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Shadows in Mind Ch. 00 Prologue

By: JoshuaX



Foreword: At its heart, this tale is a sci-fi; story is my priority here, so expect stretches that do not contain sex. That being said, when it does appear, fair warning: I intend this story to include non-consent, slavery, bondage, and lots of different flavors of sex; my goal here is an adult themed story -- if the story calls for a fetish or sexual theme, it will appear. Expect a bit of darkness to this tale, especially at first.

Enjoy!

He stepped out of the squat, glanced around and frowned. For a moment, he could have sworn that someone was watching him. The garish neon lights from a hundred brothels, peeps, squats and bars bathed the dirty street in a thousand colors. Nothing --and no one- moved. Silence, except for the buzz of electricity, and the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. The melt he had smoked in the squat was doing its job; molten light was flushing through his veins, the rush of blood in his ears sounded like crashing waves; his senses were both dimmer and sharper at once; his memories faded, cast in sepia tones, vague as if they were the memories of someone else, where they weren't burned away entirely. His skin felt like wax, amiable and fluid, ready to melt and drip away. Melt. The drug of choice for the lowest of the low, the ones that wanted to forget. Tripper was a man that needed to forget.

He left the squat behind, and glanced up at the towering city; he was in the lowest level, a fitting place, a place of bones and antiquity. The modern city, far above, was built on the backs of an untold number of city-corpses, covering the planet in a shell of steal and plastic. The Underworld, the Sewer, it was the place humanity loved to forget. Thousands of feet above, in the decadent splendor of Top Side, the city-world of Trandor went about its business, doing its best to forget the Underworld and everyone that lived there.

But the Sewer was where Tripper called home. It was the only home he could recall; though there was little enough he did recall. He was tall, and thin as a reed, despite wide shoulders. Years of malnutrition and abuse had left him a frail thing, though he still took pride at his agility; he could outrun most Sec's on foot, had only been nabbed that one time, when he slipped and twisted his ankle. His stint in the local Sector Security holding facility had been the worst four months of his short life; hard to believe anything could actually be that much worse than the Sewer itself. If he were to guess, he would put his age at around eighteen years; under the dirt and oil, the stringy thin beard, his skin was smooth and fresh. His blonde hair hung shoulder length and ragged, trimmed just recently on a dull blade he kept at his right ankle; the knife had been a gift from Donovan, his pimp.

He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the rush as the melt had its way with him; the blissful oblivion it threw him down into. It made him forget what he did for a bite to eat, for a bit of shelter in the hovel Donovan kept for him, and the others. It made him forget the faces. Screaming, crying, groaning, grunting, panting, huffing, horrible, twisted faces. Tripper was a man that needed to forget, and it mattered little to him that the drug had taken more than just the bad; it had burned away his past, his identity. Even his name was lost to him. Now, he was just a whore named Tripper; called that, because he could trip up the Sec's when they chased him, getting away every time --except the one time he didn't. That was a memory he could hardly wait to lose. The faces in the holding facility were the worst. He wished the melt would hurry up and do away with that place. He shook his head, wishing his thoughts would stop straying there.

He stumbled down the street, watching the colors; his mind twisted them, like wet paints bleeding together, a kaleidoscope of physcadelic visual noise. He knew he would trip for at least a day or two; then he would have to return to Donovan. Then he would have to make more memories that he would want to erase. It was a vicious cycle. He ginned at the thought, and spun a little pirouette in the street.

"You there, boy," a voice interrupted his buzz. He felt disappointed, and a brief moment of irritation, before the drug washed it all away. "How old are you?" He shrugged. "You live around here?"

"Yeah, man, the Sewer is my pad. I live eeeeeverywhere." He dragged out the syllable, and laughed at the sound. He turned, wanting to see the source of the voice, and felt his jaw drop in surprise when he saw her. "Wow, man. I mean, you're no man."

The woman smiled at him, and he felt his knees melt. "No, boy, I'm certainly not," she said in a stern voice. Her voice was undoubtedly feminine, and Tripper grinned at the fact that he had been too nuked to notice at first. It was soft, sexy, but tinted with shades of authority; she spoke in a way that demanded his attention -and his obedience. She was as tall as he was, but built stronger; where he was a ragged bundle of bones, she was a trim and well-kept collection of muscles. She was dressed in a flight suit, the kind pilots and space travelers wore --he had seen them in vids. It was a white, form fitting one-piece suit, accented with bright red, like stripes on a racer; it left little to the imagination, and he found himself checking her out. Her long legs her were fit -thin but muscular; her tummy was flat; her arms looked strong; the zipper at her chest was pulled down, showing a pleasant swath of tanned skin, and a generous amount of cleavage --her breasts were large and firm. The bare skin of her throat was inviting, gracefully arching up to a gently pronounced chin. Her lips were full and soft looking, slightly pink, perched just beneath a small button of a nose. Her eyes seemed massive, sparkling blue gems with long dark lashes, and her brow was high and stern. Her raven black hair was pulled back in a severe pony tail, and she wore no make-up.

Tripper found his mouth watering at the sight; in his line of work, he was more than familiar with all shapes and sizes, but the woman before him out-classed anyone he had ever known. "Hey baby, you are one sweet dish. You looking for some company? I'm off today, but that jus' means you can enjoy me for free."

The woman scowled, but remained silent. She moved around him slowly, her eyes roving; Tripper knew when he was being checked out, and grinned at the thought. "Like what you see?" he asked.

"You are rather crude, and look about as strong as a kitten. If I stared at you hard enough, I'm afraid you might come apart at the seams," she commented, her voice thoughtful. She held out her hand, and ran a finger along the breadth of his shoulders. "But you have nice shoulders; a little filling out, and you might actually be quite striking." She ran her hand through his hair, and then petted at his beard; he was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable, despite the melt. "This hair is dreadful, and the beard would have to go," she continued. She stared into his eyes. "Nice eyes though. And then there is your tor, which drew me to you in the first place."

"Um, thanks," Tripper muttered. "What the drek is a tor? And do you wanna fuck, or what?"

She slapped him, hard. Over the sudden ringing in his ears, he heard her berate him. "Much too crude. Watch your language, boy; you will not speak like that to me." She smiled then. "But I do like your spirit. Yes, you'll do." She glanced around, checking out the streets; they remained empty. "Come with me then, boy. I have a... place."

"Yeah, all right," Tripper nodded, rubbing his cheek. "But no rough stuff, yeah? That drek costs extra."

The woman started to walk away, and something in her demeanor said she expected him to follow. He took a moment to watch her ass as she moved away, and hummed appreciatively. "Yeah, I don't need no convincing," he muttered to himself. The world lurched a bit under the weight of the melt as he started forward, but he quickly fell back into his groove. The colors of the world around him seemed to shimmer with his every footstep, but somehow that ass ahead of him stayed firm and solid, the biggest focus in his world.

"So," he called at her back as he followed, just far back enough to keep the pleasant view. "You slumin or what? Don't see many like you in the Sewer."

"Yes," the woman called back. "I am slumming." Her voice sounded disinterested, and she made no move to glance back at him.

Tripper wondered if she were getting bored already; some rich lady from Top Side, come down looking for a thrill, most likely; now that she had found it, maybe she was having second thoughts. He didn't want to risk such a piece of ass, so he quickly decided to recapture her interest. "So, I'm Tripper," he introduced himself. "What's your name, yeah?"

She glanced back at him; "You may call me Veronica. Please, I do not desire conversation. We are almost there." She paused, and her eyes glinted like shards of ice. "Do not fear; I am not going anywhere without you, I promise." Tripper giggled, wondering if he had said his thoughts out loud --the melt hazing his brain made it hard to be sure.

He glanced around suddenly, noticing that the colors had become sharper, darker. They were in a nasty bit of town, not that any part of the Sewer was safe and pleasant. But this was gang territory; the area was shrouded in darkness, most of the lights shot out --maintenance wouldn't come near this block, any more than one would expect to see Sec's here. "Yeah, Veronica? We shouldn't be here." He looked around nervously. "Ain't safe."

Dark buildings crowded both sides of the street. If there were lights within, the habitants had blocked the windows to prevent any from reaching the street. Windows and doors were boarded up, and litter filled the street; the pavement beneath his feet so old and cracked it could almost be called a dirt road. The glaring lights were gone; nothing was advertised here.

"Do not fear, boy. We are expected."

"What?" He didn't have time to protest. Bangers were separating from the shadows like wraiths, surrounding them. They were trapped. Tripper glanced around nervously, quickly realizing there was no escape. "Drek, what the fuck you getting me into?" She glared at him for his language, but remained silent.

One of the gangsters stepped forward, away from the others. He nodded respectfully at Veronica, and voiced a very precise and polite sounding greeting. "Hello, Veronica. It is good to see you again. 'dis the one?" the gang leader said, motioning towards Tripper. Tripped had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "He just a junkie. What do you want him for?"

Veronica glared. "That is none of your concern. Yes, he is the one. Have him packaged and loaded on my ship immediately. You will receive the agreed upon credits."

"Wait..." Tripper stuttered. "What did you say? What the drek is going down?" Two of them came up behind him, aiming to take his arms. But Tripper was fast; he lunged forward, and the bangers missed. His eyes darted, his melt addled senses actually taking in everything with crystal clarity. He ducked as another man took a swing at him, quickly found an opening in the ring of men surrounding him, and ran for it.

He jumped a pile of garbage, gliding into an alleyway between two decrepit looking buildings. He ignored the screams and curses from behind, grinning as he let the melt guide his feet. He tore down the alley, hearing the clatter of pursuit falling behind, unable to keep up. He laughed as he ran. "I trip you all up, bitches!" he called out, taunting.

He reached an intersection, and grabbed a section of drainpipe on the corner of the wall, using his momentum to carry him around the corner at breakneck speed. His feet hit pavement, landing in a puddle; in his mind, the multi colored water crashed in tune with the sound of his hammering heart. He ran. About two blocks ahead, he could make out another intersection that he actually recognized. He was almost clear of the gangs territory; on ground where he was familiar, they could never catch him.

He reached the end of the first block, the mouth of the alley blocked by a chain-link fence; and he leaped half-way up the blockade, catching the links with nimble fingers. He scaled it in moments, and dropped back to the ground below. He stood, ready to run, when a voice shocked him, and he stumbled.

"We have a date," Veronica announced, her voice streaked with anger. And something more. Amusement? He would have almost sworn there was a hint of attraction there.

He glanced at her, and her eyes blazed, sparks of light flashing with unnatural fury. He stumbled back; somehow he knew the strange effect had nothing to do with the chemicals coursing through his veins. For the first time, he truly felt fear, overwhelming the melt. "What-?" he managed to stutter, before something very hard, and very invisible, clubbed him in the back of the head.

Darkness.

*** When he awoke, he struggled immediately. He was strapped naked to some kind of cold metal slab, vertically. Thick straps held him in place, more than he could count, across his chest, waist, arms and legs. He could wiggle his fingers and toes, turn his head, and that was about it. He glanced down at a sharp pinching feeling in his arm; some kind of clear plastic tubing, filled with a dark fluid that reminded him of oil, punctured his flesh, feeding something to his body.

"What the drek?" he cursed, struggling, flexing against his bonds. There was no give at all, and he quickly relented, sagging in his bondage. His penis was encased in some kind of metal tube, cables and tubing stretching from the device to somewhere behind him; wires were taped all over his body, running to a row of machines off to one side, their green and red lights offering the only illumination in the otherwise dark room. A steady beeping from one of the machines seemed to match his thundering heartbeat.

"Hello? Someone there?" he called. "C'mon, lemmie out of here!"

An electric whir, the sound of air whooshing, and Tripper was sure a door had opened; he had heard the sound before, in a hospital in the Sewer, where they kept bad air from spreading room to room. The sound of footfalls, and Veronica appeared in the electric light, her features cast in shadow. "Enough screaming, boy."

"Fuck you!" Tripper screamed. "Let me the fuck out of here, bitch! What the blaze is this drek?"

The woman scowled, and her eyes flashed again, though not as intense as the last time he had seen it. A light began to flash red on one of the machines, and suddenly Tripper felt pain. It started slowly, a tingle in his ass, pressure on his balls. He met Veronica's gaze, and watched her smile. "I told you to watch your tongue," she warned.

The pain built; unable to move away, unable to even wiggle his hips to chase away the feeling, he began slowly shaking his head side to side. "What..." he stammered. "What the..." The pain grew, and he groaned. It felt like something was penetrating his ass --something big. The pressure on his balls increased, the pain growing. The thing in his ass felt like it was thrusting, moving in and out, faster and faster. His balls felt like they were in a vice. He screamed. The pain continued to grow; it was blinding. Around him, the room faded, and he wondered if we would pass out.

And suddenly it stopped. He sagged, his muscles gone slack, as he panted in relief, tears streaming from his eyes, washing up in his scraggly tangle of beard. "The... Fuck..." he panted. His balls were throbbing, and his ass felt like it had been raped. The melt still in his system numbed it a bit, and he dreaded what it would have felt like without the drugs effect. "Bitch," he muttered, not looking up at her.

Veronica rushed forward, and took his chin in her hand, forcing his head back and up. Her eyes, like hard icy shards of ice, bore into him, her glare enough to make him wince. "One. You will not swear again in my presence. Two. You will call me Mistress. Three. You will always obey me without question. If you fail again in any of these, you will suffer."

Tripper nodded wearily, his head barely moving with her grip on his chin. "Yes... Mistress..."

She smiled, and despite everything, he was again shocked how beautiful she was. He felt a tingle below, and his eyes widened; his cock had hardened. The tingle grew, enveloping his manhood, and he couldn't stop a moan from leaving his lips.

"You see?" Veronica explained. "I can be kind, if you do as you are told, as well as cruel." Her eyes glinted, and her smile widened.

Tripper groaned again. He was fully erect, and it felt as if his cock was enveloped in something warm, soft; something as velvety wet as a pussy, but with the dexterity of a tongue, running up and down his shaft, flickering over his head. It felt as if something was thrusting onto his cock now, squeezing, milking him. Faster, the sensation strengthened, and he felt his balls growing tight. Shocked, he realized he was not going to last much longer.

The sensations stopped abruptly, and he groaned in dismay.

"Now, let's chat, shall we?" Veronica said. "You are onboard my ship. We are awaiting hyperspace clearance, and then we'll be off. The journey will take two months or so. You will spend most of that time in stasis; all these wonderful machines will be doing some renovations on your rather abused body. When we get home, I will introduce you to my household. There, you will be a house slave."

"What?" Tripper started to protest. A flash of her eyes, a faint tingle in his ass, and he snapped his jaw shut, swallowing any complaints.

"Understand that there will be no escape. Where we are going, even the sight of an unescorted male is unheard of. You will serve me and my household for the rest of your life. How long that will be is entirely up to you. Your training will begin while you are in stasis; by the time we arrive, I expect you will be quite used to following my commands, whatever they may be."

She paused, and glanced at him sternly. "You have enough chemicals in your system to kill a grom beast. These drugs will interfere will your conditioning during stasis; and besides, I do not approve of these substances. In fact, you will not find any such things in my household. So. For now, you will remain as you are. You will be fed intravenously, and your waste will be carried away by catheter. You will remain like this until your detox is complete."

She turned, and began to walk away. Tripper panicked; detox from melt could take weeks, and was considered one of the worst drugs to quit cold. He would be lucky to come out of detox with his sanity intact. He screamed at her, shouting, begging for mercy. "There are detox drugs!" he pleaded. "Please! Don't leave me like this!" He screeched; the colors in his mind darkened to shades of grey, and started to dart about at the edge of his vision, as if the drug itself knew what was coming, and was gleefully dancing in anticipation. "Noooooooo!" he screamed, as he heard the door slide open, and then ominously click shut.

In his mind's eye, he could see her eyes, sparkling like flint on stone. (I will make you a better man,) her voice called, somehow in his mind. (When we are finished, you will kneel at my feet and beg me for permission to thank me for what I do.)  

His head dropped, his body shaking in the restraints. Inside the room, there was silence, broken only by the beeping of his heart monitor, and the soft sounds of him weeping.

Shadows in Mind Ch. 01



One: Detox

Under City, Trandor -- City officials, concerned with a recent dramatic rise in drug use amongst our schools have turned to the experts for advice; the Under City mission St. Devone. The drug in question, going by the street name "melt", has been available for nearly a century, but its only in the last decade or so that the drug started to appear in the streets, replacing a number of other chemical cocktails. Originally designed with memory manipulation applications in the military and espionage sectors, "Psirekallicort" (its pharmaceutical name) gained an audience with the seedier elements of society in the early twenties. Pastor Bill of St. Devone 's explains; "A lot of folks down here -the rats and the jakes, floaters and skimmers -- have it pretty rough. Sometimes, all they want is to forget -- melt gives them that."

The Pastor warns that while keeping kids off the drug is a challenge, getting them off is much harder. "It's the worst withdrawal I've ever seen. As the body detoxes, not only does it have to get used to the absence of the drug, like you would with traditional drugs; melt adds a lot of mental strain. Without the drug, while some memory loss remains permanent, other memories resurface. These returning memories tend to hit with hallucinogenic properties, much stronger than the original memories themselves. Addicts find themselves faced with many of their strongest, most feared memories, returning many times as intense as the original memory. Imagine reliving the worst horrors in your life, all at once, over and over until you are clean. Only worse."

-Excerpt from the Trandor Post, Oct 22, 1234 AF

*

His first week of captivity was a breeze. Even alone in the near darkness, Tripper had the warm embrace of the drug to comfort him. His stomach rumbled; but that was nothing new. He had gone hungry many times before, and the nutrients pumping into his system had him feeling stronger than he had in ages. The restraints, while not comfortable, were not that bad if he didn't struggle. He was naked, but the room was warm. He closed his eyes, and watched the lights on his eyelids, as his memories burned away under the flames of the melt.

The second week was worse. The melt was weakening, losing its hold on him. Withdrawal coming, but the drug still struggled to purge his concern over what was to come. His fear was a lead bearing in his stomach, growing as the day wore on, becoming heavier, and beginning to gnaw away at him. He had seen melt withdrawal before; he knew what he was in for, and it terrified him. The room remained silent, except for the sound of his breathing, and the ever present monitor, beeping along ever faster the more he panicked. 

