The Infernal Wager (M/f, rape, torture, nc, slavery, ws, scat, blood, pain)
“So, how shall we ever spend our once per century tea?” Desthemia asked, sipping from the Chamomile.
“Play who’s going to convert?” Araliel asked.
“Oh, we did that six hundred years ago,” Desthemia said. “How about something new?”
“Oh, I have just the thing,” Araliel said. “We haven’t made a wager in millennia.”
“Gambling? I thought you were off that,” Desthemia scoffed. “But okay, a wager.”
“I’m feeling energized for new things,” Araliel said. “Old rules?”
“Sure,” Desthemia replied. They each concentrated for a moment, picking the other’s punishment for losing. Then they joined mental energies for the fifty-fifty reversal, in which case they would, upon losing, get their own punishment. It was a way to evolve towards fairness.
“We could still wager on the conversion,” Araliel suggested.
“Alright. Did you have someone in mind?”
Araliel indicated towards a holy man in the thirty-eighth Century. “Him. Within ten years. I think he is weak.”
“We haven’t thought of targeting him,” Desthemia said. “Very well. It’s on.”
“Shall we check now?”
“Why not.” She waved her finger, and the man appeared, now fully enthralled by the cults of Ludider.”
“Ah!” Desthemia cried. “A conversion to us, and I still lose!”
“Well we lost one who might have been great,” Araliel said.
“And it’s my own punishment too, right back at me! Oh, I’ll never live this down at the office.”
“Let me see! Let me see!” Araliel begged. Desthemia rolled her eyes and released the vision. Araliel couldn’t help but laugh.
“The abuser becomes the victim! How wonderful. Alright, we shall have to suppress all of your powers except for the most basic passive defenses.”
“How basic?”
“You won’t die,” Araliel said. “The rest is on the table! Oh, this will be such fun to watch. I shall invite all my friends.”
“Gloating isn’t very angelic. You should feel sorry for me.”
“I’ll leave feeling sorry for you to you. Speaking of which, I think you should have your memories and personality. It will be more fun that way.”
“I think that’s actually correct.”
“Alright. Are you ready?”
“Let’s get this over with.”
“It’s only a year of your life, which is infinite. So it’s nothing!”
“Ha. Ha. Alright, let’s just get this over with, now.”
“I’ll see you at the pickup date,” Araliel said.
Both girls blinked, and for Desthemia the world changed.
She was in a new body. It was her. She knew what she looked like. But the accoutrements of a devil’s body were gone. They had, apparently, left her as a half elf, half tiefling. So she was small, weak, lusted after, but with a reminder to anyone who looked that she might be diabolical of mind. What perfect irony, she thought. She set her mind. Since she had to go through it anyway, she would use it as a source for strength. She set her mind for her own innocence. She still had little horns on her head to deal with, but that wasn’t so unusual out in the universe.
She was in an observation lounge of what seemed to be a starliner, and a fairly cheap one at that. There were a few other passengers. “Oh, you poor damned fools,” she thought to herself. Moments later the alarms rang out. She nodded. There was no wasting time.
“Passengers, this is an emergency situation. The Orion has encountered pirates. We will attempt to evade them. Please take whatever personal precautions you must in the event of capture.” The announcement ended with the explosions and shaking of the ship, knocking Desthemia to her ass. She sat there, awaiting the inevitable. First there was the confusion, then the darkness, smoke, noise, screaming, pleading wildly with no one in particular. She caught a glimpse of the brigands and smiled wanly. Orcs. The worst of the worse, just as she’d hoped when she was picking for Araliel. They were lucky when their ships didn’t explode.
The boarding parties came on, beaming aboard in strategic locations. She was low priority and would have to wait. She spent the time fuming, knowing that she was soon to be hurt by such creatures, and she couldn’t stop it. For the next year, she couldn’t do anything for herself. There were a few other civilian passengers with her in the lounge. Then the shock troops beamed in.
“Please, spare…” one young man with children tried to plead, right before getting a phaser blast to his head. His wife and small kids all screamed as the man’s skull exploded in front of them. The orcs went through the family, hurling the mother and oldest girl one way, and the boys and smallest girls into a pile for immolation. All around her smoke from fires filled the room. The wailing of the alarm drowned out much speaking. The pair of orcs got to her.
“On your feet, half-breed whore!” one of them roared. Desthemia stood up, only to get the butt of a rifle to her head. She had only a fraction of a moment to ponder unconsciousness before it took her.
She awoke in a revolting cargo hold, piled in with bodies. All naked. Like her. They’d ripped her clothes away while she was passed out, and now she had only chains on. Chains holding her hands behind her back uselessly. She tried, but couldn’t will the locks to release. She really was a mortal now in most ways. She felt a twinge of real fear. She would live through this. But at what cost? They were orcs, and as far as she could tell, she was now a barely pubescent half-breed little girl. And the other little girls and older women were writhing all around and under her, waking up, coming to their senses, coming to the horrible realization of their fates.
