Story: Persephone Nine, Chapter 22 – The Galliard Camp

Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty | Twenty-One

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The final ascent to the Galliard camp was made via a kind of rope ladder, although in this case the “ropes” were made of some kind of tough braided metal wire.  Confidence didn’t wait to see whether Cunt could make the climb, and instead picked her up in one massive hand, tucked her under his arm, and began climbing using only his feet and spare hand.

Jayson followed along behind.

The ladder stretched up the side of the looming cliffs that separated the beach and jungle from the interior of the… island?  Peninsula?  Mainland?  Jayson realised how little he knew of the planet’s geography.

From the clifftop, once they reached it, Jayson was offered an unparalleled view.  He could even see the metal walls of the beach camp in the distance, and he wondered how the other girls of his castaway harem were doing.  

His cock stiffened a little at the thought.  Cunt was fun to rape – and her confession that she had fallen in love with him was delicious – but he missed the feel of Telea’s soft, worshipful lips on his cock, and the way Amy would wiggle with mixed lust and shame when he fucked her, or how fun it was to slap and discipline and violate Victoria.  

He would return to them soon enough, he hoped – although if his plans were successful, at that point all hell would have broken loose.

“Come, Jayson Vice,” said Confidence, depositing Cunt back on the ground, and clapping one paw on Jayson’s shoulder.  “The camp lies ahead.”  He passed the end of Cunt’s tit-leash into Jayson’s hand.

It took less than a half hour to travel the remaining distance to the home of the Galliard.  As they drew near, the Galliard women dropped to all fours, and began to crawl along the muddy track, their huge breasts swaying like pendulums beneath them, and their cute fuckholes and puckered anuses winking at Jayson from behind them.

“You too, bitch,” said Confidence to Cunt.  “Crawl.”

The woman who had once been known as Laurel looked deeply unhappy, but dropped to a crawling position and did her best to keep up with the long-legged Galliard man and their happy crawling fuckpets.  Vice walked ahead of her, and gave her a sharp tug on her leash whenever she was falling behind, forcing Cunt to move faster or be literally dragged along by her tits.

When the camp itself came into view, it was not what Vice had expected.  He had imagined a collection of huts, or perhaps metal shelters, grouped like a traditional village amidst relatively barren land.  But what he found instead was something fully integrated with the environment.

It was set amidst a profusion of foliage – a jungle, of a kind, and yet a different one from that at the cliff base.  Where below there had been trees, here there were huge sprawling bushes with a resemblance to ferns.  They were thick and green, and towered over Vice’s head – some must have been easily thirty feet high.

And amidst and between them, there were tunnels, built of strong, flexible metal struts, with some kind of hard transparent plastic between them.  The effect, as Confidence led the group into the entry tunnel, was something akin to being at an aquarium, travelling through a windowed walkway with a dense and oppressive environment all around outside.  

Vice immediately saw the advantages of this design.  The plants provided concealment and natural insulation to the Galliard colony, while the tunnel design provided limited points of entry, facilitating defence and security.

Within the tunnels, the raw mud gave way to a kind of rubber-mesh flooring, softer and easier on the hands and knees of the crawling women.  Strips of some kind of fluorescent lighting were attached to the metal struts of the tunnels, providing illumination.  A cool, fresh breeze over Vice’s face suggested some kind of powered venting system, possibly for temperature control, or for air purification, or just to maintain a pressure differential within the colony.

The tunnel soon began to split off into smaller walkways, leading to bubble-like nodes, and Vice guessed that these were individual dwellings or outbuildings.

Occasionally, very occasionally, the foliage overhead parted briefly, giving a view of the sky – and in one such moment, Vice saw what he had been looking for – the Galliard signal tower.  A hyperwave broadcaster – the only machine on this planet that would allow Vice to send a rescue signal.

He needed to reach that tower – and Cunt was his ticket to do so.

The tunnel widened, and here there were booths set along the side – maybe 20 in all.  Vice recognised these, for the Galliard had demonstrated them in his camp.  Each booth had a naked woman locked into it, with plastic cups attached to her large breasts, and a metal probe shoved up her hairless pussy.  They were gagged with thick tubes that fed them a slow drip of nutrient puree, but Vice could hear them making small pathetic noises through their gags anyway.  Their bodies shook, and Vice could not tell whether they were orgasming, or reacting to the electrical shocks that he knew were being regularly discharged into their cunts.

“An outlying bitch farm,” explained Confidence.  “They produce whore milk, to feed our other bitches and promote their submission.  These ones are milked in shifts, and returned to their owners after a set number of hours, but at the larger installations near the core we keep them in place throughout their lives.  We have nearly three hundred such bitches in service now, but we expect to need around a thousand for our projected expansion, so we are keeping our breeders pregnant at all times to provide the necessary number of new bitches for future farms.”