Sometime in the third week, he awoke with a scream; the nightmare was forgotten, but the fear in his chest was an icy claw clutching his heart. It had begun. The drug was gone; the colors were muted and normal, boring and simple. His blood pumped like anyone else's, sluggish next to how he felt with the drug in him. Panic rose in him, and he whimpered as he shook, suddenly cold. Freezing. Out in the darkness beyond the glow of the monitors, someone was whispering. Calling his name. Teasing, mocking him.

"Shut up..." he growled, knowing it would do no good.

A flash of light in the dark; the discharge of a blaster. A woman's scream, and the shrieking cries of a child, lost. Something shoved him, and he fell to the ground, his knees and elbows scraped and bleeding, clogged with dirt. Someone spat, and another laughed. "No," he whispered. He clutched at his ears, trying to block the sound. Something shrieked in the dark.

A woman. She offered her hand, and he took it. She helped him up to his feet in the darkness, and he looked into her face, the face of an angel, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She whispered to him, sounds without words, and he felt his heart lift, the terror pushed back. She cupped his face with her hand, her skin so soft, her touch so gentle; her other hand reached out, brushed a stray lock of hair, tucked it behind his ear. He smiled up at her, whispered his thanks, and offered his love. 

Blaster fire in the dark. He screamed, his voice broken and hoarse. The woman burned before him, her face turned to ashes, her clothes aflame. Gone, forever. She was gone, and he was all alone. The ashes crumbled, and blew away on a foul wind; he collapsed to his knees, weeping. He could not remember her name, could not remember who she was; but he remembered how much she had loved him, remembered that she had been taken, gone, forever. Around him, the ghosts of his past stirred, closing in. Their cries were daggers in his mind.

***

The woman who had named herself Veronica relaxed in the chair, watching the monitor. On screen, Tripper struggled in his bonds, his head shaking back and forth, as if trying to shake free from the memories that tormented him. Sweat coated his body like a second skin, and he trembled and shook as if suffering convulsions.

"Will he survive, mistress?" a voice asked softly. 

She glanced down at the floor, where a thin wisp of a man kneeled, while his hands rubbed her feet with a sweet smelling lotion. "You sound concerned, Cinnamon." Though he was thin, the man was fit, his muscles toned and clearly visible under ebony skin. His dark hair was a mess of curls atop his head, and the goatee that graced his face was immaculately trimmed. Dark eyes looked up at her full of worship. He was naked, or as good as; leather straps crossed his chest, circled his wrists and biceps, and his upper thighs. He wore a black thong, made out of a stretchy mesh material, that hid nothing. A gold collar, encrusted with crimson jewels, encircled his neck, with no apparent hinge or release.

"His suffering is... intense, mistress."

She smiled at him fondly. "Always selfless, Cin. I have always wondered if you would be so caring if not for your empathy; are you really as concerned as you seem, or is it just that his pain hurts you as well?"

Cinnamon looked down, his face showing shame. "I am only concerned about your investment, mistress. You spent considerable effort and credit to find him, and acquire him."

Veronica nodded. "Yes, and hopefully it will be worth it. If he does not survive, then I will know he was not strong enough, yes? Consider this a ritual that our newest must endure to prove his worth to me."

Cinnamon nodded. "May I ask, mistress, what his tor is?"

She frowned, and a look of irritation crossed her face. "That damn drug," she growled, causing Cinnamon to cringe at her feet. It wasn't often that she lost control of her emotions enough to speak as such. "I can sense his tor, but the drug has clouded it. It is strong, but I do not know the flavor." She glanced at the screen; Tripper's mouth was agape as he screamed himself hoarse. She smiled suddenly, enjoying the boy's pain.

Cinnamon looked up at her, smiling himself. He was an empath. To some degree, he could sense others emotions. It was why he was his mistress' first slave, her favorite. Now, he could feel her arousal as she watched the monitor, as the boys suffering set her sadistic heart racing. He let his hands slide up her calves, reaching her thighs. She glanced at him sharply, color rising in her cheeks, and scowled; "Impudent slave. You dare touch me without my say?" But he felt her arousal, the playfulness of her words. He let his hands move upwards, and watched as she again turned her attention to the monitor, her smile wicked. (You know me so well, Cin,) she sent, the thought penetrating his mind with an erotic thrust that made him shudder.

His hands reached her hips, and his fingers curled around, taking a handful of flesh through the flight suit and squeezing gently. Victoria moaned softly, her eyes glued to the monitor. He slid his hands towards the front, letting them glide over the smooth material, gently caressing her mid-section. Slowly, teasingly, his hands moved upwards; he could feel what she felt, could feel the heat of her growing lust. He knew exactly where and how to rub, when to caress and when to stroke. His hands drifted upwards, and he stood to improve his reach, his body arching over hers. He let his body rub along her as he moved, dragging himself upwards, trailing along behind his drifting hands. As his naked chest passed her vagina, he could feel the burning heat of her even through the flight suit. He smiled, knowing he was pleasing her.

Cinnamon cupped her breasts with his hands, softly, supporting and lifting them gently, his hands caressing. Veronica sighed, arching her back, pushing her breasts against his touch. He let his fingers move, sliding up and in, reaching the zipper of her suit nestled in her bountiful cleavage. Gently, slowly, he took the zipper and tugged, pulling it down, watching as the clothing parted, and her breasts pushed free, as if seeking escape. She sighed, her eyes flickering away from the monitor just briefly, meeting his eyes with a spark for a fleeting moment. Her arousal filled his mind like a strong perfume; her arousal was his own. He left the zipper at her navel, revealing her naked torso and breasts, but leaving the rest hidden. His hands returned to her breasts, cupping them, massaging them carefully. She moaned, and he knew she was ready; he leaned down, and planted a soft kiss in her cleavage, on the slope of her left breast. He felt her arousal increase, and kissed again, a little harder, closer to the nipple. He kissed again, closer; and then again, on the nipple itself. He was careful to gauge her feelings, knowing that to go too far too early would mean bad things for him. But again, she was ready; the suffering on the monitor was making her excitement sky rocket. He took one nipple in his mouth, and began to suck; Veronica pushed herself upwards, crushing herself against his face, and he sucked harder. His free hand found her other nipple, and he teased and rubbed it, pinching just a little. 

"Now, worm," Veronica growled; she watched on screen as Tripper howled in agony. 

Cinnamon knew what she wanted, what she needed. Nuzzling her breast, still lapping at her hard nipple, his hand returned to the zipper, and tugged downwards; down past her mound, where he could feel her panties were quite wet, down the inside of her thigh. He pulled away from her breasts, and took a hold of her lacy underwear, pulling it down when Veronica accommodatingly lifted her hips. 

Sensing her arousal, he did not hesitate. He kneeled between her thighs, brought his face down on her. His tongue darted, lapping at her slit, and she sighed in pleasure. He opened up his mind, funneling her own pleasure back to her, and she grunted at the sudden feedback loop of pleasure. She was sopping wet, her pussy blasting like a furnace. He brought his hand up, and slowly pushed a finger up into her; she moaned in pleasure, and he moaned with her, feeling her bliss. 

Cinnamon thrust slowly, his finger pushing in and out of her in time with her breathing, while his lips wrapped around her throbbing clit. In his mind, he felt her arousal grow, felt the building of her orgasm. He channeled it all back to her; her back arched, her pussy pressed against him hard, and he thrust faster. 

Her orgasm struck like an asteroid, and Victoria cried out as it rocked through her, her eyes still open and locked on the screen. Her pleasure poured into Cinnamon, and back into her with the man's own joy at her desire intermingled, the feeling almost too much. His fingers thrusting, faster, his tongue flickering over her button. And slowly, so slowly, the feelings began to recede, and his attentions slowed. And then finally stopped. Cinnamon withdrew from her, kneeling on the ground before her, as she recovered.

She glanced at the screen again, and grinned. "What is he feeling now," she asked with an icy glint in her eyes. "Describe his suffering to me."

***

The darkness crashed against him like the waves in an ocean he had never seen, alien and strange, powerful and heavy. The voices --so many voices -- ripped through him, the individual words lost in a crescendo of fear, hate and anger. Tripper clutched at his ears, futilely trying to keep them out. 

The faces returned, the faces he had struggled so hard to forget. People he had sold himself too, people he had hurt. Each one brought a weapon to bear against him; words and thoughts and expressions that tore at his mind, accusing, laughing, debasing, mocking. His tears flowed as he remembered, as the melt left him alone, a prisoner in his own mind. 

And there, in the dark, the face that had started it all. The face he wanted the most to forget. Her eyes filled with love, her expression full of pity, her mind full of forgiveness. So beautiful, her lips gently forming a smile, a smile that had always haunted him, staying with him in the wasteland of a mind the melt had created, staying even when she was gone. She reached out to him, her hand softer than anything from the hard edged life he had known in the Sewer, and touched his cheek. She smiled, and her eyes filled with sorrow as she knew his pain, his loss, his agony. 

"Mom?" he whispered, his voice cracked and broken. The word was unfamiliar to him, tasting foreign on his tongue. The name and face did not quite match up in his head, seeming out of sync, like he was seeing another person's memory. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but his memory could not recall a voice, and with a slightly embarrassed shrug, she closed her mouth. Instead she reached for him, her arms closing around him like a trap.

"No," he panted, and pulled away. Still, the angel reached for him, her arms inescapable. He knew what waited in that embrace, and he knew he could not face it, it would destroy him. Again. He stepped back, but she followed, persistent, her eyes filled with love, the emotion washing over him like an avalanche, threatening to sweep him away, leaving nothing. Again. It was the love he could not bear. This woman, who he could not --would not --remember, she brought unquestionable love, undeniable, incorruptible. Her smile penetrated him, reaching places within him carefully hidden away, lost, buried, gone. And he felt something open within, just a crack, and light flooded his mind, and he closed his eyes tightly against it, refusing to see.

"No," he hissed. "Get the drek away from me." But he didn't mean it. He backed into something solid, a wall perhaps, something that had not been there a moment before. And she reached for him. A sob wracked him, his chest heaving, and her touch enveloped him, pulling him in, filling him with warmth, light, love. That place in his mind, that crack spilling light, widened, and the barriers fell. Memories smashed against him like a fist, and he grunted at the pain, crying out in voice and in mind. 

"I love you, son," the voice was beautiful, like the quiet before he fell asleep at night, or the wind as he listened to it whisper down the dirty streets of the Sewer, the hum of electricity outside his window as a boy, lulling him to sleep, the lullaby that that very voice had sung to him, slightly out of tune, but so beautiful, nirvana, ecstasy, a happiness he had forgotten. 

"Be strong," the voice whispered, her voice, his mother's voice, returned from the dead, from the depths of time. He nodded, the tears flowing like hot rivers down his cheeks. "You have to be strong for mommy," he remembered, though he tried to stop it, to block it from playing in his mind's eye. "You will be on your own now, my baby boy," He shook his head wildly, unable to bear it, unable to stop it. Her voice was weak, and desperate. He closed his eyes tightly, and then he saw.

A little boy in a dark alley, standing in a puddle of red, staring down at his spoiled shoes, wondering how he would find another pair. The sounds of footfalls in the distance, and laughter, receding, moving away now that the damage was done. Now that the boy's life had been torn down, smashed forever. On the ground, in front of the boy, his mother was lying in the dirt, lying in the puddle of red. "It's a bad world," she was saying, the light in her eyes that he loved so much fading, fading. "You have to be strong for mommy."

Tripper screamed, a sound that ripped through him, dragging on, wavering, his voice cracking and his lungs burning with the need for breath. His mother. Taken from him. "I love you," she whispered, and the world around him shattered, leaving a wasted husk of a man, ragged, hanging in his bondage in a dark room, his tears lit only by the harsh glow from the monitors. He hung his head and wept, for everything he had lost, and everything that had come back to him.

Around him, the voices cackled at him, demanding their attention, but he ignored them. Nothing else mattered anymore. All the other faces, the multitude of memories, everything he had fought to bury, to erase, to forget, they all paled in comparison to that one, horrible, life shattering moment. Nothing mattered. Not even him; no, especially not him.

Somewhere in the twisted darkness of his mind, amongst the shattered memories and jagged pieces of his psyche, something turned, like a key in a keyhole. Something changed. Something long buried, long forgotten.

"You have to be strong," her voice reminded him, "for mommy." He choked on a sob, shaking his head. Coals amongst the ashes of his mind sparked, and a fire began to burn, low but warm, dim but brighter than the darkness. And a wall in his mind, crafted of ice, higher than the towers of Trandor but built atop bones just like the world-city, began to warm. A tiny drip of moisture, and for the first time the wall weakened, just a fraction. And behind the wall, like electric lights of the Sewer, something hummed. Something stirred.

Tripper's head lifted, only an inch or two, and his eyes blazed for just a moment, his mouth set in a grim line. For barely a second, a fraction of a second, it seemed as if the universe opened herself up before him, a fragile flower revealed only for him, her greatest secrets laid bare.

Sleep came then, undisturbed by dreams or demons. Outside his prison, a woman watched, and frowned. 



Shadows in Mind Ch. 02



Two: Arrival

Although history has plenty of references to the existence of Psionic abilities, it wasn't until the Expansion that any substantial evidence was recorded. Actual verifiable instances of telepathy, empathy, and telekinesis began showing about half a century into the Expansion. At first, it was assumed these new senses were the result of a next stage in human evolution. In was not until the end of the human-werian war that the truth was discovered; cross breeding between humans and werian prisoners and civilians, mostly refugees, during the war had created a new race of half-breeds, carrying genes from both species. As the centuries passed, the werian culture declined, to near extinction; while in human space, the werian genes continued to mix, passing down through the generations. 

Although not much is understood about how the genes are passed, or what determines how certain psionic abilities will manifest, it is clear we have this once great civilization to thank for our next stepping stone in genetic pool. 

-Excerpt from The PsiCorps and You, a recruitment book published by the Republic Psi division, circa 1008AF




When he opened his eyes, Tripper saw something he had never seen before, outside of the vids; he gasped in surprise, taking in air that tasted strange, fresh and clean; there was a bit of an odor -perfume or spices -that was not unpleasant, just unfamiliar. Above him, filling his eyes with wonder, a blue sky stretched on seemingly forever, imposing and beautiful. 

"Careful," a soft voice warned, the tone filled with concern. "You have been in stasis for over a month, and it will take a bit to get used to the changes."

"What changes?" Tripper demanded, looking around from where he lay, on some kind of gurney. A short thin man -dark skinned and well groomed -stood next to him, dressed only in a black thong and a number of leather belts that crisscrossed his body. 

The man smiled at him softly. "I am Cinnamon," the man offered. He nodded his head, pointing at Tripper. "While you were sleeping, Mistress initiated some... Upgrades."

Tripper glanced down, and gasped again. He was as naked as he had been on the ship, restrained in the dark, but that was hardly the source of his shock; he barely recognized the body he looked down on. His chest, once shallow and little more than flesh draped casually over bone, had filled out, his muscles feeling tight and strange. He had never had much body hair, but now his skin was so smooth it glistened, every hair below his head gone as if it had never existed; even his genitals, below a stomach far more defined that he recalled ever seeing it, were smooth and hairless.

"What the drek?" he cursed, and immediately regretted it. Pain split through his head like blaster fire, ripping his skull into pieces; he clutched at it as if to keep the pieces together, and cried out at the pain. His vision dimmed, and for a moment he was afraid he would black out.

Cinnamon glanced at him and winced, a look of pity in his eyes. "Please, you cannot swear. It is not permitted."

He sat up slowly, still holding his head. "What the-" he paused, considering the pain still throbbing in his skull, and rephrased what he had planned on saying. "What happened to me? And what was that?"

Cinnamon nodded knowingly. "While in stasis, you underwent an intensive treatment, including intravenous nutrients, nanite reconstruction, laser hair removal and skin conditioning, and a number of internal medical procedures, inoculations and the like. While you won't be entering any weight lifting competitions, you aren't the scrawny bag of bones Mistress brought onboard either. As for the pain..." the other man paused, his eyes again showing pity and concern. "While in stasis, you also went through rather rigorous mental training. Among other things, you will not be permitted to swear."

"Brainwashing," Tripper muttered. He had seen enough vids to know it was possible, and very, very illegal.

Cinnamon nodded, and then immediately glanced around as if he was worried someone would notice. "I would highly recommend you accept your new position here," the man went on, his eyes down. "The pain you felt now is nothing compared to what Mistress can do. You must do exactly what She says, no matter what it is. Do not even think of escape; She will know, and will not be pleased." He glanced up, and something like devotion showed in his eyes when he continued; "Mistress can be kind, too. She will reward obedience."

Tripper grumbled something, and hoped whatever trigger was implanted in his mind did not recognize it as an almost-formed swear word. He didn't like the idea that someone had been playing about in his head, and wondered what other traps had been left for him.

He stood up from the gurney, and glanced around, taking in his surroundings; he let out a little whistle, impressed and a little in awe. He and the slave Cinnamon were both standing in a clearing amongst thick trees, a spaceship next to them -a graceful thing of shining metal, looking as if it were spun like a spider's web, rather than built. In front of them, the clearing opened further, and a stone walkway led the way down to a sprawling estate, unlike anything he had ever seen in the Sewer. It looked like a palace, constructed of steel and glass, towers and spires piercing the sky. Around the building, he could make out gardens and walkways, fountains and sculptures, everything immaculate and carefully tended. His mind could barely cope with the fact that such a place could even exist.

"Mistress went ahead, on her palanquin ," Cinnamon spoke cautiously, almost as if he was afraid to offend. "She left it to me to bring you down to the estate. She did not specify any instructions for waking you; I thought you might appreciate this view more than the inside of a spaceship. After your ordeal, I was hoping it would be soothing, and offer some comfort."

"I don't know what's going on, hey, but the view is pleasant enough." He glanced at the other man, and his eyes narrowed. "Now what? How about some clothes?"

Cinnamon smiled, and Tripper couldn't help but think he was starting to like the man. Something about him radiating peace, a calmness that seemed to draw him in. "I can't offer you garments, but in this climate you have no fear of suffering from a chill. Now, I need to return this gurney to the med-bay on the ship, and then we will walk on down to the estate. You can wait outside, and continue to enjoy the view." The man paused, and his face took on an expression of regret. "I'm sorry... You will not leave the clearing, Sewer Rat."