As everyone moved and squirmed and got sorted out, Desthemia found herself chained into a coffle, with neck collars and chains keeping the girls locked together. Her ankles were also chained, giving her a mere twelve inches of slack for walking. After several minutes, the hold doors opened and five burly, smelly orcs barged in, armed, sweaty, angry. “Get on your feet! Get on your fucking feet!” one of them shouted in a guttural, gravelly voice. “Get up, you filth! Get up now!”
As she stood, she realized something worse, and it took a moment to recognize that her emotional control was gone. As she was in the middle of an armed piracy attack, she felt fear. Revulsion. Horror. Shame. All the emotions she’d mastered centuries ago rushed back into her, and it was because her terms were to experience the captivity as a true victim. Her actual expression was that the loser, who should have been Araliel, would know the full horror of a regular demi-humanoid pubescent female upon capture, enslavement, and slavery. So she knew who she was. She had her memories, much like memories of a dream now. But she had the emotional control of a little girl, and more memories of a life that never had existed but seemed real to her. And her knees quaked under her as the closest orc came closer to her naked body.
“Arghh! What’s this vomit? What’s this stinking little whore creature doing here!” he roared in her face, seeing her there. Desthemia’s jaw quivered, and her voice failed. Even powerless, she should have had a vicious retort. But now her eyes teared up and her jaw shivered and all she could do was squeak out some high-pitched whimpers. The orc’s face was in hers, his rancid breath curdling her very eyes, standing two feet taller and three hundred pounds heavier, and she was utterly terrified. “Well! Answer me you little turd!”
“I, I’m just here,” she squeaked. She didn’t know what the actual question was supposed to even be. And it bothered her! Desthemia realized that she’d never tried immersional experience, and this was a bad way to start. She was really going to suffer because she was losing her mind in this body. She wasn’t just feeling the pain. She was feeling the misery, the fear, the shame, all of it just as if she were one of these mortal girls.
“Just here!” the orc roared in anger, and grabbed hold of her head with one hand. His thumb was actually in her mouth, holding her upper jaw. In infernal instinct and blind terror, she bit down hard on his thumb. She felt the skin give. But he held on anyway. He was so large and tough that her strongest muscle, in her jaw, couldn’t hurt one of his fingers. He lifted her up by her head and pulled her close, so his face was inches from hers. “You’re quite a problem, you little cunt! But I’m going to beat the stupid out of you, and beat some obedience into you! You got that? Got that!”
“Yes!” she cried in distress. She prayed he would let go of her and move on. He did drop her, and she landed on her feet.
“Okay, auction starts now!” one of the five said. “You see the stuff, yes? Girls we captured from liner ship. Now sell to one of you four. One at a time, or batch. What do you want?”
“Batch,” the first orc said.
“No, one at a time. Or two at most,” another one said.
“Yes, one or two,” the orc who had tormented Desthemia said.
“Also one. Or two. Or three,” the last orc said.
“Then it’s one or two. I want to finish, so it’s two,” the auctioneer said. He went to one end of the line of girls, and they looked stricken. They all looked stricken, Desthemia noted. Probably herself, now that she was losing her mind. She felt fear that seemed unreal, but overpowering. Shame that was unreal just in general. She never felt shame. But she felt shame now. Shame and humiliation.
“One human, one elf. Start at one thousand or no sale.”
“One thousand,” one of them said, and soon they bid up to six thousand for the pair.
“One human, one Vulcan. Start at one thousand or no sale.”
The price went up to eight thousand. Desthemia watched in morbid horror. Each pair was taken away after their sale by some attendant orcs that came in later. It would take a while to reach her. They seemed to have taken hundreds of female captives. The pairs went on and on. Humans were prevalent. Also elves. Half elves. Vulcans. Jaffa. Trills. Even some Minbari and one Klingon. Half-orcs. Halflings. No twi’leks, dwarves, Centauri, or Romulans. Oddly, no Orions. And she was apparently the only partial tiefling.
She was shaking in terror by the time they got to her and the girl to her left, a Vulcan girl even younger than she was, at least by appearances. Vulcans lived long lives. “Vulcan and mutt mixture of elf, human, and tiefling,” he announced.
“Five thousand!” her tormentor roared. “And don’t anybody dare challenge me!”
“Six,” one of the others growled. “Don’t try that trick, Konar!”
“Seven, then!” Konar spat.
“Take her,” one of the others said, and the six-grand bidder said nothing. The fourth declined, and Desthemia found herself sold with the Vulcan girl for six thousand. Still chained together, some lower level orc detached them from the coffle and pulled them from the room. He marched them both over the cold tiles of the orc ship into a waiting room where there were a few other pairs their master had bought. The chain was hooked and locked to the ceiling, making them stand close together. Desthemia noticed that the Vulcan girl was trying to look and act neutral, but was on the verge of a breakdown. She was quivering so slightly, and Desthemia hadn’t yet lost enough of her own self to see the absolute, uncontrollable terror the girl was in. It was nearly as bad as Desthemia’s own. They stood there for a while, every few minutes a couple more of Konar’s buys would be brought in and chained up, mostly crying, despondent, hysterical. Many of them pissed themselves in terror. All of it bored into her head, breaking away the last lingering infernal defenses she possessed, turning her into the same pathetic, whimpering slave girls that surrounded her.
