Author Topic: The Rape Run Modern  (Read 1713 times)

Offline ErikModi

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #15 on: July 30, 2021, 07:20:43 AM »
This is a work of fiction.  The events within did not, probably will not, and definitely should not occur.  Any opinions expressed are those of the characters in the story, not the author.  None of the characters are real people, even the ones based on real people.  This is a fantasy for consenting adults.  If you cannot tell the difference between fantasy and reality, please seek appropriate counseling.

Warnings:  Implied/Referenced Incest

6 -- Processing

Another month passed.  I kept up my GAG shifts and Slaver training, and even paid for a two-day basic rejuvenation in an Agharan healing tank.

If you've never sprung for one of those, do it.  The start and end are quite uncomfortable, I'll admit.  Stripping naked so all the breathing and monitoring apparatus can be attached, stepping into the tank -- a transparisteel cylinder just big enough for you -- feeling and smelling as that cloying, sickly-sweet fluid is pumped in, slowly covering you completely.  Fortunately, you're not submerged very long before the sedatives kick in and you just drift off to sleep.  You wake up as they start to drain it, which is just as unpleasant as being submerged but in reverse, then they have to pry off all the tech, then you need four or five consecutive hot showers before you even start to feel clean.

But the results are everything you've heard and more.  I stepped out feeling like the floor of a movie theater, sure, but I also felt better than I ever had in my life.  I breathed easier and deeper, I moved more fluidly and powerfully, dozens of minor aches and pains I only noticed now because they were suddenly gone.  My body rippled with muscles I thought I'd never have.  I hadn't gone for a full "overnight bodybuilder" look, but I had gone for some extra muscle mass and tone.

And my dick.  I'd always been on the low end of "average", but now I was firmly in "well above average".  Nothing too dramatic, just an extra few inches in length and some more girth, but it looked damn good on me, and I couldn't wait to see how Gina responded.

She was definitely appreciative when I got home.  "Mm, looking good!" she said, letting her gaze roam over my body.  Even in the GAG uniform, my new physique was apparent.

I reached under her arm to unclasp her slave wrap.  I'd started having her wear it around my apartment, after her being naked all the time started to get dull.  "Into the bedroom," I commanded, and she complied, turning to face me as we entered the room.

"So, what do yo-oof!"  Her question was cut off as I shoved her back onto the bed, enjoying the new strength I had.  I took off my uniform as she slid back on the bed, making herself comfortable.  I crawled on top of her and seized her wrists.

"Struggle," I ordered.

This had rapidly become my favorite game to play with her, before and after her upgrade.  I couldn't order her to "fight," since fighting involved hurting and the implant prevented her from hurting men, but I could order her to pretend to fight.  Test her strength against mine, but holding back just enough to just barely lose.

It was an amazing turn-on to feel her muscles strain against me, feel the power she had.  To know that, without the implant, she could easily throw me off her and beat me to a pulp, but with it, she could only submit to me, no matter how hard she trained or exercised.

And now I was testing my new, healing tank improved body against hers.  I was still no match for her, even before her upgrade, and I could feel that.  But I could also feel her strength kept in check, letting me pin her to the bed and spread her thighs with my legs.

Her legs flexed against mine, her hips rocked, trying to dislodge me but stopping just short of the force necessary to do so.  I removed one hand from her wrists to aim myself at her slit, and her free hand shot up to press into my chest, again pushing just hard enough to fail to shove me away.  I got myself lined up and thrust into her, and her pussy muscles clenched as though trying to force me back out.  I grabbed the wrist of the hand she pressed to my chest, and fought to pin it back down to the bed.  Slowly, the strength of her arm yielded before me, and I had her trapped beneath me, still straining and thrashing in a not-attempt to stop me from fucking her.

It felt so fucking good.  Viscerally experiencing her power, power that was mine to command.  Even the rippling of her pussy muscles did little but enhance the feeling of being buried in her.  I pounded into her, high on the feeling of fucking her, fighting her, conquering her.  It didn't take long for me to release deep in her.

As I pulled my cock from her cunt and rolled off her to lay on my back, the "struggle" command was considered fulfilled, and she cuddled up next to me.  "Mm, thank you, Master.  That was wonderful."

I nodded absently, suddenly distracted.  I looked down my body and saw my cock showed no sign of deflating.


I realize now that I had been uncommonly virile in my youth, my cock taking some time to soften after I came.  I could even keep it up for two or three rounds if I wanted.  As age had caught up with me, that had gotten less common.  It seemed the Agharan healing tank had restored my youthful virility in addition to giving me a body my younger self would have envied.

"Someone's excited today," Gina said, noticing my still-proud erection.

"Yes.  Start sucking," I answered.

Gina obediently took my prick in her mouth, lapping our mingled fluids off it as she guided it past her lips, over her tongue, and down her throat.  The past months hadn't improved her technique much, but it hadn't needed to.  She'd been damn near perfect the very first time, and achieved perfect shortly thereafter.

I reached down to stroke her hair, now grown out to good, yankable length.  I dug my fingers through her raven tresses, clenched my hand into a fist.  The feeling of a woman's soft hair twined between my curled fingers had always been one I'd loved.

As I felt myself getting close, I yanked up on her hair, pulling myself from her mouth.  Her hands took over and she moaned as I began shooting my load on her face.  As I watched the last spurt slide down her chin, I pulled her back towards my cock.

Watching Gina suck me off, her dark eyes fixed on mine and blazing with lust, had become one of my favorite sights.  Seeing the same thing, only her face was coated in my spunk, was even better.

I came in her mouth and she swallowed as easily as she always did.  I might have been able to push for a fourth session, but I felt well-satisfied.  "Mm," Gina said, licking my jizz off her lips.  "So good."

"How's supper coming?" I asked in response.


A week after my rejuvenation treatment, I was accompanying Platoon Second -- that's sergeant for those of you who care about old Earth rank equivalents -- Mikva on a sort of field test of my Slaver training.  A low-risk run, but nevertheless a chance to see how I performed and reacted in the real world.

The Agharans had been making great strides in securing allies to their cause, and one of these powerful and influential men had earned the right to own his own slave.  But he'd had a very specific request, and after due consideration Salvish had granted it, and we were here to carry it out.

Mikva parked the shuttle on its repulsors on the front lawn of a large, very upscale house in a gated community.  We exited the shuttle with him taking point and approached.  Mikva knocked on the door, and a man a few years older than I used to look answered.  "Ah, welcome, gentlemen, come in."

"Thank you, sir," Mikva said as we entered the spacious and elegantly-appointed home.  I kept my eyes and ears open for trouble, but couldn't help taking some mental notes.  This is the kind of place I want for me and my slaves.

The man extended his hand.  "John Hoffner."

Mikva shook it.  "Mikva.  This is Lucas."  Hoffner likewise shook my hand.

"Where are they?" Mikva asked quietly.

Hoffner answered in a similarly hushed tone.  "If you're ready, I'll bring them.  Don't fuck it up."

"Sir," Mikva said, a deliberate trace of condescension in his tone, "we're professionals."

Hoffner nodded.  "Very good."  He turned to lean his head up the stairs.  "Girls, come down here, I have people I want you to meet."

"Do we have to?" a plaintive shout came from upstairs.

"Yes!" Hoffner bellowed back.

I don't know how the muttered "Ugh!  Fine." made it to our ears, but it did.

Two young women of about twenty years made it down the stairs.  One gazed at us with undisguised impatience, the other had somehow made the journey without her eyes ever leaving the screen of her phone, across which her thumbs flew with the rapid-fire artificial clack that grated on my nerves so.

They had tight young bodies with lovely curves, tucked into the casually scandalous attire that passed for fashion among women their age.  They had long blonde hair that was obviously the result of professional stylists and colorists but trying not to look it, and everything else about them, from their perfectly-plucked eyebrows to their immaculate pedicures showed a carefully cultivated and very expensive image.  In short, a pair of more perfectly stereotypical "rich bitches" you were not likely to find.

What was really remarkable about them, however, was that they were completely identical twins.

"Agharans, big whoop," the impatient one said.  "We done?"

"No," Hoffner answered.  "Show some manners.  Introduce yourselves."

"Tricia," the impatient one said.

"Traci," the phone-bearer said, her device still encompassing the entirety of her attention.

"Pleased to meet you," Mikva said with far more cheer than I thought I'd have been able to muster.  "I'm Mikva, this is my assistant, Lucas.  Your father has earned himself a tour of our mothership, and we thought you might like to come along.  Visit space, see how we live, experience all our cool gadgets."  The last held a knowing note only the men in the room picked up on.

"Pass," Tricia said.  "But have a good time, daddy."  Her tone failed to conceal that she was already planning unspeakable mischief as soon as her father was safely away.

Mikva had been involved in much of my training, and had taught me to spot openings such as this.  So it was no surprise that his stunner cleared his holster only a second before mine, or that he'd aimed at the too-slowly-reacting Tricia while I targeted the still-oblivious Traci.

My shot came on the heels of his, and both girls crumpled to the soft, expensive carpet.

"Wow," Hoffner breathed.  "Well done."

"Thank you, sir," Mikva said, holstering his stunner.  "Looks like we'll be needing the crate and patches after all."

Recognizing the order, I went back to the shuttle and grabbed a small flat plastic box and what looked like a large square sheet of thick, rigid plastic mounted to an even thicker metal plate.

Returning with the items, I surveyed our catches.  "What do you think?" I asked Mikva.  "Blues?"

"Maybe.  They partiers?" Mikva asked Hoffner.

The man smiled slyly.  "Of course not.  They're daddy's perfect little angels who would never do anything he'd disapprove of."  The sarcasm was so thick it was smothering.

"Right," Mikva said wryly.  "Better make it reds."

"We want them to wake up sometime this week," I countered.  "Yellows."

Mikva considered them a moment, then shook his head.  "Reds.  Trust me."

"You're the boss," I said, opening the plastic case and pulling out two red-colored plastic patches.  Carefully pulling off the backing of the adhesive side, I stuck them one at a time to each girl's neck.  The drugs in the soporific patch seeped into their system, ensuring they'd remain unconscious as long as we needed.

And probably a lot longer, I thought.  The patches were color-coded for different doses and mixtures, from weak greens to the extremely strong reds.  Too little and the capture could wake up before she was secure, too much and she might sleep through her processing.  Or, you know, die.

Correctly dosing patches was a tricky business, something you just had to get a sense for.  It was part body weight, part personality, part acquired resistance to chemical alterations to the body through use of other drugs, recreational or otherwise.  We'd learn the hard way that some habitual pill-poppers (especially of prescription painkillers) could shrug off even reds, leading to the joint Agharan-Terran development of black patches.

Once I was sure the patches were secure, I pressed a button on one edge of the metal plate.  The plastic sheet unfolded and popped up into a rigid crate, big enough to stuff our two new captives into if we were careful and creative.

Mikva and I had begun lifting Traci when Hoffner spoke.  "Aren't you going to undress them?"

"We usually do that at processing," Mikva replied.

"But you could do it now," he said, a hopeful edge in his voice.

"Think about the return trip," Mikva said.  "You can't walk them back through your front door naked, or in slave wraps.  Secrecy, sir."

Hoffner seemed to consider that.  "Could I borrow the crate?"

Mikva rolled his eyes, making sure only I could see it.  "Fine.  Lucas, you do her."  With that, he gripped Traci's shirt and began working it up her body.

Undressing an unconscious woman is surprisingly difficult, but when your subject is a hot college-age idle rich princess, the fun factor makes up for it.  Tricia's skin was smooth and soft as I worked her out of her thin shirt and short shorts, and I greatly enjoyed the feels I copped stripping off her bra and sliding her thong down her long legs.  Looking up at Hoffner, I saw he was enjoying the sight of us stripping his daughters as much as we enjoyed doing it.

Takes all kinds, I shrugged to myself.

After that we loaded them in the crate, engaged the repulsors in the plate, and pushed it slowly and casually towards the shuttle.  The memory plastic of the crate would allow airflow, keeping the internal environment comfortable and breathable, while muffling any sound from within.  Not that these two would be making any sound for some time.

The briefing Mikva and I had gotten had explained why Hoffner's request had been granted, why his own twin daughters were to be captured, implanted, and sent home with him as his slaves.  Despite being almost 22 years old, neither girl had shown any inclination to go to college, find jobs, or do anything but hang out with their friends, party, and live off their father's money for the rest of their lives.  Even when he'd threatened to cut them off or disinherit them, they'd just batted their eyelashes and said "you'd never do that to us, daddy," and he'd been unable to stand his ground.  Despite all the ingratitude and disrespect they'd shown him, he couldn't bear to be firm enough with them to make them stand on their own.

So when the Agharans had explained to him their agenda and the technology that would enforce it, he knew exactly how he wanted to use it.  Tricia and Traci wanted to live in daddy's house off daddy's money forever?  Fine, we could make that happen.


