private rooms. Perhaps this male is on a budget.
To my shame, I’m relieved when he chooses her instead of me.
A downside of Dystyr society is that the beta males, those who are not genetically strong enough to gather a group of women, still harbor the fantasies of having sex with a Dystyr female. On our homeworld there are some prostitutes who provide this experience, but some males prefer to travel offworld and pay to force themselves on a Dystyr slave.
It is considered a disgrace in our society for a woman to mate with an inferior male – she demeans herself, genetically speaking. Most societies look down on prostitutes, but it’s particularly the case with Dystyr women who sell sex, so it is not the finest examples of our womanhood who seek the profession. Still, they are better than me. I find the shame of my status unbearable each time that one of my own kind arrives at the Flower Garden.
“Where is Coora? We saw her on the networks. How much for Coora?”
Dystyr males want inside my head, and I’m compelled by the implant to answer their questions. Who are your family? Do they know you’re a sex slave? What is it like fucking us? What arouses you? Tell me about your past.
I usually prefer sex with the human males, for at least there, there is less social stigma, but the next human male who wants me is more humiliating than usual, for he already has a female with him. She wears the much-envied blue wrap and ankle bracelet, that identifies her as a private slave. These are women who are not under the authority of Aghara-Penthay.
It is not unheard of for free women to desire to visit the Hub. They might do it to please their partner, or they might hold a secret submissive nature, and yearn to experience slavery briefly, before returning to their normal lives. The wrap of a private slave hides as little as the red wrap, and some enjoy being the object of so many hungry eyes. But as every woman on the territory of Aghara-Penthay is automatically property, and slave, those who come willingly still cannot visit without a registered owner. The ankle bracelet, impossible to remove once locked into place, carries the information on her and her registration, much like an implant, and similarly can be used to track her, making her status permanent should the relationship falter.
Nonetheless, there are women eager to entrust themselves to a male companion, one who will become their owner and take them on one of the shuttles visiting the Hub. Some of these women choose poorly. It is common for men to sell their companions out, and the unlucky female finds her slavery becomes very real.
This one who wears blue is prettyish in a homespun way, brunette, a few years older than me. Her face is flushed with excitement.
“What about this girl, Navar?” she says to her companion.
It is male appetites that are responsible for the existence of worlds like Aghara-Penthay, and yet I find myself despising these women almost as much as their men. Studying politics, it’s common to come across individuals who take a sabbatical to a planet in poverty or crisis, because they want to witness the desperation. They seek out the experience, smearing themselves in the suffering of others because they know they’re safe to return soon enough to their privileged existences. The women in the blue wraps remind me of them.
These blue women crave to fully understand my universe, to augment their thrill. So in the private room, it’s not enough for them to have a threesome with an alien female who is unable to refuse them. They want to hear what it’s like, as though my miserable reality is nothing but the subject of some tawdry erotic fantasy. In a day or two, they’ll be back in their careers, drinking ethanol with their trusted girlfriends, showing them the unmistakable bracelet they have to conceal in the office, telling them about a sex slave named Coora.
But Navar has paid for the use of me. So I kiss his female, with genuine desire, when I’m ordered to do so. I let her suckle at my nipples. I use my tongue to arouse her. After her man has fucked us both, moving back and forth between penetrating one woman and then the next, they go off to a bar, while back in the cage I’m left still taste her juices.
And that’s just the first few hours of today.
10 – Progress
Illonya’s experience of capture was much like mine, except she was taken by the Slavers in a ground attack. Trained as a veterinarian, fate took her to an agricultural planet on the fringes of the Republic, close to the jumble of independent spatial territories. Too close, it turned out, for it was a place where best the farm workers recruited were frequently healthy young women, and one of the independent territories nearby was Aghara-Penthay. There was nowhere to hide in the vast open planes, grazed by the beasts under Illonya’s care, when a pirate raiding vessel dropped out of her sky. The Slavers slaughtered almost all the male workers, and took all the females who had value as captives.
Illonya arrived at the Hub a virgin, but that didn’t last long when she was processed, auctioned and bought by the Flower Garden. She doesn’t know exactly how many days she’s been here, but fast approaching is the era of the third Rape Run she’s witnessed from slavery.
Common slaves come and go all the time, but when a woman is kidnapped for the Rape Run, she often draws a crowd as she’s taken through the Hub to the shuttles, and her fate on the surface. Illonya didn’t see every one of these – for example she doesn’t remember Melena de Santo arriving – the Republic fleet officer who, along with the bounty hunter Ja-Alixxe, escaped from the Rape Run 4452.
But with the Flower Garden holding so many Gaianesians, Illonya won’t forget the 4453 Run, where the alien females in the brothel wept as they saw their beloved leader, White Queen, parading to her Run in a cruel formation with her fellow citizens. Rape Runners remain unviolated – the Slavers know that virginity adds value when the losers go to auction, but this nicety does not apply to any women taken along with them. Gaianesians believe women are physically and intellectually superior to men, and a woman cannot have her arousal Reflex triggered unless a part of her secretly desires this. They learned the error of this viewpoint, when the Slavers allowed the mass rape of White Queen’s honor guard, while their leader was forced to watch.
In the prelude to the Rape Run 4454, another mass rape is permitted on the Hub. I personally witness this one, along with Illonya. The Runner at the center of the chaos is a female called Tisya. She leads a religious sect called the Djenerion, who believe that only virgin women can access the enlightenment, and interpret it for the masses. Also, Djenerion believe only virgin females can access the most heavenly realms of the afterlife. The appeal to the Slavers was obvious.
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