The Galliard turned to Cunt.  “Would it not be glorious, Cunt?” he asked her.  “To orgasm day and night from having your fuckhole shocked, feeling nothing but pain and arousal, knowing that the milk pumped from your oversized udders was used to enslave your gender and erase its intelligence?”

Cunt shuddered with involuntary revulsion, and Confidence laughed.

“Yes,” he said.  “It is better when the bitches hate it . I sometimes feel we have made our own herd of bitches *too* submissive.  Many have forgotten how to weep tears at their own degradation.”

They progressed onwards, and they soon reached what Vice guessed was the colony center – a bubble of transparent plastic several hundred metres from side to side, and extending high enough in the air that the plants parted to let in the sun at the apex.  Several structures had been built within it, and Confidence led them into one, which turned out to contain a surprisingly comfortable looking double bed, and some shower and toilet facilities – all things that Vice had not seen since the Cinnabar Hawk crashed, and which now gave him an ache for that luxury he had gone without.

“This is ordinarily a goods store room,” said Confidence, “but I have had it temporarily converted into a guest quarters.”

He paused, and then said, “You understand why we are here, Jayson Vice?”

“Cunt needs to be retrained,” said Vice.  “She’s insufficiently subservient to male authority, You’re going to… do something to her brain, to fix that.”

“That is correct,” said Confidence.  “We will imbed the inferiority of her gender so deeply in her brain it will become part of her.  She will be unable to live independently without male control, desperately unhappy if she does not receive male approval, and anxious and upset if she is not treated as the worthless fuck-socket she will know herself to be.”

Cunt made a whimpering noise.

“Will she still… be her?” asked Vice.

“Anything that is incompatible with her true nature as a useless female animal will be removed,” said Confidence.  “Disobedience, arrogance, pride in her gender or her independence – they will simply be deleted.  Anything that she associates with her freedom from male rule will be gone.  What remains – those parts of her that she can express through submission, and through devotion to the cocks of males – she may keep.”

Cunt was breathing heavily.  Vice silently willed her not to cry – not now, not in front of the Galliard – and when he heard her slowly bring her breath back under control, he was surprised by how proud he felt of her.

“Will it hurt?” asked Vice.

“Yes,” said Confidence bluntly.  “Although how much it hurts is up to her.  If she freely accepts the necessity of her processing, and joyfully accepts her transformation, the pain is minor.  Relatively little editing of her thought patterns will be required.  However, if she resists, much of her brain will be overwritten.  There will be some scarring.  Judging by the screams of the females who take this path, it is quite excruciating, and they never emerge from the process as intelligent as when they first went in.”

He laughed then – a short bark – and said, “Ironically, the process is actually faster if they resist.  Overwriting large portions of the female brain is relatively fast and simple.  Detecting the few changes that need to be made amidst a willing mind is a much slower and more delicate task – often taking many hours.  It can be a frustrating chore, but it does yield a higher quality of bitch, and so we accept the value in it.”

“When… will the process begin?” asked Vice.

“Shortly,” said Confidence.  “But first we will allow you some time with your bitch.  As I said, it is better if she is willing.  Do what you need to do to prepare her.  For some bitches, slapping and disciplining them will simplify the mind.  Others benefit from a raping, which will remind them that they primarily think with their cunts.  I will make the processing device ready, and return in an hour.  Then the entire colony will witness the correction of your bitch.”

He nodded – almost a bow – and then stepped out of the room.  Vice heard him lock the door from the outside – and then there was no one in the room but himself and Cunt.

As soon as Confidence was gone, Cunt began to cry.

“Please, sir,” she whispered.  “Please don’t let this happen.”

Vice pulled down his pants, and sat on the side of the bed.  He motioned Cunt over.

“Come here and fuck me,” he told her.  “It’s what they’re expecting.”

Cunt stared at him, thinking he didn’t care about what she had said, but soon she obediently came over and straddled his lap, letting his cock slide into her wet fuckhole.

“Good girl,” whispered Vice.  “And now I can speak directly into your ear, in case they have listening devices here.”  

He bounced her gently on his cock.  It felt good.  It was always more fun to fuck Cunt when she was crying.

“Cunt, you belong to me,” he told her.  “You are my bitch, and my property, and my crew, and a member of my harem.  And if you do not want the Galliard to put you in that device, I will break open that door right now and either fight our way out of here or die trying.”

He bounced her again, and then said, “But you know that I most likely *will* die trying.  And if we make it to the beach, we might defend the camp for some period of time – days, even weeks – but no rescue is coming, and the Galliard outnumber us, and have better tech, and they are stronger.  In all likelihood, I will be killed, and all of you girls will be installed in their “farms”, to have your tits milked and your cunts electroshocked for the rest of your lives . And the Galliard will probably *still* put you through that machine.  Do you understand?”