Hoffner was appropriately wowed by the Sophist Guile and it's extensive collection of slaves.  I was actually a bit surprised how easily distracted he was.  Maybe enslaving his daughters was more practicality and convenience than unfettered desire?  Whatever, not my problem.

We soon arrived at the place where I'd picked Gina up for the first time, such a short eternity ago, and proceeded through into a place I'd never been.

Slave Processing.

The room was large, the walls dominated by computer banks and storage cabinets, all gleaming stainless durasteel.  Two chairs took up most of the room's center, not unlike chairs in a dentist's office, but with three major differences.  The first was separate pads for each leg, keeping the legs spread and elevated.  The second was the restraints.  The third was the circular headrest, providing an open section where the back of the occupant's head could be accessed.

That was where the slave implant would be injected.

Mikva and I opened the crate and began maneuvering the limp bodies of the sexy young ladies into the chairs.  Kavek, the processor on duty, whistled appreciatively, then scowled at Mikva.  "You put reds on them?"

Mikva shrugged as we got Tricia situated.  "They're party girls."

Kavek lifted Tricia's arm, then released it.  It thumped bonelessly back to the chair.  "Not enough, apparently," he noted dryly.

"Told you," I said.

"Yeah, we should have used yellows."

Kavek looked at Hoffner as he began fastening the restraints around Tricia.  She wasn't going to move on her own, but ensuring the slave in potentia was securely immobile was important to the process.  "How important is it to you they be awake for this?"

The man blinked.  "Uh. . . I don't know, how important is it to the. . . the procedure?"

"Not at all," Kavek replied.  "Some like hearing the girls beg and plead, shudder with tears or tremble with anger as we talk about the programming that's about to become part of them.  But we can do it with them sound asleep."

"Good," the man stuttered.

By this time, Mikva and I had Traci in her chair.  We stood aside to let Kavek work.  "This your first time?" he asked Hoffner as he secured Traci's restraints.


"Excellent, congratulations.  You get a primer?  Read it?"

Hoffner nodded.  "Twice."

"Good man."  Finishing with Traci, Kavek handed the man a datapad.  "We've got a set of standard programs here, and I can walk through those or anything custom you want.  Your imagination is the limit.  I'll advise you on any problematic programs or combinations, but the final choice is yours.  I will remind you, once the implant is in, it's impossible to remove and extremely difficult to reprogram, so consider your choices here, today, to be permanent."

Hoffner nodded, perusing the pad briefly before handing it back.  "I'm ready."

"Excellent," Kavek said, seating himself by Traci's chair at a monitor and keyboard mounted on an articulated armature, festooned with other assorted tools and devices.  "Shoot."

"I want them utterly devoted to their daddy.  Wanting to do anything to make me happy.  I want them to love me."

Kavek shrugged.  "Part of the basic package.  Follow the orders of men, with a personal slave's designated owner -- that's you unless you transfer them -- overriding.  I can make them love you, though.  Hell, I can make them fall in love with you."

Hoffner nodded.  "Do that."

Kavek tapped keys.  "Done.  Next?"

"I want them. . ." he flushed slightly.  "I want them to. . . enjoy each other.  Love each other."

"Love each other, or love each other?"

Hoffner looked sheepish.  "Yes, that."

Kavek grinned.  "My man.  Twin lesbian sex slaves.  Any man says he doesn't want that, he's a damn liar."  He tapped more keys.  "You want them fully bisexual, or leaning towards men or women?"

"You can do that?"

Kavek chuckled.  "I can make them repulsed by each other but irresistibly attracted at the same time, if that's your thing."

Hoffner thought for a moment.  "Fully bi."

"Full bi, aye.  Anything else?  Imagination's the limit here, mate."

A dark flame began to smolder in Hoffner's eyes.  "I want them to regret the way they've treated me all these years.  I want them to be sorry they didn't show me the respect I was due as their father, the man who worked hard to put a roof over their heads and food in their bellies, the man who toiled to give them a shot at a good future only to see them waste it."

Kavek smiled, and it reflected the dark light in the other man's eyes.  "You want to punish them for being arrogant little bitches?  You want them to know they deserve it?"

Hoffner nodded.  "Yes."

"Done.  Anything else?  Want them to be horny for you?"

Hoffner smiled.  "You mean the nanites."

"I was beginning to wonder if you were fibbing when you said you read your primer.  Yep, I'm talking nanites."

"How long do they take to ramp up?"

"Fully configurable, though like the implant, that's prior to injection.  Reconfiguring them after is worse than reprogramming the implant.  But, I can take them from being 'a little distracted' to 'all I can think about is getting fucked' over the course of any time frame you like.  You want them gagging for it every hour on the hour?  I can do that, though I'd recommend against it, unless you never want to get another uninterrupted night's sleep."

Hoffner rubbed his chin.  "How long would you recommend?"

Kavek shrugged.  "Depends on your libido, mate.  How often do want to fuck them?  Or more accurately, how long do you want it to be before they're begging to fuck you?  Bear in mind, it's not like you need them to be in the mood before you can get busy.  Unless you like dry fucking -- and I know plenty who do, no shame -- the implant will make sure they're at least receptive at all times."

Hoffner thought for a few seconds, then nodded.  "Let's skip the nanites, then."

"Okay.  Nothing more programming wise?  Any physical modifications?  Breast size?  Breast sensitivity?  Breast amount?"  Kavek chuckled at the stricken looks that appeared on Hoffner's and my faces.  "I'm teasing.  While we're undercover, no inexplicable modifications."

Hoffner shook his head.  "Not right now.  I may -- probably will -- want to get them bigger boobs later, but I'd really like a chance to experience them as they are."

"Fair enough.  Want me to kill all hair follicles below the neck?"

Hoffner grinned.  "Definitely."

"Huge maintenance saver, but some like some artistry or whatever.  So, we ready to do this?"

Hoffner nodded.

Kavek punched a few more keys.  In the armature, a socket holding the implantation gun lit up.  The implant had been programmed, final quality control checks run, and settled into the gun.  Kavek picked the gun up and wheeled the chair behind Tricia's head.  There was a hiss as the thick needle punched through her skull and planted its precious, treacherous cargo in her brain.  Kavek repeated the process on Traci.  Then he grabbed another injector gun, and shot both twins on their inner thighs.  There was no immediate visible change, but over the next hour, whatever body hair remained on them (not much, they were impeccably groomed) would fall out.

Honestly, it was a little anticlimactic.


It took four more hours and a mild dose of stims to get the newly enslaved twins up and functional.  They were groggy and bit loopy, but already the change was apparent.  They were incredibly attentive to their father, every time he spoke or moved they honed in on him with all the focus they could muster.  He seemed quite proud of himself for this.

We'd moved them to the recovery rooms near the waiting area where I'd met Gina.  For the most part, once a slave was processed, she could hop off the table and walk out with no ill effects, but sometimes -- like, for instance, slapping reds on someone who couldn't tolerate them -- some recovery time was necessary.

The girls and their daddy were almost set to go, just a few last things to wrap up, and one of them was just arriving.

"Here you go, sir," a young Agharan said, handing Hoffner a plastic box.  "Salvish again thanks you for your service, reminds you to keep everything quiet, and be ready as we require you and your resources."

"I will, young man, thank you," Hoffner said.  His tone was warm but authoritative, a natural leader who could earn loyalty and respect from those who worked for him.  I still don't know precisely what his business was, but that air of command would have made him valuable to our cause anyway.

Still, he couldn't conceal the glint in his eye, the excitement of a kid on Christmas with a present he couldn't wait to unwrap.  He turned to his daughters, opening the box.  "Daddy got you both a present."

The girls cooed adorably and moved to look in the box, then plucked out the two blue slave wraps.

"Aw, thank you daddy!" one of them said.  With them being naked and thus having nothing to easily differentiate them, I'd long since lost track of which was which.  Besides, that was pretty much an academic distinction at this point.

"They're lovely!" the other said.  "How do we put them on?"

"These men will show you," Hoffner said, waving to me and Mikva.  "They're very good friends of mine, helped me get these for you."

Mikva and I stepped to the girls, and showed them how to fasten the wrap under their left arms.  We didn't stop to grope them as such, but we weren't shy about letting our hands touch them.

Once the wraps were secure around the girls, they looked at each other, taking turns twirling and posing and assessing how they looked.  "Oh, daddy, these look so cute!  Thank you so much!"  One of them said.  Simultaneously, they leaned up to kiss their father on each cheek in gratitude.

"Don't forget to thank my friends, who helped me get them and showed you how to wear them properly."

"Of course not, daddy," they said in unison, then repeated their double-act cheek kiss on Mikva and myself.

When we arrived back at the shuttle, we found Salvish waiting for us.

"Hello," he said pleasantly.  "Good to see you.  Mr. Hoffner, could your daughters wait in the shuttle?  I'd like a moment of your time before you leave."

"You heard the man," Hoffner said, pushing the girls towards the shuttle by their shoulders.

Salvish watched them go appraisingly.  "Excellent choices, Mr. Hoffner.  I'm sure you'll be quite pleased with them."

"Indeed," Hoffner rumbled.

"I heard it all went off perfectly.  Well done, Mikva, I expected no less."  Mikva smiled and nodded.  "And congratulations, Lucas, on a second successful capture.  You're turning into quite the Slaver prodigy."

"Thank you, sir.  Mikva deserves the credit, though, he took the lead."

"And you had my back.  You've got the drive, the instinct.  You're going do great with us, Lucas."

I couldn't help but smile, pleased by the praise.  "Thank you.  I'll do my best."

"Of course," Salvish said.  "While I have you here, I wanted to invite you to a gathering I'll be hosting next Saturday evening.  Some of my top men, some of our valued and in-the-know allies.  A chance for us to demonstrate the Agharan lifestyle, and for your people to experience it."

Hoffner nodded.  "I'd be happy to attend."

"As would I, sir, I'm honored," I added.

Mikva grinned cockily.  "My shot at the big time?  I'll be there."

Salvish smiled.  "Excellent, I look forward to seeing you all there.  I'll forward you the details.  Oh, and prepare to bring your girls.  It's a slave party."
« Last Edit: July 30, 2021, 07:28:43 AM by ErikModi »

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #16 on: July 30, 2021, 02:48:53 PM »
Sorry but I would have shot to kill both those "princesses" they didn't deserve a chance to change at all in my eyes!. Can't wait for everyone to get a good look at Gina in the slave party. Merit awarded from me!

Offline ErikModi

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #17 on: July 31, 2021, 11:15:17 AM »
This is a work of fiction.  The events within did not, probably will not, and definitely should not occur.  Any opinions expressed are those of the characters in the story, not the author.  None of the characters are real people, even the ones based on real people.  This is a fantasy for consenting adults.  If you cannot tell the difference between fantasy and reality, please seek appropriate counseling.

Warnings:  More Implied Incest

7 -- Party

It was two hours before the party, and I was starting to understand why women were so obsessed with clothes.

The "details" Salvish had forwarded included places to meet shuttles to take us and our slaves to the party.  The shuttle meeting places were secure themselves, so I could have Gina change into her wrap before boarding, or en route if I preferred.

But did I want her to wear the wrap at all?  I didn't necessarily want to leave her naked the whole evening, but how many other slaves would be there?  Would they all be in blue, or would there be red-wrapped slaves as well?  Did I want Gina to stand out from the others?

In the end, I decided to have her wear the tube top and short skirt I'd gotten her, had her throw a long coat over it, then folded up her wrap and put it in one of the coat pockets.  There, prepared for several different eventualities.

Salvish had also told me to wear my GAG uniform, but I made sure it was as clean and presentable as possible, and spent a lot more time than I usually do on my grooming and hygiene.  Not that I needed to impress the ladies -- not anymore -- but I wanted to make a good impression on the other men.  I was certain most of them would be closer to Hoffner's wealth and status than mine, and I wanted to be taken as an equal.  Or at least, not dismissed as hopelessly inferior.

My pickup point was the nearby Center, so I was not at all surprised to find myself riding to the party in the company of Cozzil and his slaves.  I was surprised that Paul, my fellow GAG member, and my supervisor Mike, were joining us.

"I fucking knew it!" Paul said, leering at Gina as I had her remove the coat and leave it in Cozzil's office lounge.  "You got first pull and hit the sex slave bingo!"  He raised his hand.

Suppressing an eye roll, I high-fived him.  "Yeah, more or less."

"Dude," he said, still leering.  I was about to say something cutting when Cozzil entered with his slaves, and Paul's attention was almost violently redirected to the Syreen.

"Gentlemen, glad you could make it.  Lucas, Mike and Paul have proven themselves trustworthy and amenable, and earned invitations as well.  I'm sorry I wasn't able to find the right time to inform you before now."

"No problem," I shrugged.  "This is good news."

"Indeed.  Now, this way."  Wrapping an arm around the waist of his two slaves, Cozzil led the way to the shuttle hangar.

