Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen
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To Vice’s relief, the beach camp was largely unchanged when they finally reached it. Some fixtures had come loose in the violent winds of the storm, and a wide section of the camp wall was floating in the lake shallows about a metre from the shore, but their core shelter remained intact, and key equipment such as the fabricator appeared to be undamaged.
“Alright, girls,” said Vice, as they neared the camp. “I know you’re all exhausted from the hike, but we need to get the camp back in order by sundown. Don’t be lazy Laurels – I want the exterior wall back in place, I want the interior clear of debris, I want the main shelter tested for leaks, and if you have any time leftover I want to bring more wreckage down from the ship to reinforce our defences.”
Telea wouldn’t think of questioning him, and Cunt was still too humiliated and insecure from the conversion of her birth-name into an all-purpose insult to raise any objections. But Amy looked at him strangely, and Victoria actually spoke up.
“What are we defending against?” she asked. “What are you worried about?”
“Maybe nothing,” said Vice. “We’ll see. But it’s best we don’t take chances. Let’s get this done, girls.”
Whether he had intended it or not, Vice’s worry was contagious, and the girls worked without complaint. Vice worked alongside them, making use of Rospar to weld the wall section back into place, and he chose to use the nebulous fear the girls were feeling to reinforce the new realities of the castaway group.
“You’ve been playing at female submission, girls,” he told them, “but I trust our experiences in the cave have made it clear that the Galliard are paying attention. From now on you need to get it through your heads that for all intents and purposes, you ARE my sexual property. I will fuck you and rape you and hurt you whenever I want to, and you will not only let it happen, but you will thank me for it, because the alternative is trying to survive on this planet by yourself. Is that clear?”
He was near Victoria when he first said this, and she hesitated in replying, her face red and angry.
He leaned in close to her. “If you don’t like it, Victoria, you can leave the camp right now, and take your chances with the Rapehounds. Do we have a problem?”
She looked down at the ground. “No, sir.”
“And what are you, Victoria?” he asked her. “What can I do with you?”
“I am your sexual property, sir,” she mumbled. “You can rape me and hurt me when you want to.”
“Good girl,” said Vice.
And after that, none of the other girls gave him difficulty with that proposition, each agreeing with various levels of willingness, ranging from a sullen mumble from Cunt, to shy agreement from Amy, through to eager and loving enthusiasm from Telea.
And Vice had to admit to himself that he liked it. He liked owning these women. He liked raping them. He liked forcing them to do things that they didn’t want to do, and humiliating them, and bending them to his will. He did care for them, yes – and he would protect them with his life, if it came to that – and his desire to escape from Persephone Nine was real.
But also, he didn’t want to give them up. They were his property, and if he was honest with himself, he wanted to own them *forever*.
By the time the sun set, the camp was not only repaired, but marginally improved. And as darkness crept over Persephone Nine, the castaways discovered a new change that had come with the storm.
Up until now, the phosphorescence in the lake had glowed a pleasant purple colour at night. But now it had taken on an ominous red glow, that made the entire camp seem to be lit by the light of distant fires.
And as Vice and the women gathered at the shore to stare at this new phenomenon, for a moment Vice thought he saw something *move* on the surface of the lake, a long distance out from shore. Was that… a tentacle? A huge, monstrous limb?
He looked around, but none of the girls showed signs of having noticed it. He thought of how Amy and Telea had blithely waded into the water earlier to retrieve the missing section of wall, and shuddered. He would have to be more careful about letting the girls go near the lake.
In any case, when Rospar examined the water, his instruments declared it to be functionally identical to how it had been before they left . It would still provoke the same reactions in the women, and it had no new dangerous qualities. As best as Rospar could tell, the bioluminescent organisms in the water had merely gone through some kind of seasonal change, triggered by the storm.
The crew ate dinner, and then Vice had Amy deliver a sermon from the Book of Galliard. He called Telea over to suck his cock as Amy spoke, and Telea was delighted to nestle in his lap and suckle on her penis as she listened to the misogynistic words. He noted that the sermon seemed to make Telea happy. The religion of the Galliard was giving her purpose and certainty, making her feel better in her identity as a lesbian who had allowed herself to be willingly enslaved to Vice’s cock.
“Women are empty vessels,” read Amy. “They are defined by their emptiness and hollowness. A woman’s womb is an empty vessel, waiting to be filled by a man’s baby. A woman’s fuckhole is an empty tube, waiting to be filled by a man’s cock. A woman is happiest when her holes are filled. Only then does she have worth. Only then does she have a purpose.”
Vice watched the faces of Cunt and Victoria for any sign that they weren’t listening closely, but they seemed to be paying attention, albeit sullenly. They didn’t like these misogynistic speeches – but their own position seemed to confirm the truth of them. Naked, horny, subservient to Vice’s will and in need of his protection and stewardship. It was impossible for them to feel like independent, intelligent women when their tits were bound with pretty ribbons and they had masturbated multiple times to the rape of their fellow females.