Finally Konar and some of his henchmen came bursting in. “Listen up, slaves! I own your asses now! You’ve got just one rule. Obey Konar! Do what the fuck I tell you to do! Do it or else, and I’ll beat the fuck out of you if I feel like it, so stay on my good side! We go now!”
All of their ceiling hooks retracted, and the henchmen orcs locked their neck chains together in a line, and the reduced coffle was yanked forward, making the girls and women shuffle forward through the holds of the orc freighter to an airlock where they stuffed the girls tightly into the hold of a shuttle. There were twenty-six of them, and the orcs had to push hard to fit them all in. They were pressed together, female flesh to female flesh, tits squeezed, faces to chests in some cases. Desthemia was in a small body now, her face pressed against the tits of a much taller, angry Klingon woman, the only one other than an adult Vulcan woman that hadn’t shown tears.
“Get those horns out of my breasts, you little devil brat!” she snarled at Desthemia. “Or so help me, I’ll give you a beatdown and they can do whatever to me for punishment!”
“I can’t help it!” Desthemia protested, pulling her head back as much as she could, staring up at the Klingon woman’s face towering above her. She had to be over six feet tall, to what Desthemia had figured to be her own new height of four foot ten. At least the Klingon was chained at her wrists like the others. “Besides, you’re chained like me!”
In response, the Klingon lifted her leg and tried to slam her knee against Desthemia’s crotch. And she connected, though her ankle chain stopped her from lifting her completely off the ground by the blow. Desthemia winced in agony from the knee blow to a still sensitive area. The Klingon just looked angry at the failed attack and did it again, not trying to knock her upward and focusing on kneeing her hard. Several more followed, and Desthemia would have keeled over had she been able. She felt sick and cried out in agony over the tender beating she got. But she also leaned forward, driving her face harder into the angry woman’s tits.
“I said stop poking my tits with those fucking horns, tiefling!” The shuttle was starting to move, and there were no orc guards around to stop anything. The females were packed into the hold alone, barely lit, sweating from the close contact, and bounced around by the shaky flying.
“You’ll pay for this!” Desthemia gasped, trying to recover. In response, the Klingon woman just kneed her crotch several more times, making her scream out in pain. Her cries just melded in with those of the other distraught females.
“You’ll die before we dock, horny!” the Klingon screamed. She was scarring the girls around them enough to squeeze backwards from them, which allowed her to lean down and head-butt Desthemia’s own head, dazing her and making her see stars. Desthemia’s instincts were to strike her down, but her body had no power. But she still, she hoped, had her quickness.
“Is that all you’ve got, skull-face!” she cried. In rage, the Klingon woman kneed her crotch yet again and leaned back for another head-butt. It wasn’t an optimal move, and as she swung her head down, Desthemia turned her head hard to the side. And the Klingon woman’s right eye socket impaled itself on Desthia’s right horn. As a half-tiefling, she didn’t have large, infernal horns like some of her true brethren. But they were several inches long, enough to obliterate the Klingon woman’s right eye. She shrieked in agony, lurching back up, howling and jerking about, knocking the girls around her back and forth.
“This is your orc master speaking!” came a loud voice from the ceiling speakers, over-amplified and feeding-back. “Stop fighting each other! Your lives belong to me alone!”
It was a pointless attempt at control. If the orcs couldn’t or wouldn’t stop the fight themselves, nothing they said would convince the Klingon woman to cease. The crazed creature roared in rage and delivered several more kneeing’s into Desthemia’s crotch, bruising and smashing her delicate flesh, then delivered a surprise head-butt again. She felt her vision blurring out and the room spun even more than the orcish driving was doing. Another head-blast, and she fell limp and unconscious, sliding down between the slaves, pulling the Vulcan girl down with her, as well as the girl on the other side of the coffle.
When Desthemia awoke, she was swaying, her head hurting. She opened her eyes to a world turned upside down. She realized she was dangling by her feet, hanging up side down. Her legs were spread wide, as were her arms, chained to the floor. She was in some barren room on an orc ship. She looked around in the dim red light and saw the Klingon woman strung up the same way, unconscious, blood from her eye socket dripping onto the floor. She also saw the little Vulcan girl and a slightly pudgy blonde short human woman, the two on either side of her on the coffle, and an elf girl of very young years and a mature halfling woman, the two on either side of the Klingon.
After a short time, all were awake, and the Klingon was shouting in rage. “You brought this on yourself, you half-witted primate,” Desthemia taunted her. “But that’s just me. I know we’ll never see eye-to-eye on this.”
“You filth! I’ll kill you!” the enraged Klingon woman screamed.
Then the door opened, and Konar the orc came in, along with two thugs that were big and burly even by orc standards. He looked angry, even by orc standards.
“I can’t even get my cunt cargo to my own ship without them fighting!” he snarled.
“Master, that had nothing to do with me!” the little Vulcan girl cried.