The flight took barely twenty minutes to reach the Agharan Envoy Centraplex, their first and primary installation on Earth.  Cozzil led us through a few corridors to a large room, filled with chairs and tables, a raised stage at one end against a glass wall offering a stunning view of the city.  Many were already there, sitting around tables or along the walls.  Many were Agharans, the next-largest group were GAG members, a few other humans in high-quality suits.

But most of the occupants were slaves.  Red wraps were in the majority, but there were many in blue.  Most were Agharan, a few were more esoteric species.

Cozzil guided us to a table and directed us to sit and wait, Salvish had some announcements before the party began in earnest.  I saw him up on the stage, talking with another Agharan, flanked by two gorgeous blue-wrapped slaves, both bearing a strong resemblance and looking almost Agharan, except for a string of mottled spots tracing the edge of their hairline, colored a brilliant purple.

"Gaianesians," Cozzil said, noting my interest.  "Very rare, very prestigious.  Their markings having turned purple signifies their Reflex has been triggered repeatedly.  Normally, those spots would be dark brown."

"What Reflex?" I asked.

Cozzil chuckled darkly.  "An evolutionary remnant of their barbaric past, when they were at the mercy of their males.  Pull a Gaianesian's hair, she orgasms uncontrollably, which has the effect of lubricating her thoroughly and pretty much making it impossible for her to fight back.  Modern Gaianesians consider letting their markings change color at all, never mind getting that vibrant, a mark of great personal shame.  It makes them traitors to their gender."  Cozzil chuckled again.  "Of course, implanted Gaianesians like those are beyond caring about such things."

"Of course," I replied, studying these implacable foes of Aghara-Penthay, and now naturally Earth.  They were exceptionally beautiful, long and lean like the most fit supermodel, yet voluptuous in ways human women that slender would have required plastic surgery to attain.  "Do you know if he had them physically modified?"

Cozzil shook his head.  "That's all-natural Gaianesian beauty there.  Impossibly perfect, except for the part where they all want to turn us into meatbag labor drones."

Deciding it would be rude to ogle Salvish's personal slaves any longer, I took stock of the other guests.  The Agharans, recognizable in their black uniforms, seemed evenly dispersed through the crowd.  In fact, as I looked closer, it seemed like each group of humans -- GAG, not, or a mix -- was escorted by one or more Agharans.

Making sure everyone stays nice and patient for Salvish's announcements?

I spotted Hoffner with his daughters at a nearby table.  He nodded and raised his glass my way, I sketched him a pseudo-salute.  Two, maybe three other humans were in the company of blue-wrapped (presumably) human slaves.

Gina was the only one not in a wrap.

Initially, I was nervous the looks we were getting indicated disapproval of my choice in her wardrobe for the evening.  But as I paid more attention, I realized word was slowly spreading.  The humans recognized her, and shared with the Agharans that she was a celebrity, a woman of fame and note on our world.  Some were confused by her not wearing the wrap, but realized the significance of the color of what she was wearing.

Eyes were turning to me, and I saw much reflected in those looks.  Respect.  Admiration.  Awe.  And yes, some jealousy.

After several more minutes, Salvish stepped to the edge of the stage and clapped his hands.  The sound echoed through the room, drawing everyone's attention.  "Good evening, friends, thank you all for coming.  Our work progresses admirably, and I thank you all for being part of its foundation.  Tonight is for you, to reap the rewards of the work you've done thus far, and a promise of what is to be yours once we are done.  We have food and drink for you all, both your native and our imports, screened to ensure anyone can enjoy it all.  And as you can see," he waved his arm at his Gaianesians, "we have copious entertainment."

Someone whooped and began clapping loudly, which triggered a wave of applause.  Salvish seemed content to simply encourage it to die down before he continued.  "A few things to note before we begin."  He waved his hand, and a red-wrapped slave stepped up onto the stage, clinging to his side.  He motioned to his Gaianesians, who cuddled up to his other side.  "Slaves in blue are the private property of their owners.  If you want, you'll have to negotiate with their owner, and the owner is completely free to grant, restrict, or deny any access to his slaves.  If you're not sure who the girl's owner is, just ask, she'll point him out."  Salvish's voice grew low and hard.  "You will respect the slave owner's word.  Any man here with a private slave is, to put it plain, better than a man without.  I will tolerate no disrespect.  We are all men here, I will demand that bond be honored.  And I will be very upset with anyone who does not."  He paused to let his words sink in.  "Slaves in red are free for anyone to use as they see fit.  We have healing tanks in the building, but I would still ask that you be considerate and keep as many of them in circulation as possible."

Cozzil nudged me, I turned to see him holding up a thin strip of blue plastic.  "Put this on her wrist," he said, indicating Gina.  "If she loses her. . . clothes, she'll still be marked as private property."

I bent the strip around her wrist, and it flexed to wrap around and seal itself, tight against but moving with her skin.  Similar exchanges occurred amongst the few others with personal slaves who weren't entirely in the know.

Salvish paused and smiled.  "Should any of our human guests find the spirit willing but the flesh weak, ask an Agharan.  We have a nanotech cocktail that will see you through as much as you want, and we know how to make sure you don't get too much.  Other than that, talk!  Mingle!  Eat and drink!  Grab a slave and fuck her brains out!  Enjoy yourselves the Agharan way!"

Immediately, over a dozen men made a beeline for me, nearly tripping over themselves, each other, and other guests to try to be the first to get to me and Gina.  I half expected to hear the stock "bowling alley strike" sound effect.

"Sorry," I said loudly as the bulk of them reached easy earshot, wrapping my arm around Gina's shoulders.  "Not right now.  Maybe later."

Most of their faces fell so hard I again expected cartoon sound effect accompaniment and trudged off.  Three of them nodded, and maintained a respectful distance as they complimented me on Gina's alternative slave wrap.

One marched up as they left.  "How much?"

He was a large man, I guessed he'd played football or wrestled in his youth, his bulk had that kind of formerly-fit look.  His suit was probably very expensive, I never really had an eye for such things, but he wore it like he expected me to be impressed by it.  Most aggravating of all, he had that look, the look of someone who, if he ever got told "no", made the one who said it pay dearly.  I'd dealt with people like that before.  Always by giving them exactly what they wanted, no matter how much it rankled.

Not this fucking time.

"Not interested," I repeated.

"One night with her.  Your price.  Name it."


The man puffed himself up.  That might have been impressive before most of his muscles turned to fat.  "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Nope, and don't care.  I'm not in the mood to share her, and even if I was, it wouldn't be with you."

His eyebrows knitted.  "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"You said that two seconds ago, my answer hasn't changed.  I'd like you to go elsewhere now, whoever you are, I don't wish to continue speaking with you."

"Don't piss me off, kid.  I'll make you regret it."

"You heard what Salvish said about disrespect."

"He's not here."

"I am," Cozzil said quietly.

The man rounded on him.  "And who the fuck are you?"

"Cozzil, administrator of Envoy Center Seven, this man's superior. . . and someone who can see to it you will never attend one of these parties ever again."  Cozzil smirked, tossing back the dregs of his drink.  "Well, at least not in any capacity you'd enjoy."

The man glared and fumed.

"Consider this your first strike.  And Agharan rules only count to two."

The man stormed off.

"Thanks," I said to Cozzil.  "Glad you were here."

"You handled yourself quite well.  I didn't want to step in until it became necessary.  This party is about adapting you all to Agharan ways.  Yes, the sex slaves are a big part of that, but also status, power, how those are defined and what they mean.  You wear our uniform, you're better than those who don't.  You caught yourself a personal slave, you're better than those who haven't.  They -- and you -- need to start getting used to that."


It didn't take long for the fucking to start.  Men grabbed slaves -- mostly those in red, but I noted a few respectful and successful negotiations that saw some in blue temporarily changing hands -- wraps hit the floor, pants came undone.

The fat man who'd accosted me had grabbed two red slaves, yanked their wraps off with bothering to unclasp them properly, then shoved the girls to their knees and whipped out his cock, pushing it sloppily back and forth between their mouths.  It was a disgusting display.  He wasn't in control, he wasn't being a man with mastery over these women.  He was. . . well, in every possible sense of the term, he was just being a dick.

To my surprise, Salvish came up to our table, his Gaianesians clinging to either side of him.  "Lucas, good to see you."

"Good to be here, sir, thank you."

Salvish looked over to where the fat man had finished with the slaves, gasping and with looks like they were wondering what they'd done wrong.  Without tucking himself in or fastening his pants, me marched to the bar and poured himself a drink.

"He gives you any more trouble, let me know," Salvish said, leaning in to speak quietly.  "He's valuable, but not invaluable."

I shook my head.  "I don't think he will, at least not for awhile."  I hesitated, then decided Salvish preferred it if I spoke my mind.  "I don't see him getting with the program any time soon, though.  Guys like that reject the very idea they need to earn any of the shit they think they're entitled to."

"You may be right.  I'll have a talk with him.  With the right motivation, he may come around.  But I wanted to congratulate you, your slave looks ravishing.  An inspired take on our garb, magnificent."

I grinned.  "Thank you, sir.  That's exactly what I was going for."

"I'd expect to see quite a few more dressed like her next time."

I shrugged.  "I have variations."

Salvish laughed, disentangling himself from one of his slaves to clap me on the shoulder.  "Good man!  Keep those wits, you'll go far."

"I hope so."  My eyes flicked to his slaves.  Up close, I could see their eyes were the color of rubies.  "Yours are incredibly impressive, as well."

"Gaianesians," Salvish said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"I filled him in," Cozzil added.

"How did you get them?" I asked.

"Raided a small patrol ship.  Very difficult, very dangerous.  Gaianesians prefer to self-destruct rather than get captured, and an exploding hypercore shreds anything within a hundred kuvum.  But we disabled the ship before they could disengage the interlocks, then it was a straightforward, if tense, boarding action.  They fight like crazy when cornered by us, and build good blasters, but we won the day with acceptable casualties on both sides."  He squeezed the girls against him.  "And you're glad of it, aren't you?"

"Yes, Master," they said simultaneously in eerily similar voices.

"Yep," Salvish said off my questioning look.  "They're sisters."

I grinned.  "Well, good on you sir."

"Thank you.  Sadly, I can't linger, lots of people I need to talk to.  I'll try and swing by again later."  With that, he ushered his girls through the crowd.

"Damn," Paul said.  "I wanna be a space pirate, hop galaxies and rape fine-ass space bitches."

"Get your own house in order first," Cozzil said, sternly but not harshly.  "Once Earth is secure, there will be need for you among the stars."


The food was good, the booze was amazing, the Agharans had other safe recreational chemicals they dispensed freely, and everywhere I looked, I could see a naked slave girl, more often than not getting fucked.

You know how you go to a party and think it'll be awesome but it's actually super lame?  Well, this was the exact opposite, being far, far better than anything my wildest fantasies could have conjured up.

I fended off several more offers to borrow, trade, rent, or outright buy Gina, most of them polite, none as rude as the first.  I soon had a slight, cocky permagrin on my face as I reveled in having one of the most desirable slaves at the party.

The emotional charge from that attention is what ultimately had me stand up and have Gina follow me to the stage.

Most of the men were taking their slaves wherever they felt like it:  at or on the tables and chairs, having them kneel or lie down on the floor (which was surprisingly soft while still being easy to walk on).  But the stage had been filled with comfortable pads just big enough for a romp if you wanted.  And didn't mind being at the natural focus of the room's layout.

I'd never considered myself an exhibitionist, quite the opposite.  But now, I very much wanted to show off for the entire party.

I told Gina to strip.  She pulled the tube top over her breasts and head, wriggled one arm out of it, then pulled the loose cloth off her other arm, dropping it to the floor.  She unzipped her short skirt and wriggled it down her round hips and thick legs.  Then she stood, proudly naked, waiting her next instruction.

"Undress me," I said.

We'd never done this before, but Gina learned quickly, unfastening my uniform and gradually stripping me out of it, carefully laying the articles aside.  Once she had me naked, I laid down on one of the cushions.

The excitement of the evening thus far already had me ready to go, so I simply patted my thigh and Gina got the message, straddling me and lowering herself down, gripping my cock to aim at her entrance.  As my tip brushed her lips, I said "Don't come until I tell you to."

Gina nodded, sliding herself down on to me.  I knew now just how responsive she was, how easily I could coax orgasms from her with minimal effort.  And I knew how quickly she grew delightfully desperate if I denied her.

As she started back up, I flexed my cock within her and she froze, nearby coming right then but for my command.  She resumed her movement and I flexed again, this time she kept moving but squeaked in erotic distress.  As she settled in to riding me, I flexed my dick at random intervals, or added a sudden upwards punch with my hips or a shimmy or roll to either side, keeping her guessing and ramping up her pleasure in short, sudden jolts.

It didn't take long for her to start begging.

"Please, can I come Master?"