It was subtle, but at the man's last words, Sewer Rat, something in his head clamped down; he knew immediately that something had been triggered, some kind of compulsion, and he knew that leaving the clearing would be physically impossible. He scowled.

"I'm sorry," Cinnamon whispered again. "I have no choice, either. And if you managed to get away, Mistress would have my hide." He bobbed his head, a silly motion that seemed to be meant to both offer an apology and shrug it off as something out his control. "Please, enjoy the view."

Cinnamon took the handles on the gurney, and started to push it towards the ship. Tripped watched him go, still scowling. The dark skinned man reached the ship, and started up the boarding ramp, disappearing from view.

"Sewer Rat," he grumbled. "I take offence at that, hey." He turned from the ship, and started down the walkway a short ways, watching the tree-line from the corner of his eyes, careful not to stray further than he was allowed. The clearing they were in was high up in the mountains; he could see mountain peaks all around them, sticking up from above the trees. The walkway followed the slope downwards to the estate, perched on a larger clearing on the slopes of the mountain. 

Tripper frowned; the fact that he was strolling naked along a mountain path on an alien world sinking in a bit. The last he remembered from his journey were bits and pieces of his detox; flashes of pain and suffering, and memories he had thought gone forever clubbing him over the head with all the subtlety of a Sec's raid. He remembered... His mother. With a mental shove, he pushed the memory away; he had enough to worry about, he thought grimly, without worrying about someone that had been gone for fifteen years or so.

He reached the edge of the clearing, where the ground fell away in a gradual slope down to the estate, and let out a low whistle; the view made it easier to shove aside his mental anguish, at least for the moment. From his vantage at the crest of the hill, he could make out the plains below; a deep valley was nestled amongst the rocky slopes, an area of green bigger than anything he had imagined. Rivers, forests and grasslands filled the valley, with roads leading down from the mountains to one central spot in the center; and there, a city.

"The City of Light, great Lamoria," a voice from behind narrated, and he knew Cinnamon had returned. "He's beautiful, isn't he? The most beautiful place on the planet. I have only been there a handful of times myself; if you are lucky, perhaps Mistress will take you someday."

Even at such a distance, Tripper could make out a fair bit of detail. The city was laid out like a bicycle wheel, a circular layout with wide streets joining rim to hub; at the center stood a delicate looking tower, stretching up far above the city, as intricate and fragile as an icicle, shimmering brightly in the sunlight. The scale of everything –mountains, estate, the valley below, the city and the tower that must have stood hundreds of miles tall, even the sky itself – was overwhelming. He had spent his entire life sheltered in a steel cave. It was too much; he shook his head, feeling dizzy.

"Let's walk," Cinnamon offered softly, resting a hand on Trippers shoulder. The dark skinned man opened his mind, and let comforting emotions spill out to the other man. He could clearly sense how overwhelmed the newcomer was feeling, Trippers mind a churning mass of confused emotions. "We can talk on the way, and I will explain some things."

Tripper nodded gratefully, and they started down the stone road. "What does she want with me?"

"Your tor," Cinnamon answered; at the blank look on Tripper's face, he explained further. "Like an aura. Some powerful psionics, like Mistress, can sense ability in others, and what type it is; empathy, telepathy, telekinesis, pyrokenisis and some other less common types. This is called tor; Mistress is one of those that can sense it. She was on Trandor for other business, but took a detour down to your level seeking a new slave with a strong tor. Down there, no one would notice someone disappearing."

"Wait, you saying she wants me 'cause I'm some kind of psychic? That's crazy."

Cinnamon nodded. "Usually she can tell what type, but with you she couldn't; but she did say she thought you were unusually strong. Mistress takes pride in her possessions; the stronger they are, the stronger She is. And here you are."

"That's-" Tripper started, and cut off with a grumble. "This no swearing thing is a pain in the... arg... butt. Listen, hey, that's nuts. I'm just a jake and sometime skimmer, I ain't nobody. And I don't know nothing about no magic powers."

"I've never known Mistress to be wrong," Cinnamon said with a smile.

"And if she is? I go home?"

Cinnamon shook his head. "No, there are plenty of slaves in Lamoria with no Tor. You would be sold to another household, and find a place there. Mistress is a bit eccentric in that; while Psionics are very common here, only Mistress insists that everyone in her household have a tor, slave or not. I have never heard of another Mistress making such a rule."

"So what are you, then? Some kind of mind reader?"

"Not exactly. I am an Empath. I cannot hear thoughts, only emotion; and to a lesser degree, I can feed emotion back unto others. Mistress paid a lot for me; she sought my tor, specifically, and paid for it. Once I arrived, she spent years training me in the manly ways; how to dress and act, how to serve, and how best to please her. I am her First," he added proudly, "and her favorite, because of my tor. For whatever reason, male Empaths are rather rare."

"You are some kind of sex slave?" Tripper guessed. "Reading what feels good for her and what don't? That would have been useful back in the Sewer; I'd have been the Prince of the Jakes."

Cinnamon smiled. "Among other things, yes, I serve her sexual needs. But any of the slaves are expected to serve Mistress in that way, or any of the other women of the household. It is our duty."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Tripper admitted with a grumble.

"Oh, no," Cinnamon exclaimed, "Far from it! It is an honor to be allowed to worship Mistress." He paused, and then hastily added, "Or any of other women."

"So tell me about this place," Tripper asked, changing the subject. The way the other man beamed when he talked about their mistress concerned him a bit. And no matter how pleasant their duties might sound, he didn't like the idea of anyone forcing him to do anything. "Looks like I be staying a while."

"I was born at another estate, here in Lamoria." Cinnamon explained as they walked; Tripper found the man's voice soothing, and a welcome distraction. "I've never known another world, so I am very familiar with how things work here"

"Lamoria. That's the name of the planet, too?" Tripper asked.

Cinnamon laughed softly. "I do not know. They do not tell us much; the city is Lamoria, as is the valley. We do not travel outside the valley – I have heard it is too dangerous, but I could not say why." The man glanced at him shyly, before continuing. "I have spent my whole life here, but I have learned enough to know how different it is; I have spoken to many slaves, like you, that come from off-world."

"Lamoria," Cinnamon continued, "is governed by the Goddess, from the Crystal Tower at the center of the City of Light. The city is not much different than any other; homes, business, factories, shops and restaurants. The difference is that here, by the Word of the Goddess, no man is free. Women run everything. When I was born, at another estate on the opposite side of the valley, my mother was Mistress there. As I child, I enjoyed all the freedom the girls enjoyed, but always knew my fate. When I reached adolescence, I was sold off to Mistress; I have been here ever since."

Tripper, having heard and experienced worse, nodded but remained silent.

The path ahead was growing short, and the massive building was drawing closer. "Listen," Cinnamon went on. "You need to know some things before we arrive, or you will be punished, and I'll be punished for not telling you. Do not look any woman in the eyes; in fact, you should look at the floor at all times. Do not talk to any woman unless they ask you a question. If anyone woman tells you to do something, as long as you are not hurting Mistress' property –including you! – you do it. If Mistress tells you to do something, by the Goddess, do it fast."

Tripper gestured at the other man's thong. "When do I get my clothes?"

"Once you have been accepted by the women of the household, you will get your collar, and your cover. Anything else will have to be earned. Listen, this will be the hard part, getting the other women's approval. This is Mistress' household, and technically, you are her slave, her property; but as a sign of respect to the other woman, they must approve of you joining the household. Some of them will test you. It will not be easy."

"I was never good at tests," Tripper muttered. "But I'm worse at waiting; let's go Cin."

Cinnamon glanced at him sharply, and lowered his voice to a panicked hiss; "You must not call me that. My name is Cinnamon. Only Mistress can call me that, she would not be pleased to hear you say it."

Tripper nodded with a smile, his mind working. "C'mon," he grinned, and started towards the house.

***

They entered through a small door, one that Cinnamon explained was meant for slaves. It took them through a narrow hallway at the back of the house, plain and unadorned. They moved quickly through the building, Cinnamon wringing his hands as they went, sensing emotions from the new slave that he was sure meant trouble. The man seemed amused, where he should have been anxious and afraid. 

Soon enough, they emerged from the servant's hall, and stepped into a large foyer. Tripper gasped as he took it in, and Cinnamon smiled at the awe he felt coming from the younger man. The octagonal room was three or four stories high, a chandelier the size of a small spaceship -crafted from crystal and fiber optics- hung far above their heads. The walls were paneled in expensive looking wood –something Tripper was not used to seeing, the material being extremely rare and expensive back on Trandor –polished to a mirror shine, the finish a color somewhere between red and gold. The floor was stone, white and black and blue, set in intricate patterns of diamonds and squares, shining even more than the walls. Heavy metal doors, made of bronze or another dark metal, led out from each point of the octagon, their surfaces carved intricately with scenes of sexual debauchery; Tripper leered when he saw them.

Standing before one set of doors was a pair of men Tripper could only describe as giants. Each easily stood seven feet tall, imposing walls of muscle. The pair were clearly twins, sharing the same pale skin, blue eyes, blonde hair and grim expressions. They wore heavy looking boots, thongs that seemed noticeable fuller than Cinnamon's, and steel breastplates painted in blue and gold. Leather straps encircled their bodies at points that were clearly meant to highlight already bulging muscles; thighs and calves, biceps and forearms. Each held a tall spear that looked both vicious and functional. 

At their approach, both guards turned as one, and opened the pair of heavy doors. 

Taking it as an invitation, Tripper strolled into the room, aware that Cinnamon was tagging along behind him, radiating panic. He smiled, and let his gaze explore the room, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He felt their eyes on his naked body, but that concerned him not in the least; he was used to being looked at, and that was before he got the snazzy new upgrade. 

The new room was mammoth, the focus a massive table set for dinner for the forty or so women that sat around it. Each woman watched him with a frown as he approached; the room was lined by slaves in similar apparel to Cinnamon, and they looked even less happy than the woman. At the head of the table, Mistress Victoria sat in a throne-like chair; she was dressed in a midnight black dress, her black hair hung loose, tickling her shoulders, and her lips were painted as black as her dress. Other than Tripper, she was the only one in the room smiling, a wicked smile that almost gave him pause.

"Eyes down!" Cinnamon hissed, but Tripper ignored him. 

He sauntered past the women, very aware that their eyes followed him. He made a point of scratching his balls as he went, just to be rude, and his grin widened at the scowls he received. Tripper reached the head of the table, and stopped next to his host, making a point to look down at her impressive cleavage. Behind him, Cinnamon was muttering and shaking his head as he stared down at his feet.

"Ah!" Victoria exclaimed, rising to her feet next to Tripper. "My new plaything has arrived. Excellent. Everyone, this is our newest addition to the household, and I do hope you make him welcome, and that he meets your expectations. As is our custom, I have not yet named this one; you may refer to him as boy, or slave." She turned to face him, ignoring his arrogant expression, and her eyes bore into him, almost forcing him to take a step back. "Boy, I assume Cinnamon told you the rules?"




Shadows in Mind Ch. 02



Tripper nodded, "Sure, he did. Don't see why I should care, hey." Around the table, women muttered and grumbled. Victoria just stared at him, her eyes both icy and filled with heat at once.

She leaned forward, and Tripper just managed to not flinch away; he shuddered as her lips brushed his ear softly. "I am going to enjoy this," she whispered, quiet enough that he doubted anyone else in the room could hear. "Goddess, you better not break too easy. I want this to last, worm."

Her eyes blazed, and fire enveloped him. He cried out, and felt his knees give out; he collapsed on the floor, writhing in agony. Fire flowed through his blood, burning, his veins pumping lava. Tears flowed from his eyes as he thrashed on the floor, and somewhere distant he knew his bladder had let go, and he flopped about in a puddle of his own urine, his muscles pulling tight in their agony.

Above him, dimly, he was aware of Victoria speaking over his screams.

"You are dismissed, Cinnamon. I know this is not your fault." Cinnamon turned, his own eyes squinting at the pain he felt radiating from the floor, and fled the room, his eyes down. Victoria turned her smile, sadistic and cold, on the women around the table. "I am rather fond of this one, though clearly his training is incomplete. I knew he was strong when I took him, but even I am surprised he resisted enough of the conditioning to walk in here so smugly, staring us all down with such defiance. That should not have been possible, of course," her smile deepened. "We must all work that much harder to ensure he learns his place."

One of the women towards the rear of the table, a blonde with emerald eyes and a heavy bosom, stood and faced her. "I accept him, and I accept the challenge." She grinned wickedly. Another woman, a slim brunette with glowing eyes, looked down at the table with a frown.

Victoria bent next to Tripper, and he felt the fire laying waste to him recede. He lay in his own waste and shivered, his muscles sore and exhausted, his body suddenly freezing cold, his head pounding. "Do not disappoint me, little one," she whispered. She reached down and cupped his testicles in her hand, rubbing them softly. She trailed a finger on her other hand along his chest, ticking his smooth flesh. "I think I am going to enjoy this."

He glanced at her with hate in his eyes, her touch doing nothing to arouse him. He smiled, and panted; "Fuck you, bitch."

Pain blossomed in his head, fire and thunder, explosions of pure agony, ripping through him, tearing him to shreds. His body, already exhausted, could take no more. As he plunged into unconsciousness, Victoria's laughter followed him down, taunting.



Shadows in Mind Ch. 03



Three: Lucinda

It took a surprisingly short time, after the development of interstellar travel, for Earth to become insignificant. Less than a century after the colonization of Trandor, the capital of the Earth Federation moved there from the old home world; three major governments later, and Trandor remains the capital of our current governing body, the Galactic Republic. Trandor's location closer to the galactic center made more sense for trade; instead of a journey of nearly a year to Earth from the center, Trandor was within a few months of most major colonies. The population of Earth, on the other hand, declined rapidly. Soon enough, the home world was nothing more than a backwater world, a place of decaying technologies and obsolete nations.

-Excerpt from "Trandor" from wikiGalactic, stub published in 105AF, latest edit occurring in 1201AF

*

Eyes closed, Tripper groaned as wakefulness settled on him like a heavy blanket. His head was still throbbing, and he was beginning to think it would never stop. His body ached, every muscle sore and tired. Yet somehow, despite his aches and pains, despite the memories clamoring for attention in his abused mind, he felt calm, peaceful. Without opening his eyes, he smiled. "Hello, Cinnamon."

"Good morning," the slave answered, and then paused for a moment. "What you did in the dining hall; that was foolish. Why would you do that?"

Tripper opened his eyes, and sat up, wincing as it felt like something in his head was rattling round as he moved. Something sharp. And heavy. "I'm no slave," he answered. He really did like the man; his situation wasn't Cinnamon's fault, and the older man had never known a life any different. He couldn't help but want to try and explain. "Listen, where I'm from, life was hard, hey. Real hard. I seen lots of people that couldn't cut it, and they wasted away, or burned out in a flash. Lot of friends gone, you know? But look, it was my life. Mine to do what I wanted. Yeah, I sold myself a bit, which don't seem that different from what you do; but I get some chick I don't like, I say no. I might get slapped around a bit when I go home short some creds, but it's my choice, see? You don't have that choice, hey."

Cinnamon nodded. "What did you do there?"

Tripper grimaced. "Lots I ain't proud of. Was a Jake, for the most part. Selling myself to people what want to go for a ride. Not the worst part, I guess, at least most of the time. Just sex. But then you get those sickos, always the ones from up top --but they the ones with the most money, hey. They want you to do other things."

"There are always the ones that want to do the other things," Cinnamon admitted, his voice low and his eyes downcast.

"Ain't that the truth." Tripper swung his legs over the side of the bed, and looked around. They were in a small square room, about three meters per side. The walls were unadorned metal, shining under a lit ceiling about four meters above them. A small sink and toilet sat in one corner of the room, and he sat on a small single bed --with a single cover -- that took up most of the floor. The rest of the room was empty. "Nice place," he commented.

Cinnamon grinned slightly. "This is your cell. No lock, but no other slaves will ever enter without orders. It is your private space."

"But the women, they can enter any time they please, yeah?"

"Yes. Of course."

Tripper shook his head. "That's... nuts. You know, I really gotta figure out a way 'round this swearing bit, or my head will explode. " He glanced at the wall with a frown, and for the first time noticed his reflection; obviously, he had known his beard was gone, and his hair had been trimmed, but it was the first he had seen it. Other than a bit of stubble, the lower half of his face was hairless; his head had been trimmed down to a simple buzz cut, his blonde hair spikey and maybe an inch in length.

"There is a communal shower down the hall," the dark skinned man mentioned, changing the subject. "You will be expected to shave and shower every morning. There are also makeup tables in the shower room, and the next room down the hall has the wardrobe, but you will not be permitted either just yet."

Tripper glanced at him, and with a stern expression said, "And if I don't?"

Cinnamon moaned quietly. "Oh, please, my friend. You have to."

"Tripper," he answered softly. "My name is Tripper."

Cinnamon shook his head. "Not anymore, I'm sorry. I can't call you that. You don't have a name until Mistress gives you one."

"Well, Cinn," Tripper answered, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "I ain't going nowhere."

"Please," Cinnamon hissed. "You have to meet with Madame Lucinda for breakfast. Please, you have to shower."

"No."

Cinnamon sighed. "I don't understand why you have to be so difficult. It's not so bad here, really. You will come to love it. The Mistress will take care of you, make sure you have everything you need." He glanced away, his eyes down. "I'm sorry. Sewer Rat, you will go to the shower room, take a shower and have a shave. When you are dried off, I will escort you to Madame Lucinda's chambers."

"Crap," Tripper muttered. Entirely against his will, he had stood and was moving towards the door. As he passed the other slave, he again heard a whispered apology. "Crap crap crap," he muttered like a mantra as he briskly strolled down the hallway, relishing the fact that his brain washing did not register the word as a curse. "Crap!" he shouted, and laughed as he heard Cinnamon scampering along behind him, hissing orders that he be quiet. "Crap!" he called again, even louder. "Crap crap crap!"

"Quiet, Sewer Rat!" Cinnamon snapped at last, as they turned into the showers. Trippers jaw snapped shut with an audible click, and he glared at the other man silently.