“You were chain-mate to the accused, so you pay the penalty with the accused!” Konar shouted. “Another word, and I’ll rip your tongue out and stuff it in your anus! This is an orc ship, and we have standards. You obey, and you cause no trouble! You caused trouble!”
“I’m a slave to no orc!” the Klingon woman snarled. “Fight me in a fair fight and we’ll see who’s superior! If you’ve got the guts!”
“Unlock her,” Konar ordered his men. They went over and unlocked first the woman’s legs, and then arms. She lay on the floor for a moment before jumping to her feet. “Tell us your name, bitch, so we might know who to cheer against,” Konar ordered.
“I am El-yara, daughter of Zonith!” she spat. “And the house of Zonith shall now add an orc skull to its collection!”
They closed in on each other, and Konar quickly showed his prowess at hand-to-hand combat. He was bigger than El-yara, and stronger too. He grabbed her, quickly got her in a head-lock, and smashed her face into the bulkhead. He kicked her feet out from under her, and then stomped on her head, kicked her belly, and smashed his foot into her crotch. Desthemia couldn’t help but smile at the outcome. He grabbed El-yara’s hair and swung her around before bashing her head against a pillar. Then he delivered a series of powerful punches to her face, sending blood and teeth everywhere. He grabbed her head and drove his thumbs into her eye sockets, crushing her other eye and leaving the hysterical Klingon woman totally blind. She would never see again. Konar continued to deliver the beat-down until El-yara was unconscious.
“Take her to the med bay and see to it she lives! I bought a strong slave, and I will get my value from her. There’s plenty a strong cunt can do without vision for the next few decades!” One of the thugs dragged her away. Konar remained, glaring at the five of them. He stopped in front of Desthemia, staring down at her with rage and hate. “And then there’s you!” he spat. “The other cause of this!”
“I had no control, master!” she cried, suppressing her urge to speak disdainfully to him. Her terror was back. He had just taken apart a Klingon. He could break her in half with two fingers. She was shaking badly.
“You are a slave, and you were bad! You’re going to be punished! And so are the four of you! Whippings for all!”
He stormed out, and the remaining thug opened a little door and pulled out a harsh whip. He strode over to Desthemia. “Wait, just wait!” she tried to say, but he began thrashing her with it without a word. Desthemia’s body exploded in pain. She’d never known such pain at the whip, embedded with shards of metal, ripped into her tender flesh. She was in no position to dodge even the slowest blow, and the thug was thorough and hard, putting his considerable strength into pounding her with the sharp lash. She felt her skin shredding on her, her blood flowing, no way to end it. And on and on he went. She was sure a lesser creature would have died, but her new body had its own magical ancestry that kept her alive as she bled and screamed.
Then the thug went on to the little Vulcan girl, thrashing her. She lost her composure right away. The other three were all crying, seeing what was in store for them. The whipping on the little Vulcan girl lasted until she passed out, and then moved to the pudgy human blonde. She was peeing all over herself before the lash hit her, and soon she was bleeding and screaming horrifically. She passed out even sooner than the Vulcan girl, and then it was the elf girl’s turn. She had been quiet, but the whipping brought out her anguished and astonished screams. She never passed out, but she was left bawling hysterically by the time the thug finished. Finally the halfling woman endured her whipping. Next to the burly orc, she was just a miniscule toy, maybe thirty pounds to the orc’s four hundred pounds of muscle.
When he was done, he put the whip away and turned back to the five captives. “Konar let me fuck bitch of choice,” he grunted. Then he walked over to the little Vulcan girl and took her chains off.
“No! No! I can’t take it!” the girl screamed. “It will kill me! It will kill me! No!”
Right in front of everyone, the orc pulled out his massive cock, thicker than the Vulcan girl’s leg. She stared in utter horror. “It won’t fit! Can’t you see it won’t fit!” But the thug just pressed it to her pussy and lunged. She shrieked like a siren as it ripped into her, stretching her hole out at once. Her agony radiated into the room. Desthemia even felt a touch of it, a lingering vestige of her infernal body that hadn’t faded yet. Everyone there could see the belly bulge of his cock pressing into her insides, and her cunt blood oozed out around his cock. He just pounded and pounded her without remorse of hesitation. And it didn’t kill the Vulcan girl, but when he finally came and his cum spurted out around his cock when her vaginal cavity was too small to hold the sheer volume of cum, she was dropped and laid limp, shivering, wailing on the cold floor of the hold.
“You cunts sleep here now,” the thug said, turning and leaving. All but the Vulcan girl were still hanging upside down in agony. The lights went out, and Desthemia found herself hanging and not at all sleepy, as it wasn’t nighttime for her yet.
Many, many, many hours later the lights came on and the doors opened. Konar and many orcs came striding in. “Sluts pay attention. The other slaves have gotten their work details and are working now to earn their lives. You sluts didn’t. You were being punished, but now you get the dregs because of your defiance. You, Elena Carsten, fat blonde human bitch, you get to scrub the insides of the fluidics system every day. It requires a face mask, protective contact clothing, and special solvents. You’ll get no mask, no clothes, and use water and baking soda with a scrub brush. When you finish the whole system each day, you may eat and sleep!”