"No," I replied, starting to play with her tits in the way I knew she liked best.

She whimpered but kept her pace, shuddering slightly.  Her pussy caressed my cock in that special way it only did when I edged her like this.  I was content to let myself build slowly, tormenting her with my random thrusts and flexes and gyrations, my hands groping, squeezing, flicking, and pinching her sensitive boobs.

I was getting fairly close when she begged me again.  "Please, Master, I need to come!"

"No," I said again, and the desperate tremble of her response pitched me closer.  I slammed up to meet her downward thrusts three times in quick succession, then went still as my cock did all the work, spurting my seed into her.

"Oh, Master feels so good Master please let me come Master please!"

"No," I said, thrusting up again.

This should be interesting, I thought.  I hadn't made her deny her orgasm since my rejuvenation treatment.  I couldn't wait to see how she reacted to my improved stamina.

She did not disappoint.  Her normally pleasured moans were grunts and sobs of frustration, her controlled movements erratic and forceful.  Her eyes were squeezed shut so tight tears leaked slowly from their corners.

"Ungh, please I can't anymore I have to please Master please!"

"Not yet," I said, her urgency in voice and body bringing my climax yet again.  She whimpered again and punched the mat in ecstatic anguish.

I grabbed her and rolled her over, pinning her on her back and pounding her for all I was worth.  I didn't even have to order her to struggle, her near-orgiastic thrashing was accomplishing that.  She shrieked and howled, in between babbling a near incoherent stream of pleas for me to let her come.  I didn't bother to answer until I shot my third load into her womb, at which point I growled "Come, bitch, come now!"

Gina screamed, a scream which was cut off as her whole body convulsed, nearly throwing me off her.  Her voice came in strangled gasps as air was forcefully expelled from then pulled back into her lungs in time with her violent thrashing.  She smashed her fists into the ground on either side of her, her arms caught in the same slow, powerful pulse of her massive orgasm.   Finally, her back arched, lifting her off the floor by her ass and the top of her head, face screwed up in what looked like agony, before she finally collapsed, completely limp.

A smattering of applause sounded in the hall as the assembled guests showed their appreciation for our show.

I pulled myself out of Gina and stood, holding out a hand to her.  "Thank your audience," I said.

Very shakily, her prodigious strength completely sapped, Gina took my hand and stood, looking out at the rest of the party.  As best as she was able, considering her nudity and jellied limbs, she curtseyed to them.

"God damn, dude," Paul said as we returned to our table.  "God damn."

"Thank you," I replied.

He reached a hand towards the still-naked Gina's chest.  "Can I--"



By the way, if you're reading this and you happened to be there that night. . . I'm not sorry.  Not even a little bit.
« Last Edit: July 31, 2021, 11:25:13 AM by ErikModi »

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #18 on: July 31, 2021, 12:07:09 PM »
What a super polite way to tell all assembled to fuck off by taking the object of their desires right in front of them and pleasing her to the point she's begging you to finish in her! merit from me when allowed for the performance!

Offline spunkjunk

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #19 on: July 31, 2021, 03:12:05 PM »
There were allready links posted on this board to this two incredible good STORIES wich are some off my alltime favorites!
Once God create the male. Examining each angle he thought: I can do better! And he did...

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #20 on: July 31, 2021, 06:12:48 PM »
Nice to know I'm not the only one who loved those stories!

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #21 on: August 01, 2021, 08:27:22 AM »
This is a work of fiction.  The events within did not, probably will not, and definitely should not occur.  Any opinions expressed are those of the characters in the story, not the author.  None of the characters are real people, even the ones based on real people.  This is a fantasy for consenting adults.  If you cannot tell the difference between fantasy and reality, please seek appropriate counseling.

Warnings:  Betrayal, Coercion

8 -- War

So, yeah, the Female Resistance of Earth is partly my fault.  Sorry.

Turns out that fans and social media followers aside, someone like Gina Carano knows a lot of people, people who are going to notice when she suddenly goes into complete communications blackout.  People who can start asking questions, getting some uncomfortably correct answers, and spread those answers wide enough it's impossible not to notice.

It wasn't a disaster.  There was an unfortunate amount of truth in The Agharaning (the irony of that name still makes me chuckle), but there was enough conjecture, open speculation, and inconclusiveness that few were swayed outright.  But those that had already been cautious grew more so.  We were forced to accelerate our plans.  Which, thankfully, we were in a good position to do.

Two weeks after the big online dump of Agharan "inside info," coordinated attacks were launched targeting females in law enforcement and the military, as well as in political, social, or economic leadership positions.

It went off without a hitch.  The Agharans had been really generous with their stunner technology (by design), with the result that they had completely replaced firearms for police and military use.  So the cops and soldiers who did respond to our attack found themselves without weapons that could inflict serious casualties (which, again, had been the entire point).  And enough people were in the know now that most female cops and soldiers never made it to the fight, being stunned by their male "comrades" before they could mobilize.

I participated in the attack on a local military base, which was one of our more unqualified successes, though I must admit not due to my actions.  Twenty minutes into the fight and I took a stun shot to the face.

Stop laughing.

I have to say, Agharan stunners are a thing of beauty.  I woke up in the base infirmary, under the care of an Agharan physician, and aside from some scrapes and bruises on my left side where I'd fallen, I felt fine, like I'd just had a nap.  Not one of those shitty naps where you wake up muddled and with a headache that won't go away, but a pleasant, restful little snooze.

After Operation Short Stun (don't look at me, someone else with a sense of historical irony named it), things got interesting.  Humanity quickly fractured into three rough groups.  There were those of us who knew about the Agharan agenda and were on board with it.  (We took to calling ourselves Terrans to differentiate ourselves from the others, enough GAG members were sufficiently nerdy that "Terran" had a slightly sinister connotation we liked.)  Then there were the people who kind of knew the Agharan agenda, and were most emphatically not okay with it.  But the vast majority of humans were in the third group, who thought that something weird was going on, but the government had it under control and it wasn't their problem.

So it became a guerrilla war.  We still had to keep up the charade in public, no flaunting our slave girls yet.  Maybe we should have come right out then, maybe not.  Salvish was concerned about that approximately seventy percent of humanity who was not really paying attention.  It was assumed that, in general, men would side with us and women would side against us, and while there would be exceptions, it would be a pretty even split.  Since the whole point was to subdue Earth as peacefully (and as intact) as possible, simply triggering the Gender War we would have had anyway was pointless.  In Salvish's view, we needed to keep moving quietly, convincing the men and implanting the women covertly, so weight of numbers would be our ally.  And if the bulk of that inattentive seventy percent sided against the Agharans, then Earth was lost to them.  They simply didn't have the strength to subdue the entire planet militarily.

This did give the Female Resistance of Earth a chance to crystallize around a most unexpected core.

"Can someone explain to me," Salvish said through gritted teeth, leaning over the interactive display on Cozzil's desk, "how a collection of self-important arm candy is making us look like idiots?"

The Resistance had announced themselves in the April Initiative.  A lot of people way smarter than me have compiled far better stories of the war, so I won't get into details.  Check those out if you'd like to know more, you'll probably see an interview or two with yours truly.

But yes, the April Initiative did make us look like a bunch of idiots.  Refuge in audacity is a thing.  Thankfully, we'd gotten images of a bunch of the women involved, and identifying them was trivial.

"It actually makes a lot of sense, now that I think about it," I offered.

"Explain," Salvish said quietly.

I shrugged.  "Acting is a charisma-based skill."  Salvish stared.  "Sorry, nerd reference.  What I mean is that, think about what it takes to be an actress, a good one.  The ability to craft a character and make that character as real as you are.  To summon, control, and manipulate both your emotions and those of your audience.  To broadcast intent with a word, a gesture, or just a specific gleam in the eye.  All that requires a certain force of personality."

"Traits we look for in our top commanders," Cozzil said.

"And lots of other things go into being a successful actress.  Punctuality, which means good time management skills.  The ability to learn and remember lots of details quickly, lines in a script.  To adapt when those lines need to change.  To understand and take direction, which often means learning how to give direction -- lots of actors become directors.  Patience, spending hours in makeup or wardrobe to get the character look right, hours on set to get the scene just right.  High tolerance for frustration and boredom.  The ability to work long hours, sometimes in pretty harsh conditions."

"Intelligence, adaptability, fortitude, wits," Cozzil said.  "Also excellent qualities for a Slaver officer to have."

I nodded, continuing.  "And actresses can have quite a wide variety of roles under their belts, which can translate into a working knowledge of a wide range of skills.  An action role can teach basic weapons handling and combat techniques, a cop role can teach legal procedure, a criminal role can show you how to circumvent those procedures, a mystery thriller can encourage critical and analytical thinking, a scientist role a basic understanding of scientific methods, disciples, and principles.  And that's before getting into their own skills, educations, talents, interests, and hobbies."

I pointed at a section of the map currently displayed.  "And they don't all start out in Hollywood.  Or Vancouver.  They come from all over the country -- all over the world sometimes -- so they have friends, family, allies, contacts, all across the globe.  In the absence of any political, social, or military leadership, it makes sense resistance would rally around celebrities."

"So how would you stop them?" Salvish asked.

"I'd start by striking at their fans.  I guarantee you, every female celebrity has three-quarters of her male fan base wanting to fuck her.  Use that."  I paused.  "Problem is, there's only one of her to go around."

"Less of a problem than you think," Salvish said enigmatically.

I didn't share his confidence, but wasn't about to second-guess him.  "The female fans. . . well, all I can think of is hunt them down and capture them."

"Or get others to turn them over to us,"  Cozzil said.

"Either way, turning male fans to our cause and female fans into our slaves will deprive them of a lot of support, not to mention slow the spread of their recruitment."

Salvish nodded.  "Good.  But ultimately, we need to find and catch them.  Or start with that.  Cut off the head, the body dies."

I shrugged.  "I'm afraid thinking like an insurgent is outside my expertise."

"We got this," Major Johnson said.  I wasn't sure exactly which branch he'd been with or what his job had been, but he'd become the Agharans' expert on this kind of combat.

"Thank you, Major," Salvish said.  "So, to start."


It was long, hard, tiring days of plotting, planning, and occasionally racing out to try and catch a suspected Resistance cell or operative.  Then they made the connection between these lovely women frequently wearing blue and seen in the company of known Agharan associates, and started kidnapping them in an effort to figure out what was going on.  We wrapped up four whole cells before they wised up to the cause-and-effect there (remember, the implants are also trackers).  This did give us the idea to start sending implanted women as moles, but that only worked twice before the slaves returned, reporting that they'd been turned away.

Somehow, the Resistance had learned about the implants and worked out a way to detect them.  Implanted females simply weren't allowed anywhere near a Resistance cell's base.


Two months of unacceptable progress passed.  I was returning home, wanting nothing more than to sink into Gina's welcoming cunt, but an envelope taped to my door stopped me.  Taking it inside, I opened it.  It contained a single sheet of ordinary printer paper, with a short message typed on it.

"I want to help.  Jake's, Thursday, 10:30pm.  Bring your slave and I'll find you."

"Hmm," I said, handing the note to Gina.

"Sounds like a trap," she said.

"It does have an air of trappishness about it."  But why me?  How would they even find me?

Those two questions answered themselves.  The Agharans weren't broadcasting my identity and accomplishments, but they weren't exactly hiding them, either.  Someone with sufficient motivation could easily figure out I was one of the rising stars of GAG.  I hadn't precisely been subtle about having Gina around, or putting her in my alternatives to the slave wrap in public.  Anyone with marginal intelligence and a few data points could connect the dots.

"So what do you want to do, Master?"


Jake's was a nearby bar, not terribly busy, but busy enough a clandestine meeting could happen easily.  But not so busy a kidnapping attempt couldn't be carried out with a reasonable chance of success.

So, I came prepared.  I had my stunner in a shoulder holster under a leather jacket, and of course Gina.  I doubted anyone in the Resistance would be prepared for a sex slave to also be a hypercompetent bodyguard.

Of course, if this wasn't the Female Resistance, or they had male collaborators, Gina's usefulness would drop precipitously.

I also had my communicator attached to my jacket's collar.  One shout, and backup would be on the way.  No one in the immediate area -- didn't want to spook my mysterious quarry -- but close enough to at least give chase if I was taken.  If they were dumb and took Gina too, no problem.

We settled into a table in the back corner to wait.  It wasn't a long wait.

A woman, wearing a thick sweater and coat, wide hat, and huge sunglasses sat down with us.  "You're him, aren't you?" she asked in a London accent.  "Lucas, the Agharan golden boy."

"Who wants to know?" I asked.

She cast a glance around the bar, then took off her sunglasses and hat, revealing long, shimmering chestnut hair and amber eyes.  "I don't know if you're familiar with me, but my name--"

"Lucy Pinder," I said, a grin breaking out on my face.  "I'm actually something of a fan."