Quietly, Tripper moved through a small room. One entire wall was a floor to ceiling mirror, and in front of that a number of small makeup tables stood unoccupied, a multitude of drawers attesting to a plentiful supply of makeup and hair products. He moved past the tables, and into the next room. Here, the walls and floor where tiled in pale colored stone, and a dozen or so communal shower stalls stood waiting. Without pause, he moved to the closest, and turned on the water.

"You may speak, quietly," Cinnamon said behind him. As Tripper stepped into the stream of warm water, the other man handed him razor. "When you earn it, you will have your own kit. For now, you will not be able to keep this. For your safety. Soap, shampoo and lather are in the dispenser on the wall."

Despite the release offered by Cinnamon, Tripper showered in silence. He lathered himself up, and had to admit he liked the changes to his body. He wondered if he should raise his prices, once he got back to the Sewer. He shaved and washed in sullen silence, and finally rinsed and shut off the water. Cinnamon handed him a towel, and he dried of wordlessly. He marched to the hallway and stopped, awaiting further instruction.

"I hate using that command," Cinnamon admitted as he started forward down the hall. Tripper followed. "I wish you would not make me. It would be easier for both of us. I feel your resentment when I do, and I promise you that I do not wish to hurt you. Your suffering... Pains me."

"Who is Lucinda?" Tripper growled, ignoring the man's attempt at relieving his own guilt, while he was still under the compulsion of his command.

"Madam Lucinda," Tripper corrected. "You will refer to all women, other than Mistress of course, as such. Madam Lucinda was the woman that stood for you at the dinner table, though I'm not sure you would have seen her, from your spot on the floor. She is the first woman to accept you into the household." He paused and glanced at Tripper. "She has a bit of a cruel streak, and will help train you. It will not be easy. She requires you for breakfast service."

"She wants me to cook for her?"

"Not exactly. Please, we are here." They stopped in front of a wooden door, and Cinnamon reached out and knocked timidly, before pushing the door open and stepping in. Tripper followed, still feeling compelled.

Tripper grinned at the woman he found waiting just inside, and he felt Cinnamon's commands fall away, completed. He barely noticed as the other man slipped away, closing the door quietly as he went. The woman grinned back at him, her eyes flashing. He thought he recognized her from his introduction earlier, but could not say for sure.

She was a tall woman, taller than he was. She was wearing a shiny black corset that pushed her already impressive breasts upwards, creating deep cleavage between her pale skinned breasts. Heavy buckles and severe leather straps held the garment shut. Bellow the corset just a thin ribbon of the flesh of her belly was visible, and then a tiny black skirt; Tripper was sure that if she bent over, nothing would be hidden. She was wearing dark stockings that contrasted against her white skin, and high heeled leather boots. Blond hair, nearly white, poured down her back, reaching the curve of her back. She smiled at him with full lips, painted dark red and shining wetly. Emerald green eyes looked down on him from underneath long lashes.

"Hello, boy," she greeted him. "I am Madame Lucinda. Like Mistress Victoria, I enjoy a challenge; I am quite looking forward to your training. Now, before we begin, let us get a few things out of the way."

Trippers eyes widened in surprise as his jaw suddenly locked shut, as if someone had placed his head in a powerful vice. He felt his arms and legs pulled apart, and he murmured a protest as he felt himself lifting from the ground. He was floating about a foot in the air, his arms and legs stretched out as far as he could hold them without pain, spread eagle. He struggled, but he might as well have been pushing against a steel wall; there was no give at all to his bondage.

Lucinda walked slowly around him, her eyes drinking in the sight of him. As she went, she trailed a finger along his flesh; across his now firm chest, circling briefly around one nipple. Along his side, to the small of his back, and down between his cheeks. Back up, and around the other side, tracing the joint where thigh met hip, and then down towards his testicles. He shuddered, and felt himself harden at her sensuous touch.

"I am a telekinetic," she explained. Her fingers were caressing his penis, and he tried to will it back down; his member did not listen, and slowly stood up and away from him. "A powerful one. Do not entertain any notions of escape or of overpowering me. With a thought, I can restrain you. With a bit more effort, I could crush you." Her hand was stroking him, slowly. He growled, inwardly cursing that his body was betraying him.

"But I have no intention of leaving you like this. This teaches you nothing, and you must learn to obey." Her smile deepened, and her stroking increased. Tripper grunted behind his gag, and tried to move his hips. "So I will let you go in a moment; I just wanted you to understand that there is no hope for you. The sooner that you accept that, the sooner you give yourself to me, the easier it will be for you."

"Now, I could just command you to obey, and you know full well you would have to do whatever I ask; you have felt the touch of your compulsion, and you know there is no escape from it. But that would not be obeying, would it? In your mind, you would be rebelling, protesting. Cursing perhaps." She had the head of his cock in her palm, and she was rubbing gently, quickly, using his own precum as lubrication. His balls felt tight, and he moaned at her touch. Her second hand went to his testicles, and caressed his sack slowly, her fingernails gently racking down the loose skin.

"I am going to give you one compulsion, and only one; it will allow you a certain freedom with me, so that I know the moment you become mine." She smiled, and took her hands away from him. He tried to thrust forward, groaning his frustration; he had been very close to cuming, and the sudden lack of sensation was torture. "Sewer Rat," she whispered into his ear, her breath warm, and he felt his skin shudder and break out in goose bumps. "You will not break any promise you make to me of your own free will." She stepped back with a smile.

Tripper frowned. He didn't understand what the point was. There was no way he would promise that bitch anything, so there would be no chance for his brainwashing to enforce anything. His thoughts scattered as he suddenly dropped to the ground, his bonds released, and he struggled to keep his balance.

"You will do as I say, swiftly," Lucinda added, "or you will be punished. But you will not be compelled." She grinned at him, and Tripper's frown deepened. He was beginning to have a bad feeling.

Lucinda turned away, and moved deeper into the residence; they were in a large sitting room, the walls painted with flowers and vines; each corner held a small table with a massive vase of flowers. Lucinda moved to a white sofa in the center of a room, and took a seat; a moment later, and a large view screen on the wall flashed to life. "Come here, bitch-boy," Lucinda ordered.

"How about no?" Tripper snapped. He worked his jaw, glad he could move it freely again. "Ow!" he cried out, as he felt something strike his backside. He spun, searching, but there was nothing behind him. He grunted again as something struck him again, harder, across both cheeks. "What the-" he cut off as something hit him across the shoulder blades.

"Come here, bitch-boy," Lucinda repeated calmly. The frequency of the hits increased, as did their strength. Tripper felt like he was being struck by a dozen whips, each one hitting hard enough to leave a mark. He glanced down; pink marks where appearing everywhere. An invisible blow smacked him in the balls, and he fell to his knees, his vision obscured by tears.

"All right!" he gasped, "I'm coming!"

The blows continued, and he dropped forward on all fours. "Better hurry," Lucinda commented. Under the raining blows, he moved towards her as fast as he could, crawling along the carpeted floor. As he approached, Lucinda pointed at the floor directly in front of her. He reached the indicated spot, and abruptly the attack stopped; he flopped down onto his tummy on the floor, gasping and panting.

"On your hands and knees," Lucinda murmured. Her eyes were glued to something on the screen. Aching and exhausted, Tripper rose up as instructed.

"You see?" Lucinda said, without looking down at him. She lifted her legs, and rested her feet in the small of his back, as if he were an ottoman. "Already you are learning to do as you are told. As you can see, it takes little effort for me to whip you, using my telekinesis. Now shush; I like to watch the Republic news before I start the day."

As the news started on the screen, another man walked into the room from deeper in the suite. "Your coffee, madam," he whispered, his eyes downcast. Like Cinnamon, the man wore a thong, though his was white, and Tripper could quite clearly see the man's member through the material. White leather straps, dozens of them, encircled his body like stripes. His skin was Caucasian but well-tanned, and he was hairless from head to toe. White makeup colored his lips and eyes, and heavy gold earrings hung from both ears. His collar was more of a torc, covering his throat with rings of gold, and more gold encircled his wrists and ankles.

Lucinda took the steaming cup, and patted the man gently on his crotch. "Star, this is the new house slave, bitch-boy. Please say hello."

"Hello, bitch-boy," the new man answered, his voice dripping with malice. His gaze met Trippers, and his eyes darkened.

"Now, Star, that is no way to speak to our newcomer. Your tone is unappreciated. Apologize at once." She sipped her coffee, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Tripper knew envy when he saw it, and wondered. The man was another slave, yet he seemed somehow jealous at the attention he was receiving. Well, he would gladly give it up, if that were an option.

"Sorry, bitch-boy," Star muttered, but his eyes, still locked on Trippers, simmered with hate.

With a wave of her hand, Lucinda dismissed the other slave, and Star slumped away. "He's a jealous one," she commented over her beverage. "my little Star. I will punish him later for that rude display, but I do enjoy how he fawns for me. If you are a good little bitch, maybe I will let you fuck me in front of him, just to remind him of his place. Mmmm," she purred. "I believe I like that idea. And it will make him hate you soooo much."

Tripper swallowed, but remained silent; this place is nuts.

With a sigh, she lifted her feet, and set them down next to him. "Massage my feet, bitch-boy. And make it a good one."

Tripper sat back on his knees, and took one of her feet in his hands; he really had had enough pain for a lifetime, and it didn't seem like such a big thing. He had done far worse in his life. And she did have nice legs. As he started to rub, one hand on the arch of her foot and the other caressing her calve, she moved her other foot to his crotch; her toes started kneading at his flaccid cock, and he slowly started to harden again.

As he worked, she purred her pleasure from the sofa. "From now on," she announced, her foot stroking away at his now hard member, "You will answer me anytime I address you, and you will refer to me as Madam." She paused a moment; when he remained quiet, she pushed her foot down onto his testicles, hard, squashing them against the floor.

"Yes, Madam," he grunted. She released him.

"Now the other foot, bitch-boy," Lucinda commanded. He took her other foot, and her free one moved to continue teasing his cock. He glanced down, and noticed a drop of precum forming on his tip. He massaged her foot as he had the first; working the toes, the arch. Moving up to her ankle, her calf, and behind her knee. Above him, she sighed as his fingers worked; below, her foot rubbed up and down his cock, pushing it back and up against his stomach.

Eventually, her program ended, and the screen flashed off seemingly by itself; Tripper figured if she could whip him from the opposite side of the room, without lifting a finger, turning off the display with a bit of tk would be a simple task. She pulled her foot from his hands, and sat back deeper into the couch, opening her legs as she reclined, pushing the skirt up around her waist. She wasn't wearing panties, and her mound was shaved as smooth as his. Tripper glared at her pussy, knowing what she intended. He had done it plenty of times before, but he resented that he had no choice.

Her eyes met his, and her lips tugged up in a smile. "Well? You know what to do, bitch boy." To reinforce her comment, he felt an invisible strike against his balls. He sighed, knowing he had no choice.

He scooted forward a bit, and leaned towards her waiting pussy. He could not deny that it was an inviting sight, as much as he hated admitting it. Her attentions on his cock had left him hungry for more, and the sight and smell of her did nothing to lessen the swelling of his member.

He traced the outline of her slit with the tip of his tongue; Lucinda sighed at the first touch, and sank a bit deeper into the sofa, her bottom pushing forward towards him, as if seeking more contact. She lifted her legs, and draped them casually over his shoulders, her ankles crossed behind his back. His tongue ran up and down, slipping just a little between her swollen lips, tasting her.

At the twinkling sound of a bell, Tripper paused and glanced up; Lucinda grinned at him, showing him a small silver bell. "I did not tell you to stop, bitch." She said calmly, and then let her eyes drift shut. A moment later, and Tripper heard approaching footsteps. "Watch from the end the sofa," Lucinda ordered, though something in her tone made it clear she wasn't taking to him. "Do not say anything, do not touch anything. This is your punishment for your rudeness; you will watch this new bitch do what you would like to do, little Star."




Shadows in Mind Ch. 03



Tripper continued to tease her lightly with his tongue, but his eyes glanced over to the edge of the sofa; Star stood there stiffly, his cock noticeably hard in his thong. He was intently watching Trippers work between Lucinda's legs. Star met his eyes, and Tripper shuddered; the man hated with a frightening passion. Wondering why the man hated him so much, he turned his attention back to Lucinda's pussy.

He flicked her clit with his tongue, rapidly rubbing it, polishing it. He dragged his tongue back down, letting it enter her, and heard Lucinda sigh heavily above him. He penetrated her as deep as he could manage, straining, thrusting his tongue in and out quickly. Her thighs tightened, clamping around his head, and he felt an invisible force at the back of his head, pushing him in deeper.

"Fuck," Lucinda moaned. "You are very good at that, bitch-boy. Much better than Star could ever do. Oh Goddess! Yes! Fuck me with your face, bitch! I might have to call you in anytime I need this; Poor Star's tongue might well grow dry and dusty. Oh, fuck! Yes!"

Her thighs tightened, and Tripper knew she was close to the edge; he increased his pace, and was surprised when her legs released him, and she pushed him away with a gasp. "No yet," she panted. "You're a little too good at that. I want it to last a bit." She grinned down at him. "Lick my little star, bitch," she smiled cruelly at the other slave. "Lick my asshole. That's his favorite. If you do as well there, poor Star will be out of a job."

With a sigh, knowing he still had no choice, Tripper again leaned forward. His tongue flicked between her cheeks, and he heard two moans; one from Lucinda and one from Star, though his was half growl. He felt something tug at his erection, and glanced down; there as nothing there, but he could see the skin of his cock slowly sliding back and forth. She was stroking him with telekinesis! He moaned into her ass, and prodded deeply with his tongue.

He spun his tongue around her hole, tracing the rim with the tip. She was clean, and her flesh had a sweet taste about it. He plunged his tongue in again, and timed his penetrations with the speed of his invisible hand job. Faster they went, and he brought his hand up to hold her slim waist, as her squirming made it hard to keep contact with her anus. She started bucking against his face roughly, forcing him back; forcing him to hang on tighter.

"Oh fuck yes," Lucinda cried. "Eat my ass you little bitch! Goddess, I love it! Fuck me with your tongue! Taste my dark star and show my little Star how it's done!"

Tripper felt his balls tighten, his own hips thrusting franticly as he worked. He moaned into Lucinda's ass, ready to erupt, and sudden the invisible motion stopped; he whimpered between her cheeks, his rhythm broken.

"Don't fucking stop bitch-boy! You are not cuming -- I am not finished!"

Ignoring his throbbing, he continued; his tongue darted in and out of her. A stream of his spit mixed with her flooding juices flowed freely down the crack of her ass, pooling on the sofa. As he tongue fucked her ass, his hand drifted down from her hip, his thumb reaching down from above towards her clit. He flicked it, and Lucinda almost knocked him back as she arched her back, slamming her bottom into him.

"Fuuuuuuck!" she groaned.

His thumb moved rapidly, gently, drawing circles over her throbbing clitoris, his tongue working her ass. She started to moan, incomprehensible sounds pouring from between her full lips, her eyes tightly shut. Her thighs locked around his head again, crushing him. He felt her quivering around him, her legs shaking, and her firm stomach rising and falling rapidly as she struggled for breath, her chest heaving. She came, her juices gushing, threatening to drown him between her legs; behind them, he heard the view screen crack and shatter, the explosive orgasm causing Lucinda to lose control of her telekinesis. Next to them, Star stood rigid, shaking, his eyes filled with lust and hate and fury.

Slowly, her body relaxed, and Tripper let himself fall back onto his heels, looking up at her, his erection still throbbing between his legs, standing up obscenely. Lucinda was panting, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed, a wide smile stretched across her lips. "Nicely done, bitch boy," she panted.

Tripper's erection was aching. His head was full of the scent of her pussy, his mouth awash with her taste. He was desperate with his own need to orgasm. His cock was dripping precum like a broken tap. Ignoring Lucinda, he reached for his cock; he did not see Star's grin as his hand moved, as his fingers curled around his cock.

Tripper moved his hand up the shaft, grunting under his breath as he felt the skin move under his fingers, and he knew it would only take a handful of stokes. He felt his balls tense, pulling tight, as he stroked. He stroked faster, and grunted again; his hips thrust forward as he stroked; too late, he noticed Lucinda watching. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and her lips were curled in a cruel smile.

Pain. It felt like someone was kicking him in the balls, and his shaft felt like he had thrust it into hot coals. He pulled his hand away with a cry of anguish, and toppled over onto the floor, face down on the carpet; any thought of orgasm fled. He screamed as the pain tore through him, his erection instantly gone. He curled up in the fetal position on the floor, while something beat at his balls and dipped his penis into a raging fire. Off to the side, Star snickered while Lucinda smiled down at him in amusement.

"I guess," Tripper heard Lucinda's voice dimly over the rush of blood in his ears, "that no one mentioned to you that you are not allowed to cum without permission. You will find that anytime you draw that close to your edge, without permission, the pain will make orgasm quite impossible." She laughed, and stood above him. Her bare foot was only an inch from his face, and he focused on her big toe as he writhed on the carpet. "When you are done there, Star will escort you back to your room. Thank you for a pleasant morning, bitch-boy. You followed all my commands very well, just like a good little slave. You see? You fit right in." She laughed again, and stepped away, moving out of his vision. He heard her address Star before leaving the room; "Take him back to his room. You may not enter his room, and I want you back here immediately."

On the ground, Tripper whimpered, and wondered how long the burning, crushing, tortuous sensations would last. Underneath that, he was just coherent enough to wonder what the hate filled man would do to him once they were alone.



Shadows in Mind Ch. 04



Four: Pip

Recent attempts by the locals to preserve and restore some very historic artifacts have gone over pleasantly well, and Earth and its system has become a nice little vacation spot I highly recommend: Check out the restored ruins of New York City, and check out a show on Broadway, once a cultural highlight of humanity. See the ancient pyramids, the oldest man-made structures in the entire Republic. Visit the old Lunar Colony, naturally preserved in its original state after all these years, or check out Jovian Research Station -where most scholars agree Hyperspace was discovered -, and watch the gas giant churn beneath you. The sites and tastes are very quaint, and definitely retain a generous helping of that old-world charm. 