Cunt looked shocked, and she was still crying, but she nodded.  She was bouncing on his cock of her own accord now, and the endorphins generated from being fucked were slowly calming her.  Vice reflected that the Galliard were right – to a large extent, women *did* think with their cunts.

“But if you go into their machine, Cunt, it will give us a chance,” said Vice.  “The Galliard have a hyperwave broadcaster.  I’ve seen it.  If I can reach it, I can signal for rescue.  It will be guarded, of course – but you heard what Confidence said.  The whole colony will come to see you processed.  If I can slip away during your processing, I can sneak in and send the message before they realise what’s happening.”

“But I don’t *want* to be processed!” wailed Cunt.  “I’ve lost so much of myself already.  I used to be strong, and independent, and now…. I’m just your fucktoy…”

“You have more worth as my fucktoy than you ever did as a representative of the Guild, Cunt,” he told her.  “The identity of ‘Laurel’ was just a lie you were living, and it didn’t make you happy.  Isn’t it simpler now, knowing I’m in charge, and that all you have to do to be a good girl is to please my cock?  Isn’t it easier to be happy, now?”

She sniffled, and wiped her nose on his shirt, even as she continued to fuck him.  But she nodded, slowly.

“Yes,” she said.  “It feels so embarrassing, and it feels wrong to be… to be raped, and beaten, but… it’s simpler.  And you’re right – it feels honest.  Like I’m just… admitting what I always was.”

“That’s right,” said Vice.  “And now what I need for you to do is to take that next step, and just let all the last bits of Laurel get deleted from your mind.  Those bits aren’t really you.  They’re the bitch that worked for the Guild, that thought that she had some kind of worth independent of her skill in sucking cock.  Nobody liked Laurel.  Everyone hated her.  But Cunt is a good girl.  Cunt makes me happy.  I approve of her.”

Cunt whimpered, but she was bouncing on his cock faster now.

“But I don’t just need you to go into the machine,” said Vice.  “I need you to *want* to go into the machine.”

“Why?” breathed Cunt, her face flushed and her tits pressing hard against his chest.

“Primarily because it will take longer,” said Vice.  “You heard Confidence – willing girls take hours to process.  And I need that time to get to the hyperwave broadcaster.  If you fight, it will go too quickly.”

Then he reached out and placed one hand on her cheek, tenderly.

“But also for you, Cunt,” he told her.  “The more you embrace your brainwashing, the more of you will survive.  If you know, deep down, that your only role is to serve cock, then there is no conflict between that and your personality.  If you truly believe that you’re a fuckpig that deserves to be raped, then there is less of you that needs to be burned away to make that be true.  If you understand that the only value in you being a bitch and a brat is that it causes me to slap you, and that I *enjoy* slapping you, and so you want to give me excuses to hurt you – well, then you can still *be* a bitch and a brat, sometimes.  Do you see?”

Cunt may have been a difficult bitch sometimes – but she had never been stupid.  She nodded.

“Can you do that for me, Cunt?” he said.  “Can you embrace the idea that you’re nothing but an animal for men to fuck?  Can you really *believe* that you deserve everything that’s happened to you, and everything that will happen?  Can you find joy in being nothing but an eager accessory for my cock?”

She closed her eyes, bouncing on his cock harder and harder.  She was thinking.

He let her.

And then she opened her eyes, and said, “Yes, sir.”

And he believed her. 

Cunt was a survivor.  She had sucked cock at the Guild because she believed she needed to.  She had submitted to Vice’s authority once she understood she was helpless without him.  And now, given the cold logic of their situation, she had internalised the ideas that she needed to, in order to allow Vice to save them all.

But he wanted to test her, to be sure.

“You know that after you go into that machine, you’ll be mine forever,” he told her.  “You won’t be able to function without me.  Even after we leave here, I’m going to keep you naked and collared and leashed, as my little sex-pet.  I’m going to rape you when I want to, and share you with my friends, and I’m going to take you back to the Guild so everyone you ever worked with can see how Cunt was the perfect name for you.  Do you like that, pet?”

She opened her mouth to speak – but, in the end, bitches like her thought with their cunts, and it was her cunt that answered, by suddenly orgasming on his cock.  She shuddered, and her head fell against Vice’s shoulder as she gasped with pleasure.

“Good bitch,” whispered Vice.  “You’re such a very good bitch.”

And then he orgasmed himself, ejaculating into the womb of the slave who had once been his crewmate.

Cunt was ready to be brainwashed – and that meant Vice would be ready to make his play.

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