“Please, just, please! No!” Elena wept as they unchained her and dragged her off.
“You, T’Shalla, Vulcan child, you’re so smart, so you get to track and remove subspace vole nests from inside the computer core. Be careful, they bite. We have a subspace aneurism near the main power conduit, so they form about five a day.” T’Shalla had been curled up on the floor, traumatized by her vicious rape hours earlier. Now she still looked stricken as they dragged her off to start her duties.
“Alright, Elvish child, Laraelia, you come from a long-lived and wise people, so you’ll be scrubbing the floors on the hangar deck, on your hands and knees with a scrub pad and bucket. As long as the floor shines, you can eat. Oh, and there will be lots of folk around you at all times, so fuck or suck as they wish.” Laraelia whimpered and prayed in Elvish as they carted her away.
“And then there’s the halfling cunt, Sarashan Elderwood. Since you little folk have such a love of food and merriment, you’ll be the pot scrubber in the kitchen. We’ll chain you to a single spot, and that will be your home for the rest of your life. You can eat whatever you scrape off the sides of your work!” Sarashan was sobbing as they took her away.
Now Desthemia was left alone in the hold with Konar. He slowly walked over to her, waving a big orcish sword around as he did. “Ha ha, Desthemia the unknown. Your people should have a last name, but the transport’s records didn’t show any for you. Just the one name, Desthemia. Also, no cabin assignment. No record of payment. But you were there. You could pass a card check. Stowaway much, Desthemia?”
“What do you want from me?” she asked, too scared to try mouthing off. She had internalized that she was no longer a devil from hell. Not for the next year or so.
In response he touched the tip of the sword to her open pussy and let the blade slide in a little. She gasped in shock and horror. It hurt a little, but that was it unless he pushed. “I think you’re my favorite, Desthemia. I’ve never fucked a Tiefling whore before. So, Tiefling, are you supposed to be evil? Evil like us orcs are evil? Are you a badass bitch, Desthemia?” He pushed down a little bit on the sword hilt, sliding a bit more into her gash. “Are you an evil bitch? Are you more evil than me, bitch?” He tapped his fingers on the sword. “Huh? Answer me, bitch! Are you an evil bitch?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say!” Desthemia sobbed, losing control and starting to cry. She’d tormented enough creatures like this, with questions that had no answers, but never realized how effective it was. She was offered the choice to answer, but nothing she said would matter. It was all illusion.
“I want an answer from your mouth, Tiefling whore! Answer me, now!” He rested his hand on the sword, sliding more inches of the blade into her cunt. She felt the edge sliding hard against her soft flesh, and also pushing against her vaginal muscles, threatening them as well.
“I’m evil!” she blurted out. “We all are! I’m evil! I’m sorry!”
“More evil than me?” he asked.
“I don’t know!” she wailed. “How can I know that?”
“Have you ever cut up a bitch’s genitals?” he asked, pushing down still harder, making her cry out in agony as she felt her flesh cutting apart.
“You’re more evil, master! You’re more evil!” she sobbed. “I’m nothing compared to you! Put me in my place, please, master, put me in my place!”
“And your place, Tiefling whore, is working the latrines. You’ll keep them clean, and you’ll do it just like you are, naked and without tools. You can use your tongue.”
“Oh, oh oh!” she sobbed, retching at the thought of it. “Please, master! Please.”
He replied by pushing the blade down more. It cut easily into her soft flesh, and was pressed against her musculature. The pain was unbelievable. Desthemia had to fight the urge to clench, lest it cut her even more. She had to relax. Her pussy could get larger. Childbirth happened that way. But she wasn’t relaxed for it. She was tight, and he was threatening to loosen her in the worst possible way. “Please, no more, master! Please have mercy on this pathetic creature!”
“That’s right,” Konar said. “But no mercy for you. You work the latrines. Clean them inside and out with your tongue and fingers and hair, but clean them!”
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I’ll obey, sir. Please don’t put that sword in my cunt, sir! Please!”
“I knew you cunts could be reasonable.” He yanked it out fast, slicing her cunt walls a bit more and making Desthemia cry out in pain. But some thugs walked in and released her from the upside-down bondage only to drag her out of the room. She was sobbing as they pulled her through the ship, past the orcish crew of pirates and thugs. Everyone was so much bigger and stronger than she was. She was nothing next to them. She couldn’t hurt them if she tried, and yet they would pulverize her on the slightest provocation, or none at all.
Finally they reached a big communal latrine. There were no walls or partitions. There was just a row of toilets along each wall, and more rows down the middle of the room. And they all just led to holes in the floor and a communal holding room below where the sewage collected until it was converted back to elemental form. The room was revolting. It was for orcs only, and everything from the floor to the toilets and handles and walls and mirrors was filth-encrusted, mostly with shit of color shades that shit should never be. And urine, the stench of it was everywhere, fresh and stale. She blanched and her stomach twisted painfully into knots. How an orc could sit on a toilet and still miss the hole and shit on the floor was beyond her comprehension, until she watched for two seconds. There were five orcs there, and the ones shitting weren’t even sitting. Desthemia realized that of course these were orcs, and they didn’t build their own ships unless they couldn’t steal one. What another race would consider military-style latrines to the orcs was just a place to shit anyway. They had girls like Desthemia to force to clean it.