-Excerpt from Galactic Hotspots: A Travel Guide, published 1192AF 

After a century or two, by Trippers best reckoning, the fire in his cock went out, and the invisible bastards beating his balls wandered away to pick on some other poor drek. His body unclenched, and he slowly unwrapped himself from the fetal position. His balls ached, both from the imaginary beating and the gallons of pent up cum he was sure he was now carrying. His penis throbbed, but the pain in his balls -reaching up into his guts -easily distracted him from that lesser ache. 

His eyes cracked open, and he took in the sight of Star standing over him, smiling broadly. "You took that like a pussy," he commented. His eyes still radiated hate. "Don't be such a baby. You're little penis is still there, and there's nothing wrong with it. Up on your feet, bitch. Time to go back to your room." 

Tripper stood slowly. Still there or not, he grimaced as his balls swung freely while he regained his feet, feeling heavy and full. He had a headache again, and wondered if he would ever go a full day again without a throbbing, splitting pain in his skull. 

"Follow me," Star demanded, and moved to the door. Too tired to argue or respond, Tripper shuffled along after him. The other slave led him out into the hall, and they started to retrace his earlier path back to his tiny room. Star went silently, and Tripper follow suit, having no desire to engage the other man in conversation. 

Star broke the silence as they took the last turn; ahead, Tripper recognized the doors to the showers and his own small room. "You will not take my place," the man hissed. "I'll see to it, one way or another. Madame Lucinda may have granted you an hour out of her time this morning, but it's me that will see her to bed tonight, it's me that will be sleeping at her feet." 

"Look," Tripper explained. "You think I want to be here? I didn't exactly have a choice, hey." 

Star just glared at him. "Do not mock me. I saw the way you looked at her, drinking in her beauty. Even the Mistress pales next to her. Do you think I'm a fool? Of course you want to take my place as her pet. How could you not? But you will not succeed." 

"Listen, man. That's nuts. You can have her." They reached his room, and paused outside. Tripper refrained from opening the door, and tried instead to convince the other man he had no ulterior motives. "Really. She's all yours. I don't want to be nobody's slave, let alone hers." 

Star scowled. "You lie, bitch." He leaned forward, and Tripper had to stop himself from flinching. "I know your secret," he whispered in Trippers ear. "I overheard." 

"Secret? What secret?" 

Star opened the door with a gentle shove. "Sewer Rat," he spoke with a sadistic grin. "When I am done speaking, you will go to your room. You will shut the door. You will never tell anyone that I know your command. And you will never tell anyone anything about this conversation. And now? You will masturbate until someone else comes to get you." Star cackled. "Go, bitch." 

Without pause, Tripper walked into his room, pulling the door shut behind him. He fell to his knees just inside, and his hands went to his privates, one on his cock, and one cradling his balls. As horny as he was, it didn't take long before he hardened. "Crap," he muttered as he stroked, knowing what was coming; knowing that he would be unable to stop from trying to cum. "Crap crap crap." Silently, he hoped someone would be coming by his room soon. Anyone. Even Victoria. Otherwise he was in for a very long morning. 

*** 

Victoria glanced up at the knock, sending her thoughts outward, and then mentally granted the newcomer permission to enter. She turned her attention back to the documents in front of her on the massive desk. 

The door opened silently on well-maintained hinges, and a short diminutive woman slipped into the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Eyes down, she approached the desk, and paused before it; hands behind her back, she waited patiently to be addressed. 

Where Victoria was tall and buxom, the newcomer -looking to be in her early twenties -was short and slim, her chest perky but considerably smaller. Her hair was a halo of dark blue, tinted with slashes of nearly black. Thin brows were creased in worry, her full lips turned down in a pout. 

Without looking up, Victoria entered her mind and communicated, her expression giving nothing away. (We have spoken about this before. Your dress is inappropriate, especially as you had plenty of warning that I wished to see you). 

The newcomer glanced down at herself. She was wearing simple loose grey pants, ideal for exercise. Her shirt was a white tank that left both her midriff and shoulders bare. "Yes Mistress," she said; a spark of irritation in her emerald eyes countered her words. "I apologize." 

Victoria looked up, and her eyes flashed. "And yet here you are, looking as if you were at the gym, and not presenting yourself to the Mistress of this household. I am tired of your defiance, Mara. Next time I see you, you will see yourself appropriately dressed, or I will hand you over to Lucinda for a few hours of punishment, like one of the slaves." 

"Yes, Mistress. Am I dismissed?" 

"No, you are not." Victoria snapped. "I did not call you here to discuss your dress, as offensive as it is, as I am positive you are fully aware. Listen to me girl; I am done with your games. I couldn't care less about your thoughts or concerns. You are a member of this household and will act accordingly." 

"Of course, Mistress." 

"Damnit Mara, look at me!" 

The girl looked up; her eyes flashing briefly in what might have been anger. She met the other woman's icy gaze without flinching. 

"You are already at a disadvantage here. The others complain that you should be sent elsewhere, somewhere more fitting for your condition. Your place is here; but I cannot have you acting against everything I say, storming through the halls in silent defiance, dressed like a hobo, refusing to be a part of this community." 

"I apologize Mistress. It is hard to know my place, knowing that I am just a cripple." 

Victoria glared. "You are not a cripple." She glanced down at her hands on the desk for a moment, and took a calming breath. She looked up again before continuing, her voice somewhat softer. "You saw the new slave? I want you to take him tonight for a lesson. If you were the one to break him, you could gain much respect in the eyes of the others. Make him yours, Mara. Make everyone see that your disadvantage means nothing." 

"I would rather not, Mistress. And I could give a spit what the others think of me." 

"Language!" Victoria bellowed, her patience at an end. "You will take the slave to your room, and you will try your best to break him. I will know if you do not. My tolerance with your behavior is at an end. I will send you to Lucinda if you defy me one more time. She will treat you no different than any slave, and then we will see how your attitude holds up, as you weep and beg my forgiveness under her attentions. I will leave you with her for a month if that's what it takes to set you straight. Understood?" 

Mara matched her look, her own eyes smoldering. For a moment, Victoria was sure the girl would push back, and she would have to make good on her promise. But she looked down, her eyes distant, and her frown deeper. "Yes, Mistress. As you command." 

"Get out of here." 

Mara turned to leave, and started towards the door. 

"And Mara?" Victoria's voice froze her in place. "Wear something fitting of your station by the goddess!" 

"Yes, Mistress." 

*** 

Cinnamon knocked gently on the door, waited just a moment, and then pushed it open. He stepped into the room and gasped in surprise; Tripper was lying on his back on his narrow bed, his hand slowly working up and down the shaft of his cock, his eyes shut. 

"Oh, thank the light," Tripper cried upon hearing the others surprise. He quickly let go and sat up, blushing a bit at his state. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, facing the other slave, pointedly not looking down at his leaking erection. 

"What are you doing? Don't you know what happens if you try to cum?" Cinnamon exclaimed. 

"Um, yeah. I noticed," Tripper muttered. He had suffered through the blinding pain as he approached climax three times before he figured out a loophole; if he masturbated very, very slowly he could avoid reaching the edge, and not get punishment. Of course, it was also agonizingly frustrating, and now he was even more desperate for an orgasm, and his head was still pounding. And he was compelled to not say a damn word about any of it. "I guess I'm a slow learner, hey. So, what brings you to my little corner of the galaxy, Cin?" 

Cinnamon stared at him for a moment, a frown on his face, incredulous. The mixture of emotions he felt coming from Tripper was confusing at best, and he could not decide what the man had been thinking. Finally, he shook his head, dismissing it. "You need to come with me. Calisthenics." Cinnamon tossed a pair of simple shoes on the bed next to him. 

Tripper stared back, blankly. 

"Exercise. We are both slated for the afternoon calisthenics." 

"Exercise," Tripper repeated, slowly. "Why?" 

Cinnamon sighed. "Does it matter? Are you going to make me command you again? Because we have to. Because the Mistress likes us all to stay in shape, to remain pleasing to the eye. A fat slave is a blemish on the entire household. Ok?" 

Tripper returned the sigh. His headache was raging, and his stomach grumbled; he was not sure the last time he had something to eat. He was exhausted, and his testicles felt heavy and swollen, the ache felt in his guts. Simply put, he felt like crap. "All right," he answered, and the other man raised an eyebrow in surprise. He didn't explain; he simply didn't have the energy to resist. Instead he put the shoes on, impressed at the fit, and moved towards the door. 

"How was your morning with Lucinda?" Cinnamon asked as he took the lead through the hallway. 

"I guess it could have been worse," Tripper muttered, reflecting on the day. He glanced at Cinnamon, and chose his words carefully; avoiding all the booby traps he felt waiting in his own mind. "That slave, Star; he seemed to have a bit of a problem with me." 

They were moving down the hall in an unfamiliar direction; soon they approached a heavy looking door, different from the others they had passed, made of darkly stained wood. Cinnamon stared into an optical scanner, and the door lock clicked. Cinnamon pushed it open, and glanced at Tripper as they stepped outside. 

"I wanted to warn you about Star, but did not have a chance; you were too busy being obstinate. Watch out for that one. He has a jealous streak about him; he is convinced his sole purpose in life is to serve Madam Lucinda, and that no one else can match his devotion. Just be yourself, and I'm sure you'll be fine. There is no way anyone could possibly think you were enjoying yourself, so there is no reason for him to think you were after his position." 

They moved down a gravel walkway, heading towards the trees. Ahead of them, Tripper could see several other slaves heading in the same direction. "Crap," Tripper muttered. 

Cinnamon glanced at him sharply. "You managed to make him think exactly that, didn't you?" Tripper nodded, looking slightly sheepish. "Oh, no," Cinnamon sighed. "Then you better watch out for him. He is even crueler than his Madam; I wouldn't want to guess what he's capable of. He'll hurt you, if he can." 

Tripper frowned, but stayed silent. Aches in his balls and head were proof enough to verify Cinnamon's words. 

They reached a small clearing, occupied by an orderly line of slaves, maybe a dozen in all, each dressed similar to Cinnamon in thongs and simple leather straps of various colors and placement. Most the men were stretching, working the muscles in their legs. They stepped up behind the last pair of slaves, joining the line, and Cinnamon started stretching as well. 

"You should stretch," Cinnamon commented. "We have a long way to run." 

Tripper chuckled. "I never stretched before tripping up some punks in the Sewer, don't see why I would bother now." Cinnamon rolled his eyes at him, and Tripper responded with a lopsided grin. 

A giant strolled into the clearing, and stood facing the others with a faint smile. Tripper recognized one of the twins that had been guarding the dining room; his smile widened when he saw Tripper, his blue eyes flashing. He had discarded his armor, and instead wore the traditional leather bands that they all wore, but his were studded with sharp looking steel spikes. 

"That's Pip," Cinnamon whispered. "His brother's name is Tiny. They are twins, but Tiny doesn't wear the spikes on his gear. Don't be alone with Pip, but his brother can actually be pretty nice. They both have the Mistress' favor, and are granted more liberties than the rest of us." 

"All right, you shit smear cunts," Pip called out. With a frown, Tripper realized the prohibition against swearing apparently didn't apply to the wannabe-drill-sergeant. "Follow my lead!" The hulking man proceeded to lead the slaves through the most grueling sixty minutes of Trippers life. Push-ups, lunges, sit-ups, planks, and every other torture the arrogant, puffed up gym teacher could think of; by the end, Tripper was drenched in sweat, the feeling of sweat coating his naked body uncomfortable and distracting. 

As he panted, hands on knees and leaning forward, Pip moved past him towards the front of the line. "Not done yet, fresh meat," the man laughed as he passed. "Now we run!" 

As one, the group started forward at a fast jog, moving away from the estate and down a winding trail leading into the woods. Tripper groaned, ignoring the angry grumblings of his stomach, and followed next to Cinnamon. 

Being exhausted and hungry was nothing new to Tripper; he kept pace, and took the opportunity to familiarize himself with the grounds. His eyes took in everything, roaming the forest, mentally mapping out their route. He did some quick figuring in his head, and determined the landing site with the spaceship was off about a kilometer to his left. Good to know, even if he doubted he could breach the ships security, let alone fly the thing. 

Ahead, the path turned sharply; off to the side, he noticed bright red flags tied to trees, maybe a hundred meters off the path. The flags continued as they went, as if marking off some boundary off to his right. Tripper had to wonder what the flags were for, and what lay on the other side; as near as he could tell, just more trees. 

"That's the border of the valley," Cinnamon offered from beside him, the slaves breathing labored but not winded. The man was in good shape, as apparently all the slaves were. "Do not go near them." 

Tripper's eyes narrowed. "And you said no one ever leaves the valley, so you don't know what's there. Hey, it's right there; what's stopping us from just checking it out? Could be freedom just through them trees, hey." 

Cinnamon frowned. "Don't try it. The flags aren't really the border; they just warn that you are approaching the edge. If you pass the flags, you'll know why. Pain. Bad pain, worse than anything you have felt. Last man that tried, an import like you, was found dead a couple days later. His insides had pretty much liquefied, and dumped out his ass. They buried what was left in a cigar case." 

As the path turned away from the border, heading back the way they had come from, Tripper watched the flags fall behind, his mind working. Something was keeping people in the valley. Why? What was on the other side? Whatever it was, it had to be better that what he had found on this side. He would just need a way through. 

The distance increased, and Tripper took one last look over his shoulder. The air seemed to shimmer beyond the flags, like he was looking into an out of focus camera. Something stirred in his mind, like a gentle hum. Something... Warm. 

He shook his head, and the feeling left him. He ran on, following the others, leaving the border behind. 

*** 

Cinnamon led him to the showers once they returned. This time, Tripper was all too happy to oblige, rinsing the sweat and dirt away. The showers were nearly full, a man at every shower. Cinnamon was on the far side of the room. Tripper closed his eyes, enjoying the warm water cascading over him. 

He opened his eyes when he felt movement next to him; Pip had entered the showers, and ordered the slave next to Tripper to vacate with little more than a glare and a frown. The big man looked over at Tripper as he turned on the water, and leered. 

"Hello fresh meat. You're a tiny thing. A bit like a girl. I could just bend you over and make you my little bitch." 

Tripper glanced at the man, and reached for a handful of shampoo from the dispenser on the wall. Pip was staring at him with lust filled eyes; the man's dick was rock hard, and he was slowly stroking it in his direction. The man's wood was as large as everything else on the giant, as thick as Trippers wrist and nearly as long as his forearm. Tripper couldn't help but notice the showers were suddenly a lot emptier; Cinnamon was watching from the other side of the room, eyes wide and his face filled with fear. One other slave quickly finished up and scurried from the room. 

Tripper began washing his hair, lathering it well; the soap dribbled down his body as he stepped slightly back from the spray of water. "Listen big boy, it's real nice of you to say so; I work hard for this girlish figure, hey. But guys aren't my style, man, and frankly that thing of yours looks like it ought to be better used on a horse or something. 'Sides, what's the point; we can't have a proper finish around here, anyway." 

Pip chuckled. The head of his penis was an angry purple, engorged and throbbing. "Oh, I know you can't. I got me a bit more freedom, when I see a nice new bitch I'd like to break in. Saddle up and get ready for a ride." 

Tripper sighed. So, it was going to be like that. "What a day," he muttered, again wishing he could toss in a decent swear or two. He faced the massive man and smiled. "Well, come on then. Let me show you how we play in the Sewer." 

Pip lunged. When he hit the spray of Trippers shower he staggered; Tripper had flipped off the cold water while grabbing the shampoo, and had stepped back from the water. Between the man's charge and his surprise and the pain of the hot water, he lost his balance and grabbed for Tripper. 

Tripper felt the man's arms grasp at his body; the generous lather from the shampoo coating him did the trick; the bigger man's arms slipped, and he smashed to the ground at Tripper's feet. The smaller man did not hesitate. He stomped on the back of the man's neck. "Mess with me, bitch? I don't think so!" Tripper screamed. He didn't even notice he had sworn without repercussions. Across the room, Cinnamon watched in shock. 




Shadows in Mind Ch. 04



Tripper climbed onto the other man's back; grimacing, he grabbed the man's hair, and lifted Pip's face; with all his weight, he slammed the giant's face against the tile floor. "You lucky I don't have something to shove up your ass fucker!" He smashed the man's face again; blood and teeth were washing down the drain. Again, and again. When Cinnamon grabbed him from behind and started pulling, he was not sure if the man was conscious, or even alive. He spat at the downed man, steaming water raining down on him. 

They reached the hallway, and Tripper noticed Cinnamon was crying. Tears flowed down the man's cheeks, and his shoulders shook. He let Tripper go, and the former jake frowned at the slave. 

"He had that coming, for sure. What the matter, hey?" 

"He is Mistress' favorite," Cinnamon sobbed. "You should not have done that." He looked up at him, his eyes wide with terror. "I don't know what she will do to you now," he finished in a whisper. 

"I-" he started to explain, when he felt his mouth clamp shut. He felt himself fly across the hallway, and grunted when he smashed into a wall with considerable force; he hung there, unable to move, and barely able to breath. The force that held him was pushing him back against the wall, slowly crushing him. His eyes bulged and tears began to flow; he could hear his ribs creaking. 

"Do not kill him," Mistress Victoria said in a low voice, her eyes flashing like molten steel. "I want him alive." Victoria strolled into sight, Lucinda at her side. Behind them, a number of slaves rushed into the shower room carrying a gurney. 

Victoria moved up directly in front of him, her face inches from her chest. She glared up at him. Without looking, she reached out and took his balls in her hand; she squeezed them as hard as she could, and Tripper felt himself nearly blacking out. He screamed as well as he could with his mouth sealed, his entire body quivering in pain. 

"You will regret that, little bitch. You will regret that a lot." She spoke quietly, barely more than a whisper, but he had no trouble hearing, even over the roaring of his blood in his ears. "You will beg for death before I am through. But I will not grant that boon. You are mine. The sooner you accept that the better. But now, you will suffer." 

Her eyes glowed, and pain blossomed in his head. Again, he fell into the darkness.



Shadows in Mind Ch. 05



Five: Tiny

Under City, Trandor- Sector Security reported a shooting near the 104th block of sector F067 of the Under City last night. Officials believe it was gang related, though witnesses are not talking. The victim, an unidentified female estimated to be in her early thirties, was shot in the chest with an energy weapon. The coroner reports death would have only taken moments, as the heart sustained extensive damage. This is just the most recent bout of violence in an area overwhelmed with crime and violence. Sector Security is asking that any witnesses step forward, and are asking for help identifying the body. They insist anonymity of witnesses will be their utmost concern. Please contact Officer Denver at the F067 Department of Security.