She smiled, and damn but it was gorgeous.  And hot.  "Good.  That. . . makes this easier, I guess."  She paused, looking uncertain.  "I want to help."

"So you said in your note.  Why?"

She blinked.  "I don't follow."

I shrugged.  "Kind of my point.  Let me be absolutely clear:  there are no deals to be made here.  No bargain for you to skip getting an implant by selling out other women.  This war requires total victory, Lucy," I got an inappropriate thrill at skipping straight to using her first name, "and whether you submit or resist, the end result is the same.  So why would you want to help us?"

She smirked.  It was self-assured, but I could read real trepidation behind it.  "Because I believe, despite what you just said, there are deals to be made here.  I'm not asking to be spared an implant," she said, holding up a hand to forestall my rebuttal.  "If there was a point in time anyone with boobs could have gotten through this without one, that ship has sailed.  And--" she flushed, sighed shudderingly, leaned forward and lowered her voice.  "I. . . I like the idea of it.  Having no control over my body, being forced to obey my master.  It. . ." she trailed off.

"Yes?" I prompted, taking hold of Gina's hand.

"It makes me randy, alright?"

"It's good that you can admit that," I said.  Granted, that wasn't remotely how the implant worked, but who was I to crush her illusions?  "So why not just turn yourself in?  March into the nearest Envoy Center or up to the nearest GAG member and say you want to be taken in for Processing?"

"With a war on?"  She scoffed.  "How long before some misguided Resistance twat kidnaps me and tries to 'rescue' me?  At worst, they kill me trying to dig your sodding chip out my skull.  Best case, they actually figure out how to disable or remove it, and I'm back where I started.  And if you lose?  Look, I know I'm only famous for my tits."  She opened her coat a bit and heaved her enormous, sweater-clad knockers for emphasis.  "And I'm already hitting the age where I can't make a living getting my kit off anymore.  I help you win, I help take down the Resistance, I get a long, happy life as a blissful sex slave, regular dunks in your healing tanks to stay young and pretty and largely unaffected by gravity, and, I hope, I get to choose an owner I won't actually mind serving."

I shrugged.  "Once you're implanted, you won't care who your master is."

"Be that as it may, I'd still like to have the choice.  To know I had the choice.  That the last one I ever made actually mattered."

I smiled.  "Is that why you sought me out?  You want to choose me as your master?"

Her eyes darted nervously.  She bit her lip before nodding.  "Of the bona fide Agharan allies I could find, you. . . seemed the most approachable.  The most reasonable and thoughtful and. . . I guess, kind, maybe.  Gina always seems so happy around you."  She paused, blushing deeply.  "And the hottest."

Yeah, not a lot of fellow GAG members or other allies had taken advantage of the healing tanks yet.  Score one for me.  "I think I can work with that."  She looked up at me hopefully.  "Not so fast," I said.  "I'll have to run this up the chain, make sure it's worthwhile and legit and we'll have a use for you.  And you know we can't send you to the Resistance with an implant."

She nodded, self-assuredness returning.  "That's what makes my offer so valuable."

"And what makes you such a potential liability if you're lying.  I honestly have no idea what the Agharans are prepared to do to a woman who really pisses them off."

I let that implication sink in.  The Agharan idea of "peaceful coexistence" was losing your free will and becoming a living sex toy.  If that was normal. . . what, to them, was punishment?

Little did I know I'd soon be discovering that.

I saw Lucy appreciate the gravity of my threat.  "I'll get in touch with my superiors, hopefully have an answer in a few days."  I gave her directions to a nearby movie theater, cutting edge ten years ago, but now largely abandoned in favor of a newer one equidistant.  Checking the schedule on my phone, I picked the one o'clock showing of a film I was pretty sure no one else would be seeing at that time.  "We'll come in a little late and find you.  I'll hopefully have your answer then."


I did run Lucy's offer up the chain, all the way to Salvish in fact.  But he agreed with my assessment and let me proceed.

I had Gina in the tube top and long skirt when we arrived, bought our tickets, and went to the auditorium.  I noticed one of the girls at the concession stand -- real cutie, just college age -- glaring at me and Gina when she thought no one was looking.

Lucy was, indeed, the only person in the theater.  She'd taken advantage of the darker, more solitary setting to shed a lot of her disguise from the bar.  Good, it was getting warm enough that so many layers would make her more conspicuous, not less.

I sat down next to her, Gina on my other side.

"Well?" she asked.  "What did they say?"

"Nothing yet.  Still evaluating.  Should be soon, though."  I nudged Gina, and she executed the order I'd given her on the way over.

She turned in her seat, bent down, and began opening my pants.  As she fished out my cock and began licking and kissing it, Lucy coughed.  "Uh. . . should I leave you two alone?"

"Don't want to look suspicious," I said, putting an arm around her shoulder.  "Besides, aren't you curious to see what it'll be like, if this works out?"

Lucy wasn't stupid, I had to give her that.  "You planned this."

"Try before you buy, that's all I'm saying.  On both sides, actually."  I flexed the arm around her shoulders, pulling her against me.  "If you'd rather watch the movie, that's up to you."

I couldn't quite tell, but I'm reasonably sure she didn't watch the movie.

Gina's lips and tongue, as always, were heaven around my cock, but now I had something new to occupy myself.  My hand pushed her scoop-neck top off her shoulder and down her arm, then dipped to grab her tit and lift it out of her bra.  Her hands moved as if to stop me, then dropped, knotting in her lap.

I'll admit, I'd jerked off plenty of times looking at and fantasizing about Lucy's tits, and never ever imagined I'd get the chance to touch them.  True, she wasn't precisely willing, but she realized that with what she was offering, the deal she was hoping to make, resisting me was pointless, and somewhat stupid.

"Do you want me to stop?" I asked.

She sighed.  "No."

"No, what?"

"No, I don't want you to stop."

"No, you don't want me to stop. . . what?"

She trembled as she got it.  "No, I don't want you to stop. . . Master."

"Good girl," I said, squeezing her firm boob.  There was so incredibly much flesh to explore.  "Are they very sensitive?" I asked, pinching her nipple lightly.  "I've heard chestier girls often complain they don't get much from having their tits played with."

"That's true.  I enjoy my boobs, don't get me wrong, but blokes enjoy them a lot more."

"That hardly seems fair.  When you're my slave, I'll fix that for you."


"There's more than just the implant," I replied, drawing my fingernail across the tip of her nipple.  I thought I heard her hiss softly.  "I can have you modified in a healing tank, not just to make you younger, but increase the sensitivity in your tits.  Make you love having them played with.  Make you come from having them played with.  Would you like that?"

Lucy let out a shuddering breath.  "Maybe."

"You like giving head?  I could make your tongue as sensitive as your clit.  Don't like blowjobs?  I could do it anyway, make you love them.  You say you like your huge tits, I could make them even bigger."

She trembled, her breathing was getting quicker.  "And then there's the programming in the implant," I continued.  "I heard you used to talk about how much you liked girls, too.  Was that the truth, or were you just trying to get attention?"

"I-i-it was the t-t-truth."

"Good, don't need to worry about fixing that."  I was getting close, Gina's mouth, fondling Lucy's tit, and exerting dominance over her was catapulting me upwards.  "Watch close," I managed before I shot into Gina's mouth.

She took it like a champ, but I don't need to tell you that.

Again complying with my prepared instructions, as soon as I was done coming Gina pulled off my cock.  I sighed and stretched, taking my hand off Lucy's boob.

I was now sure.  Her eyes were glued to my spit-soaked cock.

"Go ahead," I said.

"What?" Lucy asked breathily.

"You said you were the best at sex in Britain.  Open your mouth and show me."

Again realizing her options were few, Lucy bent over in her chair, gripped my dick, and slid it into her mouth.

"Best at sex in Britain" may have been an exaggeration, but damn if it wasn't founded in merit.  Her lips and tongue eagerly explored my cock, finding all the best spots and learning exactly how I liked them serviced.  Her technique was different enough from Gina's to be novel, good enough to have me racing back towards my peak.  The fact that it was Lucy Pinder, a woman I'd never even expected to see in person, only added to the allure.  I found myself shooting a lot more quickly than I'd intended.

Lucy coughed and jerked her head off my cock as the first spurts hit the back of her throat.  "Shite!" she cried, wiping her chin and still coughing and clearing her throat.  Gina, meanwhile, had taken Lucy's place and was collecting my jizz in her mouth.  "You could warn a girl."

"Sorry," I said in a tone that indicated how much I wasn't.  "I'm used to not needing to."

Lucy looked to where Gina was just pulling off my cock, her mouth clearly full.  "Don't swallow," she snapped.

Confused, Gina looked at me.  I shrugged.  "You heard her."

Lucy leaned forward.  "Kiss me," she said to Gina.

"Gina, go ahead and kiss Lucy."

Gina eagerly complied, and the two began swapping spit and spunk between their mouths.  And let me tell you, I've seen porn stars snowball with less experience and enthusiasm than Lucy showed.

She thinks she failed me and wants to make up for it.  She wants to impress me.


When they finished, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a datasheet.  "Here's a selection of dead drops we've set up.  You can leave messages there and they'll get to me, I'll leave messages for you.  Cycle through them all once a week, but don't get predictable about it."

Lucy squinted at me as she took the flimsy piece of plastic.  "They said yes."

"They said yes."

"Then what the fuck was all this about?"

"The condition of them saying yes," I replied coolly.  "I had to gauge your sincerity, make sure this wasn't an elaborate trap or double-cross.  I was given discretion as to how."  I let my voice cool even more, grow harder.  "And I'll thank you not to take that tone with me ever again."

Lucy looked sheepish.  "Of course.  Sorry."  At my raised eyebrow, she amended "I'm sorry, Master, it won't happen again."

"Good.  Now, you're sure you can deliver on your end of the bargain?"

She nodded.  "I have friends in a Resistance cell, one of the major ones.  And I know at least one girl they're in contact with goes straight to the leadership.  I can join easy, and. . . well, I don't know exactly what I'll learn, but it's all bound to be useful, yes?"

"Probably.  The names of these friends?"

She hesitated, but knew she was in too deep to back out now.  At best I'd stun and implant her, at worst we'd learn together what Agharan punishment entailed.  And if the Resistance knew she'd offered to sell them out. . . well, I doubted they had the stomach to do anything really unpleasant to her, but they'd certainly take steps to neutralize her as a threat.

So she named names.  Two women who were already on our watch list, three who weren't, but two of the names caught my attention.

Lucy's friend high up in one of the major cells?  The one who was in contact with the overall leadership?  Alexandra Daddario.  My cock twitched as I pictured her piercing blue eyes and impressive rack.

And the member of the leadership she was in contact with?  Well, you certainly know already, but let me tell you, at the time it was quite the surprise, though definitely a welcome and promising one.

Of course, I'm referring to none other than Hayley Atwell.

« Last Edit: August 01, 2021, 08:42:59 AM by ErikModi »

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #22 on: August 01, 2021, 12:07:42 PM »
Love the introduction of Lucy as a person who could be a double agent for the female cause.  Can't way to se if she passes the muster! Merit to come from me!

Offline ErikModi

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #23 on: August 03, 2021, 07:41:53 AM »
This is a work of fiction.  The events within did not, probably will not, and definitely should not occur.  Any opinions expressed are those of the characters in the story, not the author.  None of the characters are real people, even the ones based on real people.  This is a fantasy for consenting adults.  If you cannot tell the difference between fantasy and reality, please seek appropriate counseling.

Warnings:  Bondage, Torture

9 -- Punishment

Lucy turning spy was a huge boon, but in some ways it was too little, too late.  The Resistance was not gaining ground, but they weren't losing fast enough, and they were still doggedly working their way dangerously close to secrets that could turn the tide.  In danger of losing Earth, Salvish did what he'd been trying to avoid all this time.

He called in Dusahn.

The Sadist needs no introduction, but I'm giving him one anyway.

Actually, scratch that.  "Dusahn, The Sadist" is really everything you need to know about him.

I should point out a few things, though.  First is that Salvish's hesitation to bring Dusahn to Earth had nothing to do with any reservations about his methods.  In fact, that Salvish was holding Dusahn back like a trump card indicates the respect they have for each other, even if their personalities are complete opposites.  No, it was purely the fact that, as another Faction Leader, Salvish calling Dusahn for help meant Salvish owed Dusahn concessions, which is why Dusahn ended up donating the first Terrans to the Rape Run.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The second is that, while yes, the Agharan Faction Leaders compete against each other, it's not antagonistic.  At the end of the day, they're all fighting for the same cause, and anyone driven, cunning, and tough enough to rise to their rank has earned genuine respect.  Dusahn and Salvish are actually a great "carrot and stick," no matter that they don't really like working together.

I first met Dusahn after arriving at the Center with Lucy's latest report.  Nothing extremely useful, but it would be passed on to analysts to see if they could learn anything useful.  I'd barely handed off the data when Cozzil called me to his office.