“Get on the floor, on your hands and knees!” the thug said, shoving her forward. She cried out as her body slid into the excremental floor, on her hands, dirtying them forever. “Get everything on the floors and walls and everywhere else into the holes. Make the room shine.” He slapped an electronic collar around her neck. “Try to leave the room, and you’ll be writhing in agony until someone turns it off,” he said. “Be done or no food. Be done in twenty-four hours or we zap you with electricity for an hour. Get to work.”
He turned and left Desthemia alone with the orcs currently there. At once they grabbed her and threw her onto her back. In seconds she felt the first orc cock pressed to her recently cut pussy. She shrieked as it pressed inward. The thing was four inches across, tearing at her vaginal muscles and stretching them out hideously. The pain was unbelievable and she screamed for her life. But the first orc just casually raped her while the others watched, and then they lifted her, repositioned her, and another orcish cock slipped up into her anus. The pain went up tenfold. Desthemia thought her mind would explode. She wished it would. She wished she could lose her mind just to not feel that pain anymore. And then the third cock went into her mouth. In desperation, with her air suddenly cut off, she tried to bite. Not only didn’t the orc pull out, he didn’t even seem to notice. All her strength couldn’t bite into the orcish cock, but he was able to slide it way down her throat, making her try to puke, but unable because the path was blocked. Nor could she breathe. At all. So she lay there, choking, dying from lack of air, her crotched ripped asunder by cocks far too large for her frame. Only their cumming quickly saved her from worse, as she soon felt the gnarly, nauseated orcish semen in her body, in her belly, her stomach, and her guts. The laughed and tossed her to the floor before leaving. She lay there crying for a long time, until another orc came in.
He grabbed her and pressed her head down in the toilet bowl, face up, then squatted and shat onto her face. It was slimy and sticky and kind of mucus-like in texture, as well as having a stench worse than the sixth layer of hell, a stench she was no longer immune to. She instinctively sputtered, spraying some up onto the orc’s ass.
“You stupid female!” he yelled. He grabbed her and hurled her whole body against the mirror, smashing it, and sending Desthemia and the shards down onto the floor in a heap of blood and girl meat. He walked over and used her hair, still relatively clean, to wipe the shit off his ass, and then left her there.
“I can’t do this!” she sobbed. “I just can’t! I give up! Let me stop! Let me stop! Please!”
Konar came into the latrine. “This is bad. You’d best get your tongue working, Tiefling slut. If this room is not perfect, I’ll rip something off your body.” He turned and left. Desthemia was defeated, and crying the whole time, rolled onto her belly and started to push all the grime and shit on the floor forwards towards a toilet. She pushed everything that way, with her hands, on her hands and knees. There, she scooped it up and dumped it into the hole to the chamber below. It was slow going, since orcs came to shit and piss all the time. But she slowly used her bare hands to gather up the solids piled around. Next she used the pools of piss to perform a rudimentary rinsing off of the floor. She rolled around her body in it, including her hair, and then rolled on the dryer spots to wet them and take up some particulate grime. She used her arms and legs to then squeegee the liquids down a floor drain.
And finally, the hardest and longest part, she began to lick all the surfaces to clean them up once and for all. As before, the orcs kept coming in, making her do spot cleans on some areas more than once. But then she returned to licking the floor clean. She knew exactly how do work it. She’d seen slaves in latrines. Just not herself. There were not many options. There were no good options. But it could be done, and she did it, weeping and occasionally screaming in general despair the whole time.
For hours and hours it went on. She was interrupted eleven times to be gang raped, and seven more for single rapes by individuals. She soon learned that giving in didn’t help her at all. They wanted her to struggle a little, and they were happy to beat her regardless. And at the end of each, all she could do was sob and get back to her work. There wasn’t time for sleeping or rest or food or anything. Even the cum she swallowed and kept down did nothing for her hunger, as it was widely known throughout the galaxies that orcish semen was nutritionally empty, being basically inert goo for any purpose other than impregnating their victims.
When the twenty-fours hours was up, and the contingent of orcish officers came to inspect her work, Desthemia couldn’t help but cry still more. Every tear was an affront to her infernal dignity, but that was her life now, the result of her own stupid wager. The latrine was passably wiped down, but hardly shone. It still stank. It was gross. She was going to fail. Konar and some others came in, and looked around silently.
“Well I’ll be fucked,” Konar said. “This little slut is enough of a slime slut that she actually did it. She actually cleaned it with her tongue and finished the job.”
“Good find, Konar,” one of them said. “Good working slut. We should find more Tiefling slave sluts.”