-Excerpt from the Trandor Post, June 3 1222 AF

Tripper turned away, squeezing his eyes shut tightly; but the scene before him followed, looping endlessly. A little blonde boy, walking down the dirty streets of the Sewer, hand in hand with an angel. A shortcut; an alley they had taken a hundred times before. Laughter. Threats. Menacing grins glaring down at him, red eyes glowing in the darkness. Blaster fire. A boy cries. Loss. He clutched at his head, shaking it futilely. Nothing could shatter the memories hold on him. Not here, not trapped in his own mind, with nothing to distract; nothing to help him turn away; no drugs to distort and destroy. His mind insisted he replay it, again and again. He was helpless to stop it. He cried out, shrieking, his voice broken and filled with terror, fear, loss, desperation. 

A little blonde boy, walking down the dirty streets of the Sewer, hand in hand with an angel. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he felt his heart hitch in his chest, a pain worse than anything he had ever done to himself, worse than anyone at the estate had done, worse than anything anyone could do. A shortcut; an alley they had taken a hundred times before. No! Don't go there! He cried out, but his voice was lost in the dream, like a whisper in space. Laughter. Noooo! Threats. Menacing grins glaring down at him, red eyes glowing in the darkness. Leave us alone! Blaster fire. A boy cries. Loss. Please no. No more. Leave me be...

A little blonde boy, walking down the dirty-

(You can stop it.) A new voice. Unfamiliar. Soft, beautiful. Caring, concerned. Loving? (Only you can stop it.)

-streets of the Sewer, hand in hand with an angel. A shortcut; an alley-

(You never healed, when you were a boy. You never had the chance. Now, now that you remember, you must heal.)

"How?"

-they had taken a hundred times before. Laughter. Threats. Menacing grins-

(It was not your fault. You were never to blame.)

"Who are you?"

A face in the darkness. His mother's face; beautiful, her hair crowned with silver hair. No, not his mother, his angel. She moved forwards, into the light of his mind, and his mouth hung agape. An Angel. A real Angel. She smiled at him, her face so beautiful it caused a spike of ache in his heart. She was a creature of gentle grace, tall, naked, skin the color of honey. Full breasts and pert nipples, short silver curls obscuring her pelvis. And wings. Wings of silver and gold, delicate looking, fragile, stretching up above her and around her, like the wings of a butterfly. An Angel.

-glaring down at him, red eyes glowing in the darkness. Blaster Fire. A boys cries. Loss. A little blonde-

(It was not your fault,) the Angel repeated.

He looked away, unable to withstand her look of pity, the love radiating from her. Such a beautiful creature. He could not stand that she looked at him like that, it hurt him to know how wrong she was, it hurt him to know he would have to tell her. He wanted to never hurt her. "

It was my fault." He whispered. Tears like rivers, an ocean of regret and misery. A darkness on his heart and a shadow in his mind, a weight on his shoulders. "My fault," he sobbed. "My fault she's gone."

-boy, walking down the dirty streets of the Sewer, hand in hand-

(No. Not your fault, never your fault. You must forgive yourself, to be healed.)

"Never. Impossible. I will never forgive myself for what I did. Never!"

-with an angel. An angel. An angel. An angel.-

(I need you. I need you whole. Forgive yourself. Please. For me.)

-angelangelangelangel-

(Only you can help me. Only you can save me.)

He turned away. He could never do it. Whatever she wanted, this creature of beauty that tried to wrest his dreams away from him, tried to make him see something else, tried to love him, forgive him, this angel angel angel angel- No.

(Please. Only you-)

"No!" he screamed, and the dream shattered around him. The angels eyes, silver, followed him back, and he awoke with a cry, his throat hoarse and his cheeks wet. The room was dark and empty, lonely. He stared into the dark, tears making rivers down his face, and pushed the memory away. 

Realty crashed in; Pip, and the fight in the showers. Victoria, and her threats. The cursed planet and every cursed thing on it. His balls ached, his stomach was painfully empty, and his head was pounding. The last scraps of his dream fled. He grimaced, and tried to make out his surroundings, but it was too dark; he tried to move, but found that he was restrained. He was stretched over some hard surface, bent forward at the waist. His wrists were stretched out and bound to either side. His feet, on the ground, were spread as far as he could bear; his ass was up in the air. 

"Crap," he muttered. He had little doubt that whatever came next would not be enjoyable.

He waited in the dark a long time. His mind wandered. He thought of friends in the Sewer. It had not been the nicest place, but it had been home. Even amongst the dregs of society, he had known people of worth, people he had enjoyed to spend time with. He missed them; something he never would have thought.

He thought of escape. He was sure the border around the valley was the answer. Something about it drew him. Almost as if it wanted him to-

Sudden light flooded the room, interrupting his thoughts. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and everything gradually came into focus. He was a stage in some sort of amphitheater, facing hundreds of seats curving around him. As he watched, people filed in, filling the chairs. Slaves and Madams alike. All eyes were on him, and he swallowed; his throat was suddenly dry, hoarse.

From behind, a whisper; "We discussed it." Victoria's voice was filled with cruel amusement. "Sexual denial was not working. Pain seems to have little effect, one would almost think you were a masochist. Even your conditioning seems to have not taken hold as it should have. You remain defiant. Today we will try something else." Tripper practically heard the Mistress smile. "Humiliation."

Before him, the crowd was settling; he saw Cinnamon and met the man's gaze, before the other glanced away with a frown. He heard laughter from the audience, excited conversation. Many were pointing at him and smiling. He noticed some looking off to one side of the stage, and strained his neck trying to look; he just made out a giant monitor, displaying a clear shot of his ass from behind. Tripper groaned and flushed red.

Victoria stepped in front of him, and the noise of the audience stilled. He could now see the leather harness she wore around her waist, with a massive dildo hanging obscenely from her pelvis. "Crap," he muttered again. He watched as she squirted some lube into her hand and threw aside the container, and then rubbed the lube onto the dildo.

Without a word, Victoria moved behind him. He grunted as he felt the tip of the rubber cock prod at his asshole. He clenched, and closed his eyes in fear. He heard the audience laugh, and his face went crimson. There were too many people out there; he wondered if Victoria had invited others from around the valley just to witness his humiliation.

Slowly, she pushed it in; he tried to clamp down, to stop her, but it only hurt more. To the audience's amusement, he gasped as he felt the head of the cock force its way past his sphincter. She pushed, and the dildo slowly, inexorably sunk deeper into his ass. He tried to squirm, to move away, but the restraints wouldn't allow it. He grunted in pain as it went deeper, and he felt Victoria's hips against his rear. She leaner over him, bringing her lips near his ear. "I'm going to fuck you now, for the amusement of everyone here. And then... well, let's just say you will be here awhile. Oh, and you may cum; I want everyone here to see how much you love my big cock deep in your ass."

Victoria leaned back, and he felt the cock pulling out with her. She paused, with just the head still inside of him, and then slammed forward. She pounded on his ass, plunging the strap-on in as hard as she could manage, her pace unforgiving. He panted and groaned under her. The pain was bearable, a tightness and cramping pain in his ass. But the fact that everyone was watching... He felt his anger rise, even as he felt horribly shamed. He looked down at the ground and closed his eyes, clamping his jaw shut, refusing to cry out. His silence only seemed to infuriate her; her pace increased, her thrusts hammering into him.

Tripper had no idea how long she spent sodomizing him; but eventually, he felt a strange pressure in his gut, almost as if he had to pee. He growled in his throat, but still refused to cry out. He felt something dribbling from his cock, and knew the woman had made him cum. She laughed behind him, and the audience laughed with her. She pulled out, and the audience cheered. Tripper held his eyes tightly shut, and felt like crying.

When he felt another dildo press into his abused ass, he opened his eyes and glanced at the screen; Lucinda was pushing her dildo into him. Slowly, with long deep strokes, she began fucking him. He fought it, but the tears slipped out. The audience cheered at his misery. 

***

He had lost track of how many women raped his ass, but it seemed as if they had finally stopped. His body ached. His hands and feet were numb in their bondage, and his ass felt as one would expect after being fucked by ten or twenty dildos. The crowd was cheering, some on their feet clapping. The lights dimmed around him, leaving only a spotlight on the stage directed on him; mercifully, it meant he could no longer see the audience.

Mistress Victoria's voice called out, amplified for the room; "And now for the main event. This lowly slave scum dared damage my property, nearly killing one of my favorites, and causing disfiguration that could be permanent. I had a request from another of my favorites, in regards to this cruel and horrible crime. I have decided to grant the request." She paused dramatically, and inwardly Tripper muttered, wondering what else they could possibly do to him. "Please let me introduce the brother of the victim of this heinous crime; Slave Tiny!"

The audience roared, and Tripper craned his neck to make out what was happening. Pip's twin stepped into the spotlight, caressing his swollen member; it was just as large as his brothers, bigger by several inches than any of the dildos he had taken. The man's face was twisted in hatred at what he had been done to his brother. He advanced with a menacing sneer, and Tripper let his head fall forward again, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He felt the head of the giant man's cock press against his ass, and he whimpered. "No, please," he whispered. His voice, amplified, echoed through the amphitheater, and the audience roared. The giant did not wait long; he slammed into him, and Tripper cried out in pain. Tiny did not hesitate, did not ease into it; he starting fucking him hard, grabbing Tripper from behind and around his neck, squeezing and crushing. His vision began to darken as he gasped for air, as the man ravaged his ass.

Before it was over, Tripper blacked out from the pain, and lack of oxygen. He was relieved of the experience of the giant man filling his ass with his cum.

***

This time, Tripper did not dream. When he awoke again, he whimpered in pain. The memories of what they had done to him filled his mind, and he shuddered. He was lying face down on his cot in his cell of a room, and he could feel wet stickiness between his legs, and dribbling out of his ass. Slowly, he rolled off the bed, and lurched to the door. 

He made his way down the hallway, and stumbled into the showers, which were thankfully empty. Twenty minutes later he emerged, feeling a bit better, though still very sore, tired and hungry. Cinnamon was waiting in the hall with a resolution for one of those.

"Hungry?" He asked simply. Tripper nodded. "Let's get some breakfast. We have some time before you have to report to Madam Jade."

Tripper groaned, but followed the other slave without a word. He was not looking forward to another session with another sadist psycho bitch. He needed to find a way out fast; after the treatment the day before, he wasn't sure how much more he could take. Already, he felt like it would be easier to just do as he was told, to avoid more punishment. It felt as if his will was slowly being smothered, and he wasn't happy about it.

"How long have I been here?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cinnamon glanced at him, concern showing him his face. "You arrived on Eightday night. It's Tuesday morning now. So just over two days."

Tripper rubbed his temple and groaned. It seemed like a lot longer. He definitely had to get out of there.

They entered a large cafeteria; Cinnamon led him to a buffet style line. Along the way, Tripper saw slaves looking at him and laughing, whispering to their friends and pointing. He blushed a bright red, and looked away. 

He helped himself to a plate of scrambled eggs, some vegetables and a couple slices of bacon. His stomach rumbled loudly as they made their way to the tables, and sat down on a long bench. He dived in, ignoring everything else as he at last filled his stomach again. 

When he finished, he felt better. He glanced at Cinnamon; the slave was smiling in his direction.

"What?"

"You feel better," Cinnamon explained. "I think you needed that."

"What I need is to get out of here. Fast."

"That's not going to happen," Cinnamon looked at him with pity. "You won't ever be allowed to leave. I've told you this before. As long as you fight it, they will make you suffer. If you don't break and submit to them, they will eventually kill you. I've seen it happen. Mistress would rather not waste a resource in that way, and it doesn't happen often, but she will never let you go. My friend, just accept it. Submit to her, do everything she asks, and all the suffering will go away. You can be happy here; I am."

Tripper shook his head. The rage he felt as they violated him was still there. "No. I will not submit to this. I am free. And I am going to get away from this place. And then I'm going to burn it to the fucking ground." He stood, stepping over the bench, and strolled towards the door. 

Cinnamon rushed after, a look of shock on his face. "You swore!" he gasped when he caught up. "How did you do that?"

Tripper had not even noticed. He smiled. "See? I can find a way out of anything."

"How?" Cinnamon demanded. "That's impossible!"

"Fucked if I know," Tripper laughed. He waited for the pain, but nothing happened. He laughed again. They had almost beaten him; he knew he had been close. Despite his words, he could not have taken much more. Surrender would be easier, he knew it. But he could swear again. Such a minor victory... But he felt hope again. If he could find a way around that, he could find a way out. 

Cinnamon took the lead, and Tripper let him; he knew they were headed for his next session, but he smiled at the thought. He felt a plan forming in his mind. "When I get out of here," he asked, his smile not wavering. "You're welcome to come with me, hey. You don't have to be a slave."

Cinnamon stumbled a bit as they walked. He glanced at Tripper, his expression unreadable. "You really think you are going to get out of here?" Tripper nodded. "I've never known another life. This is my home."

"You didn't answer my question," Tripper observed.

"And I don't need to you. There is no escape."

"Cin, when I figure my way out of this shit hole, hey, I promise I'll ask you again. You think 'bout that, and be ready to pack your shit and fly."

They continued on in silence, eventually arriving at a door. Cinnamon knocked, and they waited for the door to open. Before it did, Tripper lowered his eyes and wiped the grin from his face. Cinnamon, sensing something, glanced at him sharply with a frown, before leaving him to his fate.



Shadows in Mind Ch. 06



Jade 

The Goddess paused in Her work, and looked at the Stars. She thought of the many worlds, and felt the abundant life in Her galaxy. Alas, something was missing. She thought on it for many millennia, as the creatures on Her worlds stirred and lived. She sought comfort and companionship, but there was none to be had. And so, at long last, She knew what was missing. 

She took her golden locks, shimmering with the stuff of stars, and cut them. She gathered up the tresses, and with a smile whispered a blessing, and with a warm heart She blew her love over the curls, granting just a dusting of Herself. And She scattered those hairs throughout the Universe. 

They took root in many places, and the life there grew strong, and tall, and Woman stepped forth in Her many forms, in many places and times. And Woman looked to the Goddess, and as one, thanked Her. And the Goddess was pleased; the empty spaces that had worried Her so were filled. 

-Excerpt from The Book of Righteousness 

Tripper glanced at the floor as the door opened. He kept his eyes down, expressing nothing when Cinnamon turned back the way they had come. He knew someone stood nearby smelling faintly of flowers; it had to be a woman, which meant the Madam he had come to see, holding the door open. But he kept his eyes downcast -as much as he didn't want to -as expected of a slave. 

"Come inside," a soft voice said at last. 

Tripper shuffled inside, looking down. He stopped just beyond the threshold of the door, and waited in silence. 

A finger on his chin pushed his head up, and he took in the woman before him. "And I thought you were supposed to be a stubborn one, unwilling to accept your station." She smiled at him wryly, dark eyes twinkling in amusement. Green hair was pulled back in casual pony tail, a few loose bangs hanging down in front of her face. Her skin was smooth and the color of chocolate. She wore a tight black leather vest, bare at the shoulders, the top button undone and showing the bare minimum of cleavage. Below a wide leather belt with a large silver buckle, her shapely legs were wrapped in a matching pair of leather pants. Short spiked boots completed the picture. 

"Today, slave, you are going to learn to serve," she told him. Her smile never wavered, and her voice sounded amused. "But don't get excited," she said, glancing down at his penis. "This isn't going to be anything like what you did with Lucinda. I am Madam Jade." 

"Yes, madam," Tripper answered, his expression neutral. 

Jade drew closer, zooming in on his eyes, stopping with her face only inches away, staring intently. She pulled back suddenly, her smile widening. She winked at him as she turned away, moving deeper into the residence. Tripper remained still, wondering why the strange woman had looked at him like a specimen under a microscope. 

She sat on a white leather sofa, leather creaking under her. She slowly crossed her legs, settling back into the couch. She raised one dainty arm, cocked a finger, and pointed at a spot on the floor in front of her. "Kneel," she commanded. 

Tripper moved to obey. He walked quickly to the sofa, and kneeled down in front of her, his eyes down again. 

"Hmmm," Jade purred. "Not bad. And to think you have half the house all in a tizzy. Of course, the other half is lining up for a chance at you," she laughed. "Your form is off. Separate your legs, as if presenting that little worm for inspection. Hands behind your back; you should be just about touching your elbows. Yes, like that," she added as Tripper adjusted accordingly. "Now, straighten your back, and thrust that chest out. Very good. Now, look up at me." 

Tripper glanced up tentatively. He knew he was not supposed to make eye contact, and was worried it was a trick question. 

"Good," Jade continued. "You do not want to look at the floor; you would miss any gestures I made at you. You want your gaze to be always lower than your betters, and you do not want to make eye contact. Looking up and perhaps off to the side is best. You also do not want to be caught staring at something without permission that you should not be." To illustrate, she grasped her breasts lightly, hefting them just a bit in their leather confines, and laughed carelessly as Tripper tried to avoid watching. 

"This is the position you assume if you are told to kneel. When presenting yourself to a Madam, you should assume this position as well. Next time I answer the door, I expect to see you in this position in the hall. It tells me you are submitting yourself to me, and that your body and mind are mine." 

"Yes, Madam," Tripper answered. It was degrading, no doubt, but at least no one was beating him or reaming his ass. At least so far. 

Jade stood, and moved away from the couch. Tripper followed her with his eyes, careful not to look too high. She paused at a shelving unit, and picked up a small figurine of a busty woman, arms held high as if in celebration. 

"Good," she commented, looking back at Tripper. "You stay kneeling until told otherwise. But your focus must be on whomever you are serving, so you do not miss anything. I might not wish to waste my breath on a creature such as you, and gesture with a look or a wave of my hand; I will expect you to respond as if I had given you a clear, direct instruction. Misunderstandings will not be tolerated." She held the figurine up so Tripper could see it clearly. "The Goddess," Jade explained. "She rules this place, and keeps us safe from outsiders. She is the one that taught us our place, and showed us yours. Men are here to serve us. Simple. You exist entirely for the pleasure of women. Your every thought must be of us, of how you can serve us, make us happy. Can you do this, slave?" 