"There's a big change coming in how our operations will be run," he said without preamble.  "A shuttle is waiting to take you to Centraplex, where everything will be explained."  He paused.  "Remember what you've learned, focus on your resolve to save your world and your gender, steel your will, and you should be fine."

That wasn't ominous at all.  Recognizing Cozzil was in no mood (and, it seemed, no position) to elaborate, I headed for the shuttle.

A GAG member was already inside, waiting for his own transit.  "Hey," he said, waving to me from the couch.  "Probationary Squad Second Jim Fleetman."

I nodded.  "Platoon Third Lucas Trent."

Jim's face took an embarrassed cast.  "Er, sorry, sir," he mumbled, starting to try to rise.

I waved him down.  "No worries, we're off duty."

"Thank you, sir."

My eyes took in the figure in the blue slave wrap clinging to his side.  "Congratulations," I said sincerely as I sat on the opposite couch.  "Good pick."

"You like?" he asked, beaming.  "Got her when we rolled up the Sacramento cell.  Platoon First gave me first pick, and no way could I pass up Jessica Alba."

I grinned, letting my eyes roam again over the lithe figure of the dusky-skinned actress.  "Can't blame you there.  Lucky you."

"Where's yours?" Jim asked.

I shrugged.  "At home.  I was just dropping off a report when I got told to head to Centraplex, didn't think I needed to bring my slave."

"I don't think they care one way or the other," Jim replied.  "We were just coming back down from the Guile when they diverted us here, I guess to pick you up."  Jim grinned, squeezing Jessica's tit, she cooed in response.  "I was just collecting her from the healing tank.  Had them de-age her to her Dark Angel days and pump up her tits a bit."

"It's worth it, huh?"

"Totally."  Jim smiled, looking at his slave.  "Show him, Jess."

"Of course," she replied sweetly, standing up and touching the electronic clasp of her wrap.

I let my gaze roam over the naked body of Jessica Alba, drinking in every detail.  I was a little disappointed I wasn't seeing her real tits, but the Agharan healing tank breast expansion was just as 'real' -- natural tissue, not artificial implants.  And Jim hadn't gone overboard, slapping, say, Lucy Pinder's G-cups on Jessica's slender frame.  More just making her boobs live up to the promise certain costume designers had implied over the years.

"Go ahead and feel her up if you like, sir."

"You sure?" I asked.


Yeah, like I was going to turn that down.  Standing, I approached Jessica, who smiled at me with those impossibly full lips of hers.  Damn, I wanted to know what they felt like on my dick.

I cupped her firm, full tits, pinching and twisting her nipples lightly.  She gasped and trembled in my hands, and I smelled the scent of her arousal suddenly thick in the air.  "You have them sensitize her tits, too?"

"Nope," Jim said, grinning proudly and lasciviously.  "After she got her implant, she told me her boobs had always been super sensitive.  Said she hated how good they felt, how it made her feel that much more like a slut.  I just had them increase the size."

I nodded.  Unless given other instructions, the expansion procedure maintained the woman's existing level of sensitivity.  Letting go of Jessica's tits, I traced my fingers down her ribs, then around her back, then down to squeeze her glorious bubble butt.

"Don't spank her," Jim warned.  "I set that up as our specific punishment."

"Noted," I replied.  While I'd have liked to give that epic ass a firm swat, I was more than happy to squeeze and caress.  Then I ran my hands up and around her sides, across her stomach, then stroked down towards--

"And that's enough, sir.  Please unhand my slave."

I stepped back, hiding my irritation as I looked at Jim.  He was wearing a cocky, shit-eating grin.  A grin that said he was enjoying having power not only over Jessica Alba, but me.  She was his, he got to decide if he would share her or not, grant or deny her pussy to any of his fellow men.

A grin that probably looked a lot like the one I had for most of Salvish's slave party.

If you want to call this karma for me flaunting Gina that night. . . okay, I'll own that.

Jim summoned Jessica back to his side, and as I sat down on my couch, he slipped his fingers into her wet slit before raising the glistening digits to her lips.  Jessica looked at him worshipfully as she took the fingers into her mouth, giving a slight preview of what apparently were exemplary oral skills.

I couldn't stop a flash of annoyed jealousy reaching my eyes as I looked at them.  Jim saw, and returned a look that was the friendliest, most respectful "Fuck you, sir," I have ever seen.

I was going to drill Gina through the fucking bed when I got home.

Oh, yeah.  With my rapid promotions, capturing several slaves public and private, and acquiring Lucy as a spy in the Resistance, I was earning enough now to buy a house.  Nice and big with more than enough room for all the slaves I hoped to soon have.


The first sign I had that something was up was as we debarked the shuttle at Centraplex.  It was also the first time I realized the snazzy black-and-silver uniform wasn't an Agharan uniform, just the garb of Salvish's faction.

There were approximately twice as many people as my last visit, and more than half were dressed a lot more casually, in rough but rugged outfits of clearly alien cut and design.

We were met by a pair of men.  "I'm Dusahn," the lead one spoke.  "I'll be running things until this Resistance is sorted."

Like Salvish, Dusahn appeared older and authoritative, though where Salvish projected an air of calm and wisdom, Dusahn projected an air of danger.  Not that he himself was dangerous -- though that was part of it -- but that he'd seen and done things you couldn't hope to comprehend, and come through it all via sheer force of badassery.  His face was less lined with age than it was weathered, eyes in a perpetual squint as though fending off harsh sunlight, yet glittering with sharp attentiveness.  His silver hair was buzzed so short it was almost invisible.

He looked the two of us over, gave a very different look at Jessica (now back in her wrap).  His expression offered no insight into what his initial impression of us was.  "Jim Fleetman, yes?" he said to Jim.

Jim nodded.  "Yes, sir."

"Torsh, show him where he can park his cunt then put him through his paces."

"Sure thing," the other man, presumably Torsh, said.  He beckoned Jim to follow him, and Torsh, Jim, and Jessica disappeared into the corridors of Centraplex.

"Which makes you Lucas Trent," Dusahn said, turning his attention fully on me.

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Can the 'sir' shit, we don't go in for that here."

I nodded.  "As you say."  I had to bite back on the "sir" that tried to follow.

"Salvish speaks very highly of you.  Says you're one of the best, a real Slaver."

"I do my best.  I'm glad he's taken an interest, and grateful for the resources he's invested in me."

He smiled.  "You're one of Salvish's, all right.  He likes 'em smart, smooth, silver-tongued."  His smile vanished as though it had never been.  "And softer than cuntlips.  I want to know if you're really Slaver material, if you've got the balls to finish this fight."

Honestly, I didn't care for his attitude.  But it wasn't the flimsy pomposity of, say, the big guy who'd confronted me about Gina at the party.  Dusahn wasn't talking to me like someone who knew he was better than everyone else, you should understand that already, and reality really needed to get with the program, too.  He was arrogant, certainly, but it contained a sense of being well-founded, and that he'd honestly prefer it if others rose to his level instead of being crushed under his heel.

So I looked Dusahn dead in the eye, not flinching or backing down, as I said "I'll give nothing less than my very best, sir.  I always do."

Dusahn gave me another appraising look, seeming a bit more impressed this time.  "Maybe Salvish found me some real Slavers after all.  Come along, got a little test lined up for you.  Help me see what you're really made of."

I'd only been to Centraplex once before, for the party, so it was no surprise Dusahn led me somewhere I was completely unfamiliar with.  Nor was it surprising it was on the upper floors; the Slavers tended to keep the less family-friendly aspects of their facilities high up, where access was easy to control, through key locked elevators and secure doors.

We passed through several of those secure doors as I decided to risk a question.  "I'm sorry, I don't quite understand.  What's going on?"

"Salvish finally admitted he doesn't have the killer instinct to take this world, at least not before time runs out.  So he called me.  My faction will finish pacifying your females in time."

"In time for what?  What faction?"

"Later," Dusahn said, leading me through another door.  Four of his men waited, though the room looked like it could comfortably hold forty.  One of them sat at a communications terminal, and nodded at Dusahn as we entered.

Dusahn breezed through the room, opening another secure door.  I followed him. . .

Into a dungeon.

A high-tech dungeon to be sure, but a dungeon nevertheless.  The walls, ceiling, and floor were poured permacrete, the lights harsh.  Tables along the walls held a bewildering array of scary-looking devices.  In the middle of the room stood a pair of collapsible but very sturdy metal posts.  And tied to those posts, naked and splayed out, limbs tied tight away from her body, was a young woman it took me only seconds to recognize.

"Please," Anna Kendrick said, tears welling in her blue eyes.  "I didn't do anything, I shouldn't be here!"  I heard her words, but was more interested in her body.  The raging stiffie Jessica had left me with had largely subsided, but I was still very much in the mood, and Anna was a delightful specimen.  Flat in all the right places and curvy in all the others, her tits just the right size on her body and just full enough to make them seem big.  She hadn't undergone any Processing yet, if the small landing strip above her cleft was anything to go by.  Her honey brown hair shimmered gold where the light hit it just right.

Dusahn scoffed.  "This cunt was picked up in a routine electronic intelligence sweep.  Seems she had quite a bit of proprietary Agharan information on her phone.  You and I are going to find out how she got it, what she was doing with it, and who she was going to give it to."

An obvious question popped into my head, but I quickly decided Dusahn was not the kind of man who liked being questioned by subordinates.  Especially not in front of a prisoner.

"I don't know," Anna said.  "I didn't know it was there, I didn't do anything!"

"Last chance," Dusahn said harshly, his tone sending a chill of fear down my spine.  Judging by the way Anna reacted, she felt it, too.  "Sing, birdie, or start screaming."

Anna tugged on the ropes holding her to the poles, but neither had any slack or flex to give.  "I didn't do it, I didn't know, I didn't know!"

Dusahn sighed.  "You brought this on yourself."  He strode to a nearby table, and picked up a device I'd been trained to use, but never wielded.  A metal rod with a contoured handle and three-pronged tip, looking not unlike an alien cattle prod.

A slave goad.

Anna clearly had no idea what it was, but just as clearly had no interest in learning its function firsthand.  "Please, don't, I didn't mea-AAAHHHHHGGGGGHHHHH!"  Her words were cut off as Dusahn activated the goad and stroked the tip down her flat stomach.

Most descriptions of the slave goad talk about how it uses nerve induction (itself a subject with a lot of information to be found) to cause "indescribable agony" or something like that, along with the fact that it's adjustable.  Few bother to think about the contradiction there.  If it causes "indescribable agony," how can it be adjustable?  If it is adjustable, what could possibly be worse than "indescribable?"

What the slave goad actually does is stimulate the nerves directly to trigger pain.  This can be any kind of pain you want; cutting, stabbing, burning, freezing, stinging, and so on, there's a setting for each.  You can set it for more than one at a time, cycle through a selected group in a pattern or at random, cycle through all of them in a pattern or at random, or inflict all of them at the same time.  It can also be altered in level of intensity, though it starts at "really fucking painful" and only goes up.  I've heard it said that "indescribable agony" is only somewhere in the top quarter, the highest setting is an all but literal "world of hurt."

And because it induces pain directly into the sense neurons, there's no physical damage, no risk of injury or death.  The body won't respond quite like with real pain, no shock or loss of consciousness.  The only escape is for the wielder of the goad to decide he's done using it.

It's a device of such cold, precise, calculated cruelty it sometimes made me wonder if I was on the wrong side.

Then I thought about spending my life as a pacified Gaianesian male, and figured that this way, I'd at least be on the right end of the things.

Anna gasped and shook, sweat popping out on her skin.  Dusahn hadn't even had the goad on her skin for a full second.  "Please," she whimpered.  "No-UUUNNGHHH!"  This time Dusahn swiped it horizontally across her stomach, making it twitch and her legs strain against the ropes as she tried to curl up and defend herself.

Dusahn began to slowly circle her.  "Ready to talk?" Dusahn asked, punctuating his statement by jabbing the goad into her armpit, then dragging it up to her elbow.  She jerked and screamed again.  "Or do you want to keep lying?"  He ran the tip down her spine, making her thrust her breasts out marvelously.  "Wasting my time?"  He jabbed it into one of her buttocks.  He finished his circle, now facing her again.  "Pissing me off?"  He swiped the goad across her breasts, hitting both her nipples.

Anna's scream this time actually hurt my ears, echoed and amplified by the permacrete room.  When it trailed off, she could only whimper.

"Funny thing about the slave goad," he said conversationally.  "Because it works by nerve induction, the more nerves, the more it hurts.  You probably noticed that as I moved to your softer areas.  Though I do seem to recall now that I missed one juicy one."  Anna clearly understood the implication, and began shaking her head furiously, honey brown hair whipping back and forth, darkened by her sweat.  "And, you probably don't know this, but there's different settings.  We're on the lowest one."

Anna squeezed her eyes shut and let out a sob.