She realized only then that to orcs, this shitty, smelly latrine was like pure cleansing. They were just that gross. She herself had never felt grosser or lower. She was virtually in shock. She sat, shivering in cold and horror and shame. And yet, the approval of the orcs actually gave her pride. It was horrible to consider, but she was proud of herself. She, Desthemia of the Seventh Bloodstone Circle, proud that she’d impressed orcs by licking clean their latrine in the nude.
“Come with me,” Konar snarled, grabbing her horns and dragging her behind him, not even letting her stand and walk. He took her along more dark, fetid hallways before reaching a suite of personal quarters. Presumably his own. It reeked of male musky sweat and blood. He just took her to a nondescript corner that had been half-assedly cleared out over time, and locked her neck to a chained collar. Then he left in silence. Desthemia took the message, that it was time for her to rest. She fell into a fitful, frenzied sleep of the damned.
She got up when he hit her cunt with a Klingon pain stick. She flew awake screaming. “Good, you are up now,” he said. He unlocked the collar. “These are my quarters, and have much dirt and grime. Clean it with your tongue. If you disturb anything or try to take anything, you shall be disemboweled.” With that, he left, and Desthemia had a new, disgusting task to do. But at least it was not public.
It was also grosser, and she had to use only her own saliva to wet everything. A lot of the grime was solidified, and she had to lap at the same spot frequently for a long time. Progress was absurdly slow. She spent the day revolted, bored, lonely, and ashamed of herself for her weakness. But she licked her orcish master’s quarters clean as well as she could. When he returned hours later, she was far from finished. She knelt, eyes down, cowering underneath him as he inspected her failure.
“Are you trying to infuriate me, you miserable piece of filth!” he roared finally. He reached down and backhanded her across her face, sending her reeling to the filthy floor. “I gave you a task! You do the fucking task! You do what the fuck I tell you damn it! Don’t you defy me you stupid little cunt!” He punctuated each line with a fist to her naked body somewhere, pounding her down hard as her body was wracked in pain. “No food for you today! And none at all until the floor and walls shine! Get to work!”
He left the room, and Desthemia wept as she got back to licking the floor, trying harder to scrape loose every last crusted piece of grime. Her eyes went often to the porthole, the first she’d seen on the ship. She could see the stars, and the wider universe out there. It was lost to her now, trapped on the hellish orc ship as the lowliest slave. She started to wish it could kill her, because she couldn’t imagine spending a year living like this. Being raped hourly and licking floors clean. It was more than she thought she could handle, but there was no way out. Even death was denied her. She would have to endure it no matter what. So she licked and tried to forget who she was and what she had lost.
She was exhausted in her bones, shaking from fatigue, when Konar returned again. He didn’t even inspect her work, but grabbed her and dragged her into his bed. She cried out as his cock, insanely long and thick, pressed into her battered and cut up pussy, opening back up every wound on her innards, and making she scream anew in fresh pain. But he had her pinned down hard on the rough supposed mattress, his four hundred fifty pounds of dense muscle crushing her seventy-eight. Even breathing hurt, as she lay there, light-headed and nauseated, in agony through her crotch until he shot the huge volume of boiling, rancid cum into her womb and pulled out. He rolled over and went to sleep in seconds, pinning her right arm so she had to lie there beside him, two naked forms that couldn’t be much more different. Heat radiated off his hairy, sweaty body, and the deep orcish stench of sweat and musk filled her nose, making her gag and want to retch, if only her stomach had anything left to vomit out. It didn’t.
She lay there, staring up at the ceiling in the dim light as the monster orc snored beside her. Unable to move, it was practically her first peace since her captivity began. It had been only a bit over one day. She still had the year left. One year. One whole year. Only one year, she tried to remind herself. Surely that was better than what the Klingon woman, El-yara, would have to endure for the next few decades, the rest of her life probably, blind and helpless at their mercy.
As she lay there, trying to sleep, her eyes again went to the window. The stars. Beckoning. So many options were out there, and elsewhere. Not stuck on the ship. The stars. As she stared at them, they seemed to shimmer. And twist. And dance. And then Desthemia’s eyes flew open as she realized what she was looking at. Her lost wager had changed her body, her emotions, her self-control, but not her knowledge.
“No! Oh, no no!” she cried. She turned to Konar. She would have to wake him. The prospect chilled her in fear. Would he stop beating her long enough to listen to her? Every second counted. “Master, master please wake up!” she cried. “Please, sir, please wake up! We’re in danger, master! Please!” Finally, she dared touch him, poking and then shoving at his shoulder.
Suddenly his eyes flew open and he sat up. “You little cunt! How dare you wake me!” he roared, louder than ever. He grabbed her by her slender waist and hurled her entire body across the room. She struck the wall and fell sobbing to the floor.