Tripper's eyes flicked down and then back up. He almost had to bite his tongue to keep from swearing. "Yes Madam, I have learned my lesson. I... Understand that it is my place to serve," he said instead. 

Jade laughed, a sweet sound, and glanced at him. "Do you think you are fooling me?" 

Tripper swallowed. "I do not understand, Madam." 

She set down the figurine, and moved closer. She stood over him, her smile frightening and sexy at the same time. She prodded his cock with the tip of her shoe, gently. "My tor is empathy," she whispered with a grin. "You cannot hide your anger and hate from me." She turned away, stepping to one side. Slowly, she kicked off one of her boots. "But it doesn't matter," she continued. Her second boot came off with a gentle shake of her leg. "You see, I have seen it a hundred times before. Why, I won't even spoil your secret to Mistress Victoria. You pretend to serve, and do as you're told, to avoid punishment. It will work. The others will reward you; pat you on the head like a good little puppy." Slowly, she unbuckled her belt, and then her pants. 

"You will resent it. Seethe, and boil. Inside, you will rage at the treatment." She bent at the waist, and slowly pulled the pants down, like shedding a second skin, revealing dark, toned legs; skin as smooth as butter, the lights in the room reflecting off of them. Despite himself, Tripper felt his member stirring, rising against his will. 

"But you see, slave, over time it will change. Routine will set in. You will become used to doing what you are told." She dropped back into the couch, sinking in, arching her back and stretching like a cat. "And you will come to like the rewards." She thrust her feet out towards him, and he took them in his hands intuitively, leaning forward. He started rubbing them, his eyes on her toes. "Before you know it, you will be content." 

She smiled, and wiggled her toes. She sighed as he moved his fingers up her calves, rubbing and massaging. "You see?" she taunted, nodding at his now hard cock. "You are enjoying yourself. Do you see how giving me pleasure rewards you, giving you pleasure? That is the pleasure of serving you feel." 

Tripper wondered. He figured he just liked a nice pair of legs, and a hot piece of ass wearing nothing but panties and a leather vest in front of him. He had done far worse for a buck or two in his time. Rubbing a nicely sculpted calf was certainly better than being raped anally. He rubbed a little higher, moving his hands towards her thighs; his member stiffened more at the thought. 

Jade pulled her legs away, turning to lie on the couch; she laughed when she sensed Tripper's sudden disappointment. "Go to the kitchen and get me a glass of Rynberry juice. I like three cubes of ice." 

Tripper stood, and blushed. His cock stood out from him obscenely, and he hated that the massage had been ended. He walked to the kitchen, aware that his erection waggled as he walked. A moments rummaging through the cupboards found a glass, which he quickly filled from a jar of red juice in the fridge. He added a couple cubes of ice and returned to the sofa; he stood there awkwardly, his gaze flickering from the juice to the couch, unsure what to do. 

"And now you kneel, of course," Jade explained with a sigh of exasperation. "One arm behind your back, and the other holding the drink out within easy reach for me, should I decide to have a sip." She was reading something on a datapad, and barely glanced at Tripper as he assumed the position. 

Suddenly, she glanced in his direction with a frown. She was staring directly at his crotch. "Your thing is soft again. Now, this bit of etiquette will be different depending on who you see, but I prefer you keep it hard in my presence." She rubbed her legs sensually, and Tripper felt his penis twitch and start to harden. "Other's will prefer you do not have an erection without being commanded to do so; they will likely use pain to ensure this." She smiled at him. "You may use your free hand to resolve the issue." She sighed, and turned her attention back to the datapad. 

Blushing, still holding the drink out in his left hand, he reached down with his right. Inwardly, his anger was burning as hot as his cheeks. He took his cock, semi-hard already, and began to stroke it slowly. It did as expected, and grew more rigid in his grasp; he continued stroking, unsure if he was supposed to stop. 

"A little faster," Jade commanded. Still, her attention seemed to be on her datapad. With a nearly inaudible grunt, Tripper increased the pace. He worked his cock at a steady pace, his balls slapping against his thighs. A sticky tendril of precum now attached the tip of his cock to the floor. 

"Stop," Jade ordered. "I like it when they leak," she admitted. "It lets me know you are enjoying making me happy. As it should be, of course." She reached over, and took the drink from him, tasting it before handing it back. 

"The bathroom is down the hallway, first door on your left," she suddenly explained. "In the bathroom, there is a cubby next to the tub. In it, you will find the cleaning supplies. I expect the bathroom to be spotless when you are done." 

Tripper glanced to the side, and then to the drink he was still holding. 

"Go!" Jade snapped. 

Tripper stood, and set the drink down on a coaster on a small table, crafted of some sort of smoky glass, next to the couch. Not waiting for another order, he hurried off to the bathroom. 

* * * 

The sun had dropped behind the distant mountains on the far side of the valley when Tripper stepped out unto the large balcony. It had been a very long day. He was hungry and tired, and his knees, back and neck ached; his cock had been kept hard all day, and was throbbing and sore. But, on the bright side, the ever present headache was actually absent for once. 

The balcony opened off of a gigantic bedroom, through a pair of massive glass doors. It faced the open valley below, enclosed by wrought iron railings tangled with the growth of local vines and flowers, offering a privacy screen that did not obstruct their view, but hid the occupants from anyone in the yard below. Madam Jade, dressed in a black silky evening dress, was seated at a small bistro table, having just watched the sunset. 

Carrying an evening cocktail, Tripper assumed the position before her, kneeling, offering the drink and avoiding eye contact. She took it without glancing at him, and took a sip. He placed his free arm behind his back, and waited. 

After cleaning the bathroom to her satisfaction, which took several inspections and quick punishments at his lack of attention to detail, he had spent the morning cleaning the kitchen. He had served the Madam lunch, prepared by someone else with far more culinary talent than he; the scraps she had not finished had served as his lunch, eaten over the sink as he cleaned the dishes. The afternoon had been spent doing laundry, dusting, and organizing a rather extensive collection of ancient paper books. Overall, it had been his best day yet, with no one attempting to kill or rape him. The drudgery of housework had been a surprisingly welcome change, even if it chaffed that he was doing so because he had no choice. 

Madam Jade's eyes flickered briefly, glancing at his obscene erection and its leaking, slick tip. She smiled briefly, and her gaze again turned to the evening sky. "You see?" she announced suddenly, her voice quiet. "A single day of service, and you are feeling settled and content. Oh, I still feel your resentment, your anger. But do you see how much easier things are when you do as the Goddess intends? On your knees, living only to serve, brings you such peace. Much better than humiliation and pain. You have done very well, today, slave." She reached down and ruffled his hair, as if she was stroking a prized show dog. 

Jade laughed gently as she felt a spike of anger from Tripper at the gesture. 

"Yes, Madam," he answered, trying to bury his real feelings. He had no real choice, after all. "It has been a pleasure to serve." 

She laughed again. "Such performance deserves a reward, I think. Don't you agree, slave?" 

Eyes down, Tripper answered carefully. "Whatever you think, Madam. I live to serve." He had to struggle to keep the sarcasm from his voice, which only made her laugh again. He knew that she sensed how he really felt, and he knew it amused her that he worked so hard to try and hide it. "Slave's deserve nothing, after all. I will only take what you offer, knowing that it might make you happy." 

Madam Jade barked a laugh, and clapped her hands together. "Excellent answer, boy! You would fool nearly anyone, I think. Very good! But a reward... Well. I would like to let you play with those boy bits enough to actually enjoy it, but I'm afraid that is prohibited for now. A pity. I would enjoy seeing what you have saved up for me today. So, how shall I reward you?" She glanced down at him, and grinned wickedly. Tripper kept his gaze down, concentrating on her slim ankles. 

Jade sat back in the chair, slumping, her butt moving forwards towards the edge of the chair. Her hands found her breasts, larger looking in the looser confines of the gown. She met his eyes and saw them flash; he followed her gaze down and took it as permission to watch. Her hands cupped and fondled gently, and then moved downwards, around the generous mounds, smoothing out the silk over her tummy, pulling it taunt and drifting downwards. Her hands met at her pelvis, the material now tight enough that a lack of underwear was obvious. She sighed briefly as her hands passed her mound, continuing to her legs. "A reward fitting a new slave," she murmured. Her hands continued lower, reaching the hem of her dress at about mid-thigh. Her carefully manicured fingers curled, taking hold of the hem, and changed direction. Slowly, dragging the material with them, her hands started up towards her hips. 

Tripper watched fascinated, biting his lower lip and grimacing. Evil bitch she was, but there was no doubt that Jade's mix of authority and sexuality, her perfect dark skinned body, had his engine roaring. His mouth went dry as she slowly, slowly revealed more leg. He had to fight to keep his hands behind his back as the material passed the point where her legs met, and he saw the first curls of her dark pubic hair. She continued, lifting her hips briefly to tug the dress up around her hips, and Tripper groaned faintly as she arched her back, thrusting her pelvis. Just as he had no choice but to do her bidding, his body left him no choice but to appreciate the vision before him. 

"You," she whispered, and her legs parted, her trimmed pubic hair pointing down to her glistening wetness. "May worship me, slave. Having your tortured thoughts in my mind all day, with your lean build and full manhood taunting me, has left me a bit in need of attention." 

He couldn't resist. He wanted her. He leaned forward, but she stopped him with a bare foot on his chest and an arched eyebrow, as if to say forgetting something? 

Of course. He had forgotten his place. Staring at her bared center, he shuddered. "Sorry, Madam. Thank you for the honor of worshiping you." She nodded with a smile, and removed her foot. Tripper moved like an arrow shot from a bow, his hard-on bobbing between his legs as if it was nodding its approval. 

His cock was throbbing, desperate for release, to be touched, anything. Days of teasing with no release, and now he was buried in another wet pussy. He whimpered, knowing he could do nothing about it, as his touch darted out to prod at her thick, dark lips. Tripper felt himself again dripping as Jade moaned above him, as his tongue painted patterns around her tunnel. 

Laying mostly on her back, she lifted her legs; she grabbed her ankles, pulling her thighs down against her flat tummy, leaving her fully exposed and open. As his tongue continued its work, she grunted and pushed her pelvic up against him harder.  

Tripper reached up with his hands, and using gentle fingers, pulled her open more, revealing her shiny pink center. He lapped at her, from just above her anus to just below her clit in long steady strokes, his tongue pressing hard. His thumb found her clit, wet in her own juices, and he gently rubbed it, making tiny soft circles. More moaning, and he thrust his tongue deep into her. She gasped at the penetration, her thighs quivering. He knew it wouldn't be long. 

Using his tongue as a substitute for the cock he was forbidden to use, he thrust in and out faster and faster. His fingers began to lightly pinch her clit. Jade started to buck against him, meeting each thrust with one of her own, pushing his touch deeper. Her legs locked suddenly, tight against her body, with her toes pointed towards the ceiling; she went silent, and her eyes rolled up in her head. Her pussy was pulsing and clenching around his tongue as he continued to thrust, and her juices were splashing over his face like a broken faucet. 

As suddenly as her orgasm started, it was over; her body went slack, her legs dropped to the floor next to him with a thud. With a final groan, she lifted a foot, and pushed him back and away. His face and hair was drenched, and her fluids were running down his slim chest. 

"Dismissed," she managed to gasp. Keeping a curse to himself, Tripper rose and left, guessing he would not be permitted to clean himself off first. Behind him, Jade settled into a contented sleep.



Shadows in Mind Ch. 07



Man is weak, while Woman is strong. Man thinks with his sex, while Woman thinks with her mind. Man needs to be sheltered and protected, while Woman provides. And above all, Man was made to serve while Woman was made to rule. 

This is the natural order. Woman may look down at man with fondness as they look up in adoration; but never can Woman look at Man as anything but a servant. To put a Man on a pedestal is to let the serpent into one's home. Like the serpent, the Man will strike when least expected. Beware! And remember Man was placed beneath Woman, and so should remain. 

-Excerpt from The Book of Righteousness 

After leaving Jade's suite, Tripper for once had an uneventful night. After a quick dinner, sitting at the end of one long table by himself, he had retired to his room. He fell asleep without even taking the time to crawl under the single thin blanket the room had been equipped with. 

If he dreamed, he remembered nothing when a familiar knock at the door woke him again in the morning. He joined Cinnamon in the showers, and then followed him back to the cafeteria for breakfast. He picked at the eggs and bacon, watching the other slave dig into his own food. 

"That is very distracting," Cinnamon paused with a fork halfway to his mouth. 

"Hey?" Tripper murmured. 

"You reek of self-loathing. It's radiating off you like a bad smell. Did Madame Jade treat you so bad?" 

"Nah, I guess she treated me just fine. Real gentle like, like an old book or something. My best day yet, hey." 

"Ok, then why are you trying to give me a second-hand emotional break down?" 

Tripper grinned slightly. "Sorry, Cin. She treated me real well. Like a slave, hey. I cleaned her place top to bottom, then I cleaned her, and she sent me on my way. Didn't even order me back to my rooms, but where else would I go? Got a roof over my head, and plenty of food. Who am I to complain? Sure, some clothes would be nice, but I guess they keep it warm enough in here. Follow the rules and everything is just fine, hey." 

Cinnamon nodded. "You're starting to accept it. It will get better. Once you let yourself enjoy the good parts." 

"If I stay much longer, I'm gonna sound just like you, aren't I? No offence." 

"None taken." 

"I don't want to sound like a slave, Cin," Tripper continued. "I ain't no slave. But if I don't get out of here, I don't know if I can stop it." 

"Once you settle in, they will reward you. The rewards are very good, my friend." 

Tripper's eyes flashed briefly with anger. "I don't want rewards. That's just another way for them to own me." He turned his eyes down, staring at his half eaten meal. "Has to be a way out," he muttered. 

Cinnamon sighed, and glanced at a clock on the wall. "We have to go. We both have assignments. It will get better." 

Tripper scowled, but stood to follow the slave. 

"The Madame you see today is a bit different," Cinnamon warned as they worked their way through the building. "I have never served her; few have. But I have heard she is very particular, and very quick to anger. Do your best to do whatever she asks, no matter how... strange. Even the other woman seem to think she is a little odd, and I think she has some connection to the Mistress. Just... Be careful." 

"Do what I'm told. Got it. Seems like that'd be hard to forget, hey," Tripper muttered. 

Cinnamon left him standing outside the door. As he watched the man leave, Tripper glanced around the hallway. It was empty. There was nothing stopping him from turning, and heading somewhere else. Looking for a window, or an open door. Going back to his room, and pulling the blanket over his head. Nothing. Nothing except the threat of punishment if he were caught. He shuddered, remembering Victoria's little show; the humiliation, the pain. 

He had no choice. He was a slave. 

He knocked, and dropped to his knees, his arms behind his back, his eyes downcast. And he waited. 

Eventually, the door opened; as he had been taught, he glanced up, looking for any unspoken direction. His eyes met hers, and widened. With a gasp, he tore his gaze away, knowing he would be punished. But he wasn't sure he cared. 

She was beautiful. They all were, but she was different. She was short, a slip of a woman that had to stand at least a head shorter than he. Her skin was pale and soft; she wore a short black leather skirt and tall black heals that made her slim but strong legs reach for eternity, the fine muscles flexing beneath the smooth, milky skin. A leather corset kept perfect shoulders bared, and pushed up the modest breasts, displaying enough cleavage to easily get his manhood rising. Above her chest, her narrow delicate neck set his mouth watering. Hair that seemed out of place here, dark blue with darker streaks of near black, framed her face and spilled out behind her like a waterfall at night. Emerald eyes -bright enough, he was sure, to brighten a room -glanced at his stirring erection, and glared at him; lips both full and thin, painted a dark shade of blue, frowned at him. 

But something about her, something he couldn't explain, was different. 

"Well," she snapped, "get in here. Let's get this over with." Her voice was hard; but the anger sounded unnatural, as if were against her nature. 

With a nod, he stood and followed her in. 

She moved to a sofa, so alike the others he had served. But Tripper noticed right away, even her room was different. The sofa was a pale color, and the table next to it simple. A view screen dominated one wall, but the rest of the room was bare. No pictures, no shelves full of collectibles and knick knacks. 

He took his place on the floor before her, and directed his gaze off to one side of her throat. Again, he waited in silence. 

Minutes passed, and he tried not to shift, his knees uncomfortable. He felt her gaze on him. His throat dry, he wished she would say something. Anything. 

"What's your name?" she asked at last, breaking the silence. 

He nearly gasped in relief. Without looking up, he answered. "I have not been given one." 

"Fuck," she responded. Tripper couldn't hide his surprise at the language, and didn't quite manage to stop a grunt. "Your real name. Not what they tell you to say. What is it?" 

Was it a test? He had no idea how to respond. His eyes flickered to the door and back, as if looking for Victoria. In front of him, the woman's foot started to tap impatiently. Again, it seemed he had no choice. Dropping his gaze to the carpet, he whispered, "Tripper, Madame." 

"I'm Mara," she answered. "Not Madame, or anything else. Mara." 

"Yes... Mara," Tripper stuttered, still intently watching the carpet. 

"Look at me," she said, quieter. There was something in her tone that sounded like vulnerability. He found it more impossible to ignore than any of the commands he had heard, and met her gaze; again his eyes widened, taking in her beauty, like nothing he had ever imagined. She smiled when their eyes met, and he felt something with him flicker to life, filling his chest with an almost unbearable heat. 

They stared at each other silently for an infinity. 

"Sit on the sofa next to me," she suddenly sighed. "That can't be easy on your knees." Tripper looked shocked, but scrambled to obey. When Cin had warned him that this Madame would be different, he had not been kidding. Just when he was starting to accept he would have to do as he was told, suddenly the rules seems to have been turned on their head. 

The woman sighed again, and Tripper was sure he saw pity in her eyes, and something else; frustration, and maybe a hint of... sadness. 

"Talk to me as if you didn't have to," she said. She looked away, managing to look vulnerable again. 

"I'm sorry?" Tripper replied, not understanding. 

"Talk to me as if you were not a slave. Not my slave. Talk to me like... You." 

"Um. Ok. You, uh, you the boss." She smiled, faintly. "So, uh, what do you want to talk about, hey?" 