"You're a fan of choice, right?  Why you were smuggling information for the Resistance, you want choices.  Well, I'll give you choices, cunt.  I stick this in your cunt--" Anna made frantic, high-pitched noises that might have been a rapid-fire series of "no"s-- "and then I turn it up to the next setting and we start this all over again, and keep going until you talk.  Or, you can be smart, tell me what I want to know now, and I won't shove this up your cunt."

Anna whimpered, and began working her mouth and throat.  Whatever she was trying to say was stuttering and unintelligible.

Dusahn threw me a look, guided my gaze to another nearby table.  There was a pitcher of water and a glass.

Okay, guess I'm the good cop.

I filled the glass and brought it to Anna.  She drank thirstily, spilling some down her necks and breasts.  I wasn't sure if it was the water or having to control her breathing to drink, especially with me holding the glass, but when I took it away, she was much more collected.

"Thank you," she all but whispered to me, her voice still harsh from screaming.  She took another deep breath, coughed a little, and when she began to speak, her voice was stronger.

"I was told to go to a specific restaurant at a specific time, and wait for an hour.  Someone would send something to my phone.  Then I was supposed to go to a park, and send what I had to another phone."

"Who sent you the data?" Dusahn asked.

"I don't know, the number was blocked."

"Who were you supposed to send it to?"

"I don't know, I was only given the number to send it to."

Dusahn stepped towards her and Anna recoiled as much as she could in her bondage.  Dusahn grabbed the collar of his shirt, where I saw the tiny button of an Agharan communicator.  "Speak clear, dear."

Anna rattled off the number.  Over Dusahn's communicator a voice answered "Got it, tracing."

"Who gave you these instructions?" Dusahn asked.

Anna winced, then sighed, a little bit of light leaving her blue eyes.  "Kleio Valentien."

Dusahn shrugged, but my jaw dropped.  "The porn star?"

Anna nodded.  Dusahn smiled.  "So, innocent little Anna knows a porn star.  How unexpected."

Yeah, thankfully I never got involved in breaking up any of the porn star run cells.  Those bitches were crazy.

Dusahn cupped Anna's cheek.  "Good girl, that's all we need to know for now."  He withdrew his hand, and raised the goad.  "Now we have that out of the way, we can proceed with your punishment."

"No," Anna said quietly, with growing horror and panic.  "No, I told you, I told you, you said you'd stop if I told you!"

"I said I wouldn't shove this up your cunt or turn up the intensity.  And I won't."  He brushed the goad along her stomach, and again she thrashed and screamed.

"Please, no no no," she whimpered, as the goad descended towards her nipple.  "Implant me!  Make me your slave, put an implant in me, whatever you want, just please stop!"

"Oh, you'll get your implant, bitch," Dusahn growled.  "If you'd been smart, if you'd surrendered to us, you'd have one already.  Probably be bouncing happily on your master's cock right now.  But you had to be difficult."  He touched the goad to her nipple.  "You had to be stupid."  He tapped it against her other nipple.  "You had to fight--" he jabbed the underside of her opposite breast-- "-- to resist--" he jabbed the underside of her other tit-- "--and waste my time."  For the last, he jammed the tip of the goad into her navel and held the trigger down.  "For that, you need to be punished," Dusahn finished.

Anna was weeping now, soft, quiet tears of abject hopelessness and despair.  She had nothing left to offer, nothing to bargain with.  Whatever we wanted from her, we would take.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't distressed by Dusahn's cold, calculated sadism.  I'd also be lying if I said the sight of Anna being tormented and broken before my eyes wasn't turning me on.  Maybe it was just being blue-balled by Jessica, maybe it was something wrong with my brain.  Maybe it was a deep truth about all men that we try to deny.  Whatever the reason, looking at Anna's shuddering, crying, stretched and bound, naked body. . . I wanted to fuck her.

No.  Not fuck her.  That's not what would happen in this scenario.

I wanted to rape her.

And really, I realized, it was what I'd been doing all along.  The implant made Gina and the other slaves compliant, but would any of them have had sex with me without it?  Abso-fucking-lutely not.  They'd never used the word, but it was obvious what the Agharan implants were meant to do.  If we'd ever had any illusions to the contrary, we were lying to ourselves.

So what if Anna could voice her refusal, physically demonstrate her resistance?  She was just as unwilling as Gina was, only she was aware of it.

"Time for another of those choices you love so much, cunt," Dusahn said.  "I can keep using this," he held the goad up in front of her face.  "I'm nowhere near tired of hearing that pretty voice of yours.  Or, you can ask my friend to fuck you in the ass."  Dusahn tossed me another evaluating look, smirked, and turned back to Anna.  "I don't think he's particularly enjoying this, so you'd best be real convincing."

Dusahn had read my situation wrong, but I was fairly certain that was deliberate.  He'd clued me into the rules:  make Anna beg for my dick up her butt.  And it was my call if I wanted to give it to her or keep watching her suffer.

Anna looked at me, tears streaking her cheeks and making her azure eyes glitter.  In her gaze I saw genuine terror, as well as humiliation, shame, and defeat.  She was beaten, she knew it.  She had nothing left but to play our game and hope for small scraps of mercy.

"Pl--" she began, then coughed and swallowed, clearing her throat several times before trying again.  Her voice was soft, sincere, and very submissive.   "Please. . . sir, would you like to fuck my cute little ass?  I--" she shuddered, and I could see her revulsion over what she was about to say.  "I would love for you to pop my black cherry."

Well, how the fuck can you say no to that!  "Okay," I said, walking up to her, slowly unfastening my pants.  "You really want me to rape your ass?"

She gazed at me longingly, getting her acting skills involved.  Intensity from the eyes and all that.  "I really want you to rape my ass."

Keeping with my role as good cop, I caressed her cheek before giving her a gentle kiss on the lips.  I circled behind her, finding a bottle of lube on another table.  Getting my cock out, I got it good and slick, then slipped it between her firm buttcheeks.  I let it rest there, enjoying the feeling of hot dogging her, while I reached up to fondle her beautiful tits.  She cooed and let out a pleasured sigh.  I wasn't sure if she was actually enjoying it or just pretending.  Hell, maybe after the pain of the goad, any pleasure, welcome or not, felt overwhelmingly good.

"Are you ready?" I whispered in her ear after a minute.

"Yes, sir.  I. . . I'm ready for- for you."

I gripped my slippery dick firmly, and pressed it against her exit.  She gasped, I kept pushing.  She squealed, but immediately started speaking.

"Don't stop, I- I want. . . I want your- your- your dick in. . . in my. . . in my butt!"

I wasn't sure if her difficulty getting the words out was shame at what she was being forced to say or pain from my cockhead pressing into her sphincter, but it didn't really matter.  Either way, I was more than ready to plunder this hole.  With steady, relentless pressure, the tip popped in.

She cried out, and this was definitely not a happy noise.  I couldn't see it, but her face was screwed up with discomfort.  Still, it was apparently preferable to the slave goad, because she kept encouraging me.  "Yes, m-m-m-more.  I w-w-want. . . I w-want it. . . a-a-all."

Beneath my hands, I could feel her body strain against the ropes holding her.  The muscles of her ass clenched, trying to expel me.  She didn't want this, she hated this. . . but it was better than what Dusahn offered.

I began to thrust, gauging her reactions carefully for how fast and hard to go.  Not so it would feel good for her, but to keep just this side of "too much."  I didn't want her to suddenly decide the goad was better than my cock.

But there was a way to make this better for her.  And, simultaneously, so very worse.

I slid a hand down her taut tummy, through the little strip of hair, and between the lips of her cunt.

I was very out of practice (I hadn't had a girlfriend for a few years before I took possession of Gina, and didn't need to bother with her), but I was immensely talented at fingering.  My few girlfriends had all been amazingly complimentary of my ability, with one even nicknaming me "Hitachi hands."

So as I stroked Anna's folds, flicked and pressed her clit, and curled my fingers in her tunnel, Anna responded with low moans of lust punctuated with sharp squeaks of discomfort as my dick slid in and out of her back door.  I plunged my fingers deeper, making rapid, alternating "come here" motions with my fore and middle fingers, which set her jolting in time to movements of my fingers.

And people say video games aren't good exercise.

I'd never really been into anal, sorry to say.  None of the few girlfriends I'd had were into it, and my weakness (as you've probably gathered) is blowjobs.  Nothing is better than a woman's mouth wrapped around my cock.  But as I finally got balls-deep in Anna's asshole, I began to see the appeal.  It was tight, the lack of natural lubricant was interesting, and the way it clenched and rippled around my cock was entirely different from a pussy.  And as I continued to pleasure her with my fingers, her ass seemed to respond as though trying to reciprocate.

And the fact that Anna was obviously hating every second of it but vociferously egging me on to go harder, faster, deeper, while my fingers gave her pleasure that made her cheeks burn red with shame, made it one of the most amazing fucks of my life.

"Ungh," she groaned.  "Y-yes. . . fingers so good in m-m-my. . . my c-c-c-cunt.  Fuck my a-a-ass.  Like the. . . like the u-useless l-l. . . l-l-little wh-who-whore I. . . I deserve to be."

I groaned, getting close, and somehow, Anna recognized a certain character in that grunt.

"C-c-come in me. . . my ass.  M-make me yours."  She gulped, and loudly cried "Make me yours, Master!"

That did it.  I shot up her ass like a fucking volcano.

After I was done, I staggered back, my cock exiting her ass with a pop.  Somehow, I found a chair to slump into as my knees gave out.

Dusahn touched the goad under Anna's chin and she winced and whimpered, but it wasn't active.  He just gently pushed her head up to look him in the eyes.  "Have fun, cunt?"

"Yes, master," Anna said softly.

"Good.  I think that almost does it."  He chuckled at Anna's hopeful look.  "Almost."  You've cost me. . ."  He consulted his watch.  "Twelve sectyan of perfectly valuable time.  So, twelve of my best men will be waiting in the next room.  When we leave, they get to come in and play."  Dusahn did something, and from the floor a metal pillory rose.  Also (incorrectly) called "stocks."  Or "those things that bend you over and hold your head and hands immobile."

Dusahn began untying Anna's hands.  "They get to use you as long as they like."  He bent her over and latched the pillory closed, then untied her feet.  "Be a good girl and service them well, maybe they'll get bored of you quick.  Then you can come up to my ship and get that implant you've been begging for."  He smacked her ass, making her yelp.  "Be difficult, and they'll go hard on you.  Your call, sweetie."  With that, he motioned for me to follow.  Staggering to my feet and getting my uniform back in place, I exited the dungeon.

In the outside room, there were indeed twelve men, plus the man at the comm station.  I was sure he was the one who'd been monitoring Dusahn's communicator, but I couldn't fathom how they'd organized this.  Unless Dusahn had the number twelve fixed and was just looking for a convenient way to work it in, but I didn't think that was the case.

"You did good, kid," Dusahn said as he steered me into a lounge and offered me a bottle of spice water.  The water soothed my throat, the spice easing the aches and fatigue of the vigorous fucking session and explosive orgasm.

"Thank you," I said.  I decided to hazard my question.  "But why all that?  Why not just implant and interrogate her?  Not like she can lie then."

Dusahn shrugged.  "Partly because I get off on hurting pretty little sluts 'til they break."

Wow.  What a shock.

"Mostly because the time for soft touch is over.  That's why Salvish called me.  What happened -- is happening -- to that cunt is an example.  As of this moment, the cunts of Earth have two options:  surrender and get an implant, or resist, get tortured and raped, then get an implant."

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," I muttered.

Dusahn saluted me with his bottle.  "Just so."

"So. . . what were you trying to learn about me?"

"If you had balls.  If you'd back my play not knowing what it was, if you'd take the cues and work off them right-- perfect, by the way, you added stuff I didn't intend, but it was all great.  If you had the stomach to see what was necessary to finish this, and help.  And do."  Dusahn grinned, a grin of pure sadistic delight.  "She hated having your dick in her ass.  I saw her want to yell 'stop' so many times, but each time she'd look at me, and the goad, then screw up her face and beg you to fuck her harder.  Then you started fingering her, and she hated that she loved it.  I cracked her with the goad, you broke her with your dick."

That bothered me. . . but not as much as it should have.

"So, what now?"

"I keep evaluating your fellow GAGs, see who I can use.  We draw up a plan to drop your rebellious cunts once and for all, then do it."

"I actually have something on that."

Dusahn nodded.  "Your spy, yeah.  No offense, I don't take cunts at their word without an implant or looking in their eyes and seeing them broken.  If she's useful, great, but I'm not counting on it."

I nodded.  "And Anna?"

"Like I said, once my boys have had their fun, she gets an implant.  Then we post her video and announce her on the auction block."

I did a double take.  Video?  Auction block?  "Video?  Auction block?"

Dusahn nodded.  "We were recording in there.  You didn't know?"