“A woman’s brain is an empty vessel, where meaningless noise bounces around, disguised as thoughts. This noise only makes a woman unhappy, and she only becomes happy when her brain is filled by the thoughts of a man. A woman’s mouth is an empty vessel, waiting to receive whatever a man chooses to put in it, and a woman’s stomach is an empty vessel, made useful when it receives a man’s fluids. A woman’s tits are empty vessels, designed to fill and swell with milk once a man impregnates her. A woman’s ears are empty vessels, that only become happy when they are filled with the sound of men’s voices.”
Vice noted that Amy’s face was red, and to understand why he only had to look down at her pussy. Amy was visibly wet, and Vice had no doubt Amy would be rubbing her pussy if her collar would allow her to. He didn’t know if she was aroused by the degrading words she was reading, or simply due to a fresh dose of the tainted lake water – and he liked the idea that Amy didn’t know either.
He looked across at Cunt and Victoria, and saw that both were also trying to hide some level of sexual arousal.
“A woman has no soul,” said Amy. “Only men, and some male animals, are blessed with souls. Women are objects, like tools or rocks, and the only thing that elevates them above their fellow objects is the interest and benevolence of men. They are receptacles for male sperm and incubators of babies, and they should not be treated as if they have sentience, desires, or opinions.”
And then Amy led the girls in a chorus of affirmations. Vice pushed Telea off his cock so that she could speak along with the other women.
“I have no soul. I am an object. I am a receptacle for sperm. I have no sentience. I have no desires. I have no opinions.”
Afterwards, it was time for the girls to choose someone for Vice to rape, and they chose Victoria. Vice sent the command to their collars so the other girls could masturbate as they watched him rape the raven-haired beauty, and Vice was careful to make his violation of Victoria particularly objectifying . He said not a word to her, refused to make eye-contact, slapped her across her face and tits, and fucked her as though she were the kind of object described in the text.
In truth, Vice found Victoria sexiest when she was crying, and her distress at her rape was intensely arousing to him. But what was even hotter was how she accepted it, barely struggling against him, as if she had accepted that this was her fate, and her place, and that it was only right and just that Vice should rape her.
He ejaculated into her in due course, and then told her to dig his cum out of her snatch and put it in the mouths of Amy and Cunt. He left them to share the taste of his sperm, fresh from Victoria’s pussy, and retired to the shelter with Telea to sleep.
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A little after midnight, he woke up to the feel of Telea’s hand stroking his cock. He smiled, and let her guide him into her pussy, for an exquisitely slow, beautiful fuck. He thought she came twice against his dick before he eventually orgasmed again himself, and afterwards they lay there, with his cock still inside her.
“I love you, sir,” whispered Telea dreamily.
“I love you too, slut,” he replied.
And they fell asleep together, intimately entwined.
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In the morning, the Galliard came.
They stood on the beach outside the camp, and their leader made a high whooping sound, something like a cross between an air raid siren and the howl of a wolf, that instantly woke Vice and all four of his girls.
Vice quickly passed stun guns to each of the girls, and took one for himself, before scrambling to the top of the camp barricade to view these new arrivals.
There were twelve of them in total – eight males and four females.
Six of the men were armed, with what looked like heavy blaster rifles – potentially capable of smashing holes in the camp’s makeshift defences with only a single shot. But it wasn’t the guns that first drew Vice’s attention. It was the male Galliard themselves.
He had known from Rospar that the Galliard were post-humanists, with a philosophy of eugenics and genetic modification. He had seen their work in the body of Female Pig, which had been crafted into almost a caricature of femininity, with her thin waist and balloon-like breasts. He had naively assumed that the Galliard men might similarly be a cartoon of traditional masculinity – bulging muscles, strong jaws, foot-long cocks.
Well, he had been right about the cocks. The Galliard clearly disdained clothes, and the dicks swinging between their thighs were indeed of monstrous length. But as for the rest…
The Galliard men stood eight foot tall. Their skin was covered with a soft fur, somewhere between the pelt of a gorilla, and the curly hair that might grown on a man’s chest. The colouration of the fur varied from man to man, from horse-black, to wolf-grey, to the tawny brown of a lion or the russet red of a fox. Their bodies were muscled in a way that suggested not only traditional human strength, but also other talents. Their hands were as nimble as a human’s – and their feet clearly moreso – and each finger and toe ended in a retractable claw. (The leader was idly extending and retracting his claws even as Vice watched, though Vice was unclear whether this was intended to intimidate, or merely a display of nervous energy.)
And their faces! Each Galliard man had a different bestial appearance. The leader had a face that was recognisably human, but his ears were enlarged and pointed, his teeth sharpened and his canines prominent, and his yellow eyes had the unnerving pupils of a cat. Others among the group had full dog-like muzzles, or whiskers, or manes and long shaggy beards of fur. They had transformed themselves into monsters, or animals – or worse.