“Master, we’re in danger! Look at the warping of the stars! We’re heading into a temporal vortex! We’ll be lost in time! Please listen to me!” She was coughing and spitting up blood as she spoke, but she desperately hoped he would listen. “Just look out the window, sir! Just look out the window!” she wailed as he rose and approached her with clenched fists. “Oh please don’t hit me again!” she screamed. “Please, no more!” She cringed as his fists rained down on her, smashing her tiny body, breaking ribs and bruising her to hell. Then he dragged her to the bed and slammed his hard cock into her far-too-tiny cunt hole, slamming her and slamming her, ripping her vaginal muscles yet again. It was a fast fuck that left Desthemia wailing in pain, curled up and unable to speak.
Then her words seemed to sink in, and he looked to the window. He walked over, still staring out. “Oh shit,” he said and hurried from the room. Desthemia lay on the floor doubled over in agony for a long time. She felt the ship making course corrections, a testament to how hard they were turning that the gravity and inertial dampeners were affected. Orcs were the worst navigators known to exist, and now they were trying to avoid a temporal vortex that they were already caught in.
The implications drove Desthemia to the worst hysterical crying she’d ever done in her existence. If they became trapped, the whole ship and crew would end up living in slowed time, their aging governed by absolute time but their activities sped up so they might experience two years’ worth of events in just one year. Or three years’ worth. Or four. Or ten. Or a hundred. Her one year of servitude in the wager could become a thousand. All of it spent in unrelenting horror and pain. It was the one thing that could really break her mind, and it looked like they were heading into it. The lightshow outside the port became impossible to follow as the ship was clearly tumbling now, rotating at thousands of RPM. She felt herself being pushed gently to one side of the room. What would happen, she wondered, if the gravity of inertia failed? She couldn’t die, but she also couldn’t live as a thin film of goo stained on the buckling bulkhead walls.
She had to get away. Somehow. Damn the wager and the consequences. She could find a shuttle and hijack it. Hell, she could navigate away from the temporal vortex with her eyes closed. She forced her aching body to its feet and ran to the door. It wasn’t locked, and she found herself out in the hallway. Now she was committed. If they caught her out there, she’d be the most doomed devil girl in history. She fled, desperate to find a way off. She went only a few dozen steps when blinding, horrific pain shot up through her left leg. She looked down to see her lower leg caught in a big mechanical leg trap. The sharpened, serrated edges had slammed shut on her, ripping through her skin and muscle down to her bone.
She stared in failing comprehension. How could there be a bear trap just sitting in the middle of any space ship, even an orcish pirate ship? It was impossible, but there it was, stabbing her leg with pain after pain. She limped and lurched to the side, falling against the wall. There was no chance of her getting out of it. She tugged weakly at it with her hands but it may as well have been fused solid for all the give it had.
As the ship continued its tumble, Desthemia watched the empty corridor in horror. The spin was so fast she could see the distortion in the walls. They rotated, turned corkscrew on her. They had to be spinning now at relativistic speeds. The time dilation was going to be horrific. Her year was turning into centuries or more.
“Oh no, no!” she wept.
“You weren’t trying to leave, were you?” Desthemia looked up to see Araliel standing over her.
“Did you put this here?” Desthemia cried, indicating the bear trap.
“To keep you alive? Yes. That orc has enough rage to beat an immortal soul to death.” She paused, letting it sink in. “No, I’m just fucking with you. Of course I didn’t put it there. But maybe I gave these orcs the opportunity to experience a temporal vortex.”
“You cheated!”
“I used the terms of the wager. You would have done the same.”
“Why! Why did you do this?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Araliel replied. “Can’t you figure it out?” Desthemia just looked at her haughty semi-friend in confusion. “It’s because you’re evil, Desi. You’re evil and I’m good, so I am punishing you for your sins.”
“You? You’re punishing me?” Desthemia cried.
“You’ve hurt innocent people. You do it as routine. You’ve killed, tortured, tormented, everything. You’re a devil, don’t you remember? So I’m giving you your punishment.”
Desthemia stared in shock. “The funny thing is, you probably really would have been content to give me just the year. That’s because you don’t believe in anything you say. Evil, am I right? But I’m punishing you. For each murder, for each pain, for each loss. For each year of life taken, you get two years punished. For every rape or beating or ‘accident’ you’ve inflicted, more punishment.”
“But, no!” Desthemia cried. Her mind tried to do the math. “But, but that’s, that’s…”
“Eight million years,” Araliel finished her thought for her. “Don’t worry. You’re still a devil in your soul. In a billion years you’ll look back and laugh. We can discuss it over tea and lady’s fingers.”
“But, but, the other girls! They’re not devils!”
“Ha!” Araliel laughed loudly. “Desthemia showing concern for other life forms. Now I’ve seen everything!”
“If you punish me, you condemn them as well!”
“Enough, silly. Now, I’ll be going. Don’t forget, you’re stuck here so don’t bother to escape. The ship won’t be destroyed and the inertial dampeners won’t fail. You have plot armor. You’re going to keep this ship of the damned intact and alive for a long, long time my friend. Enjoy it.”
“Don’t you dare! No!” Desthemia shrieked, but Araliel shimmered and faded away from sight, leaving Desthemia trapped in agony and outside where she was supposed to be. She fell to the floor weeping, awaiting the return of her own personal devil to continue her own personal hell.