"Whatever you want. I have some rules I have to follow today, or I get in trouble, but nothing you say will leave this room -this much I can promise. Tell me anything. Tell me about where you come from. Tell me about your life, before you were stolen and brought here." 

Tripper looked at her from the other side of the sofa. His eyes met hers, and although he should be afraid of punishment, he was not. She meant it. He did not know how, but he knew she meant it. This was no trap. This woman, radiating loneliness, wanted him to talk. 

"I was born in the Undercity on Trandor. My mom, she raised me by herself. Never found out what happened to my dad. She worked two jobs, and still found the time to walk me home from school. She-" he stopped. His detox, the dreams, it was all too recent; his voice broke a little, and he swallowed to hide his discomfort, before changing the subject. "When I lost her, I was very young, hey. The streets, they took me in. They were my mother, hey. Spent a few years as a skimmer, working for one pack or another." 

"What's a skimmer?" Mara interrupted to ask quietly. He glanced at her, and wondered if she had ever seen any other world than the one he was trapped on. For some reason, it occurred to him that maybe she was trapped too. 

"A theif, see. But always young. Kids. No more than nine or ten. We work in packs. Sometimes we steal, sometimes we beg, sometimes the pack, we swarm a guy, hurt them bad, and then take what we want. But everything we get, always, goes to the pack leader. Always an older man, he the one running things. He gets the loot, see, and gives us a roof. Some food, maybe, if we do good. Sometimes, he gives us more than we want." He frowned at the memory. "One time, I said no, and he beat me near to death, left me in the gutter. But I got better, see. The street, she my mother, but she a tough one. Teach me to be tough, too. So I got better, and wasn't a skimmer no more." 

"How old were you then?" she asked in a whisper. He looked away; he could not meet her gaze any longer. 

"Drek, I was young. Eight, I think. But time for a career change. I met this older guy, name of Fen. Good guy. Fifteen or sixteen, he took me in. Felt sorry for me. He was a jake, yeah. Let me stay there, couple years. I still did a bit of skimming, but without the pack, there wasn't much money in it, eh. But Fen didn't mind. Said I reminded him of his little brother what died before. Let me stay, kept me safe and fed. And never laid a finger on me, not that way, or the other. Good guy, he was." He felt tears in his eyes, and Tripper looked down. He couldn't believe what he was sharing, but couldn't seem to stop, either. He held back a sob, and continued. 

"I was maybe ten when this new pimp moved into the block. Nasty woman, the street had taught her, that's for sure. Real mean, vicious. Took out the competition, killed em good. Sometimes she would fuck em first," he paused, and shuddered. "She had this bio-mod... Would cut 'em down there, cut it clean off, and leave em to bleed to death. Real scary bitch. Well, she didn't believe in no free jakes; she told Fen he worked for her, now. Fen, see, he didn't agree. I came home just in time to watch her slit his throat." 

"I'm sorry," Mara whispered. Her eyes... They were so full of pity he couldn't stand it. 

"Yeah, well. Drek happens, neh? Drek happens. I tried to run, but she was faster. And she told me, since Fen said no, that I worked for her now." He shrugged. "She kept a roof over my head, me and the other jakes, for a few years. She didn't have no interest in us kids, so as long as we did as we were told, she kept her hands to herself. And one day, another pimp, he took her out too." He shrugged. "Spent a few years like that. Pimped out by one boss or another, jaking my way through life. Could be worse, hey. I could be Fen." 

"And then the Mistress found you, and brought you here," Mara added. 

"'Bout right. But hey, this is worse. Depending on the pimp, I usually could say no as I wanted. Just meant I missed a meal, no big thing. I was still me, you know? Someone piss me off, I tell em. I was... free. Not like this drek here. I had friends, and there were good times, you know? But here, all I can think is how much I want to leave, and how I can't. This drek is messed up. I ain't nobody's slave; this shit so fucked up, what that bitch did to me the other day, that was worse, man. That shit give me nightmares, and now I just want to be a good little slave boy and do as I'm told so it doesn't happen again, cause I think it would kill me if I did. And now you here, making me spill this shit, and Im gonna get punished just for thinking it, and I don't even care! Cause this fucking place is killing me, and I don't-" A finger pressed gently to his lips silenced his rant, and he looked at Mara with wide, wet eyes. He was crying, and had not even noticed. She moved to embrace him, and he let her. She held him, and he sobbed quietly into her hair. 

"I won't tell anyone, Tripper," she whispered. He heard, and believed. "It's horrible what you have been through, and it's horrible that Mistress took you. It's not fair. I wish I could help you. What we are doing to you is wrong." 

He stopped crying eventually, and felt his cheeks grow red. He couldn't believe he had just broke down in front of her, crying like some weakling. He felt so ashamed. But all he felt from her was... Concern. Respect. Admiration, and maybe something... else. 

And it occurred to him, he was still naked. He became awkwardly aware that his half hard penis pressed against the soft flesh of her thigh, and he felt himself grow firmer as he thought about that contact. She shifted against him, and he jolted when he felt her hand suddenly grasp his cock. She gave him a few strokes, bringing him fully to attention. She kissed him, and his mouth opened to meet hers, her tongue lightly probing his. He felt her heart pounding in her chest against him, and could hear her breathing increase. She reached down with her free hand, her other still stroking, and took his hand and placed it on her breast. Following the unspoken order, he began to caress her, stroking the tops of her breasts. 

She stopped suddenly, breaking all contact, and pulled back; "Do you want this?" she panted. "Do you want me?" 

"Of course," he answered. 

"Not as a slave. I won't order you to do this. Do you really want me?" 

"Yes," he gasped. 

"Then take me, Tripper." 

They embraced again, her hand again stroking, their lips crushed together. His hands went to her corset, and made short work of the ties; the garment parted, and fell away, and she moaned as his hands caressed her breasts. He broke the kiss, and bowed his head, bringing his lips to her nipples. She moaned at the contact and pushed herself harder against his face, as his tongue flicked out eagerly. His hand trailed along her stomach, teasing and tickling lightly, slowly moving lower. His hand touched her through the skirt, and he could feel the heat of her sex even through the leather. 

Mara growled a curse, and let go of his cock. She stood, and pulled her skirt up around her waist, revealing a bald, pink pussy, its lips glistening with moisture. Tripper's eyes locked on her sex, even as she climbed atop him, straddling him; it hovered over his throbbing cock for just a moment, and then slowly she plunged down, taking him inside her. He moaned, and she moaned. He reached and took her breasts in his hands again, a little rough now, and she growled her approval. Slowly, Mara moved her hips, grinding herself against him. He moved one hand to her ass, and she moaned and started to grind harder. 

He took one breast into his mouth, as much as he could, and sucked as he squeezed and kneaded the other. His other hand moved from her ass around the front; with his thumb, he caressed her clit as she rode him. She was crying out above him, and he knew he could not last; it had been too long since he had last cummed, there had been too much teasing, too much stimulation. But he still was not allowed to cum; his conditioning would have him rolling on the floor in pain in another few seconds. 

Somehow, she sensed it, even as her cries rose in pitch and volume. "Cum with me! I command it!" she cried. Her command did it; he felt something unlock, and he knew he had permission. He cried out, bellowing almost like a man in pain, and his massive orgasm crashed into him. He felt Mara's pussy contract around him as her orgasm also hit, and the two of them cried out incoherently as the pleasure consumed them both. 

Sated, her motion gradually stopped; he felt himself growing soft inside her. Neither seemed in a hurry to break the intimate connection, and she lay forward against him, sighing. "I wish I could help you," she whispered, her cheek resting against his chest. 

"You just did," he admitted. 

She giggled, and was then silent a moment before continuing. "I wish I could help you leave. But there is nowhere to go. I'm stuck on this world as much as you are. And there is nowhere on this world safe for men." 

Tripper thought of the barrier he had seen and felt during exercise. "What about beyond the barrier? Is the whole world like this?" 

"No, not like this. But worse. The barrier keeps us safe from the natives. They would kill you at first sight. But it's pointless anyways, as there is no way past." 

"I'm going to find a way. The street made me strong; maybe strong enough for any native monsters." 

"Maybe," Mara answered. "But there is no way past." 

"There is. Just need to find it." 

She smiled. "I wish there was. I would go with you, and we could get away from this sick place. But there isn't." She pulled her head back, and met his gaze. "You have to go soon. You can't be late for your next appointment. I don't want you to be punished. Just... Just do whatever they say. They can't punish you for doing what they ask." 

"What about you, hey?" 

"I'm not a slave, but just the same I have to answer to the Mistress." She frowned, and the sadness was back in her emerald eyes. "I may not be able to see you again for a while. But when I can, I will. Just... Just do anything they tell you. Don't get into trouble, and I can see you again." 

Tripper nodded. "I will. But I will also find a way out of here." 

She stood, and his manhood felt cold and wet as it slipped free of her. She pulled her skirt down and watched him with smiling eyes. "Don't do anything to get yourself hurt." She turned from him, and started towards one of the back rooms; "Go back to your rooms, Trip. They will come for you soon. Do as they say." 

Tripper nodded, and watched her go before letting himself out. He made his way easily back to his cell, his smile unwavering the entire way. 

* * * 

Victoria opened her eyes, and stared at the heavy wooden door as if she intended to burn a hole through it with her eyes. She dismissed the images from her head like deleting files from her computer; it was so distasteful, so disappointing, that she did not have any desire to ever recollect them again. After all the warnings, the threats, she had been positive the girl would behave; she had started out as if she were listening. She had dressed the part, had even kept the slave waiting. And then they had chatted like a couple of foolish school girls, and ended up fornicating like those same schoolgirls. Unacceptable. She had let the slave cum, undoing much of his training. She was not happy with the setback; she was furious that Mara had so blatantly disobeyed her. Again. She would have to follow through on her threats, and teach the girl a lesson. 

She took a deep, calming breath. She needed to talk with several woman, and did not want to accidently blast their minds with her telepathic words, giving them a headache or even much worse, that's how angry she was. 




Shadows in Mind Ch. 07



Madam's Lucinda, Evelynn and Justina to my office. She sent. Now. She was sure that despite her attempt at being calm, enough of her irritation had entered the sending that she would not be waiting long. As she waited, she stared down at her desk, starring at the wood grain like it offended her. 

It was only minutes before she felt a presence approach, and she telepathically called for the woman to enter before she even had a chance to knock. Madam Evelynn entered, looking both curious and annoyed. Evelynn was a tall woman, the tallest in the Estate, nearly seven feet tall. Her hair, purple, was held back in a severe pony tail that reached her waist. Her long, incredibly powerful legs were bare below a dark skirt, and above a stark pair of leather boots. "Yes, Mistress," she reported, without giving away a trace of the irritation Victoria felt. 

"You have the new boy tonight?" Victoria asked simply. 

"Yes, Mistress." 

"Good. One of the ladies had a moment of weakness, it seems, and so the new boy is starting over at zero. I want you to make sure he leaves your place as desperate as we was before this little lapse in judgment this morning. Break him, Evelynn. And I have cleared his calendar. You have him over night, until noon tomorrow." 

"Is that all Mistress? You did not need to summon me for that. I do not like the boy. You did not need to ask me to break him. He will be broken." 

"Thank you," she returned dismissively. As the first woman turned to leave, she sent out permission to enter to the next two women, who had arrived together, as she suspected they might. 

Lucinda, as always, was dressed in black leather; six inch heeled boots, tight pants, and a leather vest with more buckles and straps than a restraining table. She looked curious, her red lips pursed. She wore her nearly white hair up, a sure sign she had no plans to visit a slave today. 

Justina, the youngest Madame on the estate except for Mara, could have been her opposite. Dark skin, like a dark honey, and plenty of it; she wore a swath of red cloth, nearly transparent, around her small breasts; a tiny matching thong, leaving her firm ass completely visible; and strappy open heels. Justina had dark eyes, dark hair shaven nearly to her scalp, and a dark look that they had been summoned so. 

"Ladies," Victoria greeted them. "I have a problem, and require your assistance. One of the lady's here has disobeyed a direct order from me. I wish for her to be punished." She glanced at the older of the two women standing at attention. "Lucinda, I have called you because you know of my delicate situation here, and I require your discretion." 

She turned to Justina. "Justina. I need this woman punished. The punishment should last at least eight hours, and I want her broken and begging to listen to instructions from me in the future. Treat her like a slave, but to not permanently harm or scar her in any way. She is still one of us, she just needs a reminder of how things work here. I have asked you, because I know of your relationship with Lucinda. I know that you will do this for her. I also know, that when I tell you to tell no one, you will obey; because if you do not, I will send you away, and make sure all know of your own discretions." 

Lucinda frowned. "You do not need to threaten us. You and I have been friends a long time, Victoria, and you know I have never spoken of your situation with Mara. I will not now. And Justina will not either. Because I ask her not to, not because you threaten to out us." 

"Of course," Victoria answered. "I just need you to understand how important discretion is here." 

"We will do as you ask," Lucinda said. "No one will know of it. When?" 

"I do not want to wait. I will have the twins deliver her tomorrow at first bell. Your quarters or hers?" 

"Mine," Justina answered instead. "Mistress. My quarters are... Better prepared for this sort of thing. She will never question you again, Mistress. If I may ask? Why do you not just expel her?" 

"Shush, Justina." Lucinda interrupted. "We should go." She took the smaller woman's arm, and started leading her towards the door. She glanced back before they stepped through; "We will make sure she understands, Victoria, but we will not hurt her. It will all be ok when we are down with her, I promise." 

"Thank you, my friend." 

Once the door clicked shut, she sent a summoning to the twins. The two guards arrived almost immediately, not pausing to knock, rushing into the room in case their Mistress was in danger. 

"Close the door," she ordered, and one of the two men moved to obey. "Tomorrow, I want you to fetch Mara and deliver her to Madam Justina's quarters." The lack of title was obvious, and even the brothers noticed. "She will resist. You may use force, but only as needed. You may not take advantage. Do you understand?" 

Both giant men nodded, and Victoria stood to face them. The damage to pips face had been expertly repaired, she was pleased to see. Unless he opened his mouth to display the missing teeth, she wouldn't even know how close to death the man had been only a couple days earlier. She was pleased, and at the same time felt a flush of rage that the new slave had done such damage to her perfect example of man. 

Slowly, she untied her robe and let it fall to the floor. "I need some stress relief," she explained to the twins. "You know what to do. Do not keep me waiting, as I am in a foul temper." 

Almost as one, the two moved to remove their breastplates, setting the armor down on the floor. They next removed their thongs, revealing cocks already stirring and ready for attention; both men quickly started to stroke themselves, bringing them both up to their full massive length and thickness; ten inches long, and both as thick as Victoria's wrist. One of the men -Victoria was never sure which was which, without reading their minds - sat on her chair, leaning back. She advanced, and grabbed a bottle from her desk. She squirted some lube on the man's oversized cock, and then reached behind to wet both of her holes. With a leer, she mounted the man, slowly pushing the cock deep into her pussy. The man's face remained impassive, emotionless; they were sex toys, and nothing but, and they knew how she expected them to behave. The man beneath her did not stir in the slightest as she worked his cock in and out of her pussy. 

Eventually content, she leaned forward against the mains rock like chest; without a word, the second man approached, and she felt his cock pushing against her now lubricated pussy. Without a sound, he pushed himself into her, slowly; she moaned at the feeling as she was slowly impaled on the two giant sex toys. The man behind her moved so slow, giving her time to stretch and adjust, until he was standing with his hips resting against her bottom. 

She reveled in the full feeling for several minutes, shifting just a little here and there, and the warm thickness of the cocks filled her. God, she loved the feeling of being stuffed to the point that absolutely nothing else - not even the littlest pinky toe -would fit inside her along-side the massive manhood of the twins. 

Slowly, she started to rock her hips back and forth, just an inch in either direction, and felt the cocks twitch as they slowly shifted and moved inside her. She moaned, the two men remaining silent, as expected. Gradually, she increased the motion, moving further; she pushed herself up and away, about half their length pulling free, before gently pushing herself back down on their meat. She increased the pace, lifting up and pushing back down a little faster; her bangs were now matted against her sweaty forehead, her breasts and tummy glistened with sweat. Faster, she rocked on them. Soon, she was slamming back on their cocks almost violently. She grunted each take she slammed down, their cocks filling her. Her orgasm was drawing near, but still seemed out of reached. 

Frustrated, she jabbed into the minds of the men; Fuck me! The physic command was harsh enough she likely had given each of them a massive headache; she could not care less, as long as they both remained silent. 

The men obeyed instantly. The man behind her started to fuck her hard, withdrawing almost the entire cock before slamming it back hard enough to make her grunt. The man below her, pinned, did his best to thrust up into her, using his incredible thighs and abdominals to push up against both her weight and that of his brother. The two worked in her like pistons, and she felt her orgasm inch closer. But it still wasn't enough. Everything with Mara had her too angry, too stressed. She cursed, and cursed the young woman. 

She reached out into the minds of the twins as they hammered away at her holes, twisting this and manipulating that. She grinned. The man below her - Pip, she know knew -actually flinched, and she felt Tiny twitch in pain. She pushed at their minds more, feeding the pain she was causing; at first both men felt as if they were being stung by dozens of bees. The thrusting continued unabated, and they reminded silent, except the occasion gasp for hiss. And she twisted more, enjoying their pain. Now, it was if hot pokers were stabbing at them, burning and rending the flesh- their pace did not waver, but now both men filled the air with sounds of their howls of pain. But they continued to thrust into her, filling her, and she let the sounds of their suffering fill her with ecstasy. She cried out, as at last the orgasm smashed into her; as soon as the waves of pleasure subsided she shoved Tiny off of her, and dismounted Pip. She sent the men away, her holes dripping and sore, the men un-satisfied and unrelieved. 

One of the men had had the audacity to wonder if they would be allowed to cum inside her as she used them- in return for the inappropriate thought, she let the burning pain continue stabbing and tormenting them for another hour after they left. She smiled, as she lay back on the sofa in her office, enjoying the afterglow, letting the throbbing feel in her pussy and ass engulf her, enjoying even the feelings of her juices dribbling out, and down into her ass. She drifted off to sleep, the howls from the men at their station down the hall like a sweet lullaby, urging her to rest.