And yet Vice’s women didn’t seem to think they were monsters. Victoria’s mouth had fallen open in amazement, and Amy was breathing quickly next to him. All four women were visibly aroused, and seemed unable to take their eyes from the Galliard.
Pheromones, Vice realised. The Galliard men emitted pheromones, designed to provoke submission and arousal in women. A useful tool for keeping control of their patriarchal society.
He looked quickly at his women again. Was this conflict over before it began? Would his harem of sluts immediately betray him to worship at the cocks of these post-human monstrosities?
No. Each woman had a strong grip on her gun, and mixed with the women’s arousal was a very real sense of terror. They did not want these Galliard men to touch them, no matter how much their pussies might be involuntarily throbbing.
And they had reason to fear, based on the women the Galliard had brought.
Female Pig stood near the front, her swollen tits bound at the base with rope, and her nipples leaking milk. The breasts showed recent signs of bruising – she had been recently punished.
The second and third women were crawling on all fours, collared and leashed, being led by a male Galliard with pig-like features. Their mouths were gagged, and weights hung from clamps on their nipples and clitoris. One was visibly crying from pain.
And the fourth woman was *mounted*, onto the chest of a Galliard standing to one side of the leading male. Vice guessed the Galliard to be a second-in-command of some sort. The poor redhead woman he was carrying was strapped to his chest, tits inwards, her legs wrapped around his waist, and her cunt impaled on his erect cock. Vice noted that fully eight inches of the beast’s foot-long cock was inside the woman, and she was bounced violently atop his dick with every step that he took. He seemed to pay no attention to the needs or comfort of the woman, wearing her as he might wear an article of clothing.
Vice looked across the assembled Galliard. They did not look friendly.
“Good morning, friends,” he said. “I regret that we didn’t know to expect you, or we would have prepared a welcome.”
The Galliard leader looked up at Vice – although he didn’t have to look far. His head was level with the barricade top.
“You are Vice,” he said, and it wasn’t clear if it was a question or a statement.
“I am,” said Vice, warily. “Captain Jayson Vice of the starship Cinnabar Hawk, a private trading vessel. I apologise for our forced landing on your world, and we intend to leave as soon as rescue comes.”
The Galliard men all laughed. Their voices were a strange mix – all human, and yet their mouths and throats made their laughter sound bestial and inhuman.
“There is no rescue on Persephone Nine,” said the leader. “No one will find you here, Jayson Vice.
Vice shivered – but he kept his face locked in a genial smile.
“Then we shall have to rely on Galliard hospitality,” he said. “I trust Female Pig has given a favourable report on us?”
The leader ignored his question. “Your bitches have guns, Jayson Vice,” he said. “Why do you permit your animals to go armed?”
“Is there a problem with mounting weapons on objects I own?” replied Vice. “It’s a dangerous beach, friend. Some days ago we had a tussle with Rapehounds.”
The leader’s face twisted in what Vice thought was a smile.
“We have been watching you,” he said. “There has been… signs of promise. But then there is the matter of the testing.”
Vice sense the girls alongside him tensing up. For a moment he was worried that Amy was going to say something – surely an unforgivable offence, to have a female speak for him, or to have a female disagree with a Galliard male. But she closed her mouth, and looked to Vice instead.
Vice was tired of waiting to hear the bad news.
“Why are you here, friend?” he asked.
The Galliard leader looked down at Female Pig, in a questioning way.
Female Pig pointed up, towards the barricade. Pointing at Cunt – the woman previously known as Laurel.
“That one,” she said.
The Galliard leader nodded. “This bitch of yours has failed the testing. We are here to take her for correction and adjustment. She will no longer be your property. You will surrender her.”
Vice looked at Cunt. She was terrified – her face pale, her hands shaking. As much as she hated Vice, she was looking at him now in desperation, begging him to protect her.
“Please, Vice,” she whispered. “You can’t.”
Vice looked around at the other girls. They were torn – but clearly they expected that Vice would hand Cunt over to the Galliard. They knew it was what was necessary to save them all.
The Galliard were bigger, the Galliard outnumbered them, and the Galliard had better guns. Real guns – guns that would not just stun, but *kill*.
If he gave them Cunt, they would leave, and that would be the end of it. The other girls, after all, had passed the testing. Vice would be allowed to keep his harem, and continue his existence on the beach, taking sexual favours from them at his whim, lord of his own domain.
He looked back at Cunt. She was crying.
He reached out and, gently, brushed a tear from her cheek.
Then he turned back to the Galliard.
“Well, that’s a difficulty,” he said. “Because these women are my property, and I’m not surrendering them to you, or to anyone else.”
He raised his gun to his shoulder, and sighted it.
“And if that’s a problem for you,” he said, “then you can kindly go fuck yourself.”
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