No, I fucking didn't.  "No, I didn't."

"Well, we were.  Once I know who I can count on, we'll put it out, announce Anna Kendrick is available for purchase as a personal sex slave. . . for money, or better yet, information leading to the capture of Resistance members.  We make it brutally clear to your women:  surrender or get caught, getting caught is much worse.  And to your men:  get on board or get out of the way."

Author's Note

This chapter was largely the suggestion of a reader from another forum I used to have this story posted on.  Anna Kendrick in a BDSM situation was their idea, I took it an ran.

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #24 on: August 03, 2021, 12:06:11 PM »
Love that they feel a new method is needed to counter the revolution. Interesting choices as who is in this revolution, Great that a real man was used to help break a rebel spirit! Merit award from me!

Offline ErikModi

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #25 on: August 05, 2021, 12:14:05 PM »
This is a work of fiction.  The events within did not, probably will not, and definitely should not occur.  Any opinions expressed are those of the characters in the story, not the author.  None of the characters are real people, even the ones based on real people.  This is a fantasy for consenting adults.  If you cannot tell the difference between fantasy and reality, please seek appropriate counseling.

Warnings:  Referenced Gender Transformation

10 -- Victory

Anna was ready for Processing the next morning, Dusahn invited me up to his ship, the Agonizer, to witness.

She was still meek and submissive, offering no resistance to being strapped into the implantation chair.  The slave goad swinging from Dusahn's belt may have had something to do with that.  She barely reacted as Dusahn discussed her programming with his implant tech, but I watched closely as her shining blue eyes dulled a little bit with each exchange.  She was hearing her sentence read out, knowing what she would be turned into for the rest of her life.  Whatever small embers of hope she still had died slowly, one at a time, until the nanite injector that would kill her body hair was pressed into her thigh, the one that would ramp up her arousal to intolerable levels over the course of three Earth days until she got a thorough fucking with a real cock was placed against her anus, and then finally, the implantation gun was pressed to the back of her skull.

Seconds later, the restraints were released and Anna gratefully accepted her blue slave wrap.  Exiting the room with Dusahn, she saw me, and smiled radiantly.

"Hey, you," she said cheerfully.  "I was hoping I'd get to see you again.  Thank you so much, I never would have known how much I love buttsex if not for you."

"My pleasure," I said, grinning because I could barely suppress a laugh.  "You look like you're feeling better."

"So much better.  You've all been so good to me, I'm so, so sorry I was so, so stupid and tried to fight you.  It'll never happen again."

"Good," Dusahn said.  "If it does, you'll have to be punished."

Anna shivered, eyes growing wide in fear.  "Please, no, I'll be good, you'll never have to punish me again, I promise!"

"But if I did," Dusahn said, voice low, dangerous, and very sexual.  "You'd know you deserved it, wouldn't you?"

Anna sighed, bowing her head in defeat.  "Yes.  I was a bad, bad cunt, and I deserve to be punished."  She looked back up at him, a single tear gleaming in her eye.  "You're not going to. . . are you?"  Her voice held a very odd mix of dread and hopefulness.

"No.  For now."  Anna looked simultaneously relieved and disappointed.  Dusahn motioned to one of his nearby men.  "Rokkor, take Anna to the auction barracks, see that she's comfortable."

"Sure thing," Rokkor replied, taking Anna's arm.  As she was led away, she turned and tossed me a wave.

Dusahn waved over another of his men.  "Cabolough!"


"Take Lucas to the range, see what he's made of."

"I thought you figured that out already?" I asked.

"I know you've got the balls, now I need to know if you've got the skills.  Impress Cabolough, impress me.  Impress me, maybe I'll send you to take care of Anna when that itch in her ass gets too hot to bear."

The training aboard the Agonizer wasn't much different than what I'd gotten on the Guile.  A bit coarser and harsher, some different and more brutal techniques and tactics, but they couldn't really improve on or find fault in the foundations I'd learned from Salvish's people.  By the end of the day, Cabolough was forced to grudgingly admit I'd earned my rank of Platoon Third.

And I was allowed to relieve that intolerable lust burning in Anna's behind.  The first time, at least.


Three weeks later, Dusahn had all the GAG members evaluated, and the ones he deemed acceptable (only about forty percent of us) organized.  I was promoted to Platoon Second and given an all-GAG platoon, save for our First, Boshok.  GAG ranks were bolstered as the military and law enforcement personnel who were on board were rolled in.  With a functional fighting force, Dusahn took the Slavers of Aghara-Penthay public.

You've probably seen the joint announcement Salvish and Dusahn put out, Salvish explaining what the Agharans' goals were and why he'd first brought his faction to Earth, and why he'd brought Dusahn here, then Dusahn's ultimatum to our world.  You probably also saw the six-hour video of Anna being broken by Dusahn's goad and my dick, followed by her gangbang with Dusahn's twelve best Slavers.  And the time-lapse video of a man in an Agharan healing tank being turned into a woman before finally going through Processing, just to drive the point home that third options were not being accepted.  What you may not have seen was Anna announcing herself as up for sale, it's been hard to find since the auction closed.

The camera started showing her from the boobs up, wearing her blue slave wrap.  "Hi," she said exuberantly, waving to the camera.  "I'm Anna Kendrick, and I'm wearing the wrap of a private Agharan slave girl, which means I'm up for sale!"  She threw her arms wide, as though trying to hug the whole audience, or just display herself as much as possible.

"If you want to own me as your personal sex slave, you can head here," she pointed to the bottom of the screen, where viewers would be directed to where they could place their bids, "and bid money or, and I would prefer this, information on any naughty cunts trying to stand in the way of progress.  The second one is more valuable."  There was a brief cut.  "What do I want in a Master?  Well, I hope he likes anal, I get super horny if I don't take it up the butt regularly.  But really, looks and stuff are less important to me than standing up for what you know is right, contributing to making the world better, and anyone participating in the auction is doing that.  So I'm sure I'll be super happy with whoever I end up with.  Things kind of have a way of working out if you let them."  There was another cut, and now the camera was showing Anna from head to toe as she stood in a nondescript room.  "Showtime!" she said, twirling to show the soft, scant fabric of the slave wrap on her svelte body.  Then she lifted her left arm slightly to touch the clasp of the wrap, letting it flutter to the floor.  She turned again, giving a view of her naked body, before posing a few times then blowing a kiss to the camera as it faded to black.

Needless to say, the bidding was furious, and intelligence about potential Resistance activities, some of it really fucking good, found its way to us.

But most surprising of all, Dusahn's announcement worked.  Over the next few days, several females surrendered, or were surrendered by their men.  A few Resistance cells came out of hiding and capitulated, and many more were turned on, either by men who'd decided they were backing the wrong horse or other women.  Some of those female traitors just didn't have the stomach to suffer as Anna had, others hoped they could arrange to be spared by turning on their own gender.

But what I'd told Lucy was true.  There were no deals to be made here.

Speaking of Lucy, her intelligence did not prove highly valuable, but her position did.  Through her, we were able to orchestrate SnatchSnare.

Here I have to set a bit of history straight.  I don't care what Dusahn says now, he was vehemently opposed to several aspects of the plan, most notably our intention to use actual slave implant plans as bait.  Concerns that were born out, to be fair.  But he was eventually convinced that, if we were going to lure the bulk of the Resistance into one all-out assault where we could turn the tables and crush them, the bait had to be irresistible.  All they had to do to win the fight was not show up.

Lucy's intel told us pretty much how the Resistance planned to attack.  They'd hit the building from all sides, punch a hole where they could get some people in to crack the computers, download the plans, then transmit them out to the attackers.  Once at least someone had a copy, the Resistance would scatter, every woman for herself.  Eventually they'd link back up and see if the plans provided a way to nullify or remove the implants.

Our counterplan was simple.  Wait for them to commit to the assault, then surround them, pin them down, and take them out.  To that end, every acceptably-competent GAG member and every battle-ready Slaver of both factions was assembled into one of the biggest Slaving parties in Agharan history.

The Resistance brought everything they had.  Secondhand weapons, some military-grade, some captured Agharan stunners, even a handful of Gaianesian or Syreen blasters -- our first confirmation that the Resistance had made contact with our offworld enemies.

I was lucky.  My unit was stationed on the north flank, mostly composed of models and singers.  I know I personally took down Taylor Swift, and I'm pretty sure I deserve the credit for Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, but there's some debate about that.

The eastern front was a fucking bloodbath, thanks to being given almost entirely to the porn stars.  Like I said, they were crazy bitches.

We wrapped up seventy percent of the Resistance that night, with another eleven percent turning themselves in over the next few days or being found wounded and helpless by patrols.  Most of the rest were rounded up in short order as their comrades were implanted and sung their pretty little hearts out.

Only a very few managed to escape, their whereabouts and ultimate destinations unknown.  But some of them had received at least partial sets of the plans, and had at least the potential to contact the Gaianesians or Syreen with that knowledge.  That would be disastrous.

Hayley Atwell and Jeri Ryan, two of the biggest Resistance big shots, became the primary targets of every Slaver on or around Terra.


When time came to divvy up the spoils, I was given a pretty high pick.  I was very pleased to see my first choice, the one I'd wanted for some time, hadn't been claimed yet.

So it was that, with Lucy's usefulness as a spy also at an end, I led Lucy Pinder and Alexandra Daddario to Processing aboard the Agonizer.

Both were naked and in chains.  Lucy had tried to say she didn't need the chains, she'd be nice and obedient.  I countered that if she was going to be nice and obedient she could shut up and wear the chains like I told her to.

Alexandra was a bit more vociferous.

"Fuck you, you fucking worthless piece of shit!"  She struggled futility in Gina's grip, tried to lash out with her feet to kick me.  Gina snaked a leg around her ankle, making further attempts impossible.

"Be good now," I said softly.

"Eat a dick!" she replied.

That was the first time I ever actually used a slave goad.

I thrust the tip against her tight belly and pressed the trigger, making her wail and thrash in Gina's arms.  I kept it in place to a count of ten, then withdrew.  "I'm in no hurry.  However long this takes, that's up to you."

I saw the conflict broadcast in her lambent blue eyes.  Every second she delayed was one more precious second before I stripped her free will from her, yet I had the capacity to make every single one of those seconds pure agony.  And she recognized a certain gleam in my eye, oh yes.  She knew I wanted her, was hard just thinking about her, never mind seeing her naked and helpless before me.  I wasn't going to decide she was too much trouble and kill her, the only freedom she could hope for now.

She squared her jaw, but her lower lip trembled.  Tears glittered in her unearthly eyes, undermining the defiance in her glare.  "Fine.  Do it, you limp-dicked fucker."

I stroked the goad down her stomach.  "Watch your fucking mouth."

The chains consisted of solid metal collars leashed together, Alexandra to Lucy and Lucy to the length I would hold.  Restraints fastened their forearms together behind their backs, parallel and opposite each other, resulting in their arms being folded behind their backs, curving their spines and making them thrust their tits out marvelously.  Chains leading from the back of the collars to the wrist cuffs held them in that position.  Finally, hobbles went on their ankles, cuffs with lengths of chain connecting them sufficient for them to walk, but too short for them to run.  Long-legged Alexandra had particular trouble adjusting to the restricted length of stride, but she wouldn't be wearing them for long.

As I marched them through the Agonizer towards Processing, we saw many more men, newly-minted slaves, and slaves about to be.  The latter group were recognizable by their nudity and the looks of abject misery and pity they tossed each other whenever their eyes met.

So many had been caught in such a short span of time that both Processing departments on both dreadnoughts were working around the clock to get them all done.  I saw Emma Watson, gazing worshipfully at her new owner as he led her back to the shuttle bay.  I saw Shelly Hennig, her red wrap having attracted a small group of admirers, who soon ushered her off somewhere they wouldn't be disturbed.  I saw Christina Hendricks, weeping as her master-to-be dragged her towards his own appointment in Processing.

Finally, I pulled Lucy and Alexandra into the Processing bay.  Two chairs waited to restrain them while I decided what, exactly, I wanted to turn them into.  Though I already had pretty good ideas.

I unchained Lucy first.  She hesitated, trembling with fear now that her last choice, as she'd put it, was upon her.  But she complied with my order and sat in the chair, allowing herself to be strapped in, immobile.

As soon as I unlocked Alexandra, she attacked, panicked at her fate being so close to hand.  She barely touched me before Gina once more wrapped her in an inescapable hold.

I touched the goad to her nipple but didn't trigger it.  Nevertheless, the threat was clear.  "Get.  In.  The fucking.  Chair."

She broke, crying and wailing in despair.  The downside was she was utterly incapable of doing what I'd said, the upside was she was just as unable to resist.  Gina and I got her sat down, the implant tech got her secured with Gina's assistance.

"You fucking backstabbing cunt!" she yelled at Lucy.  Lucy winced.

"Alright," the tech said.  "What do you want?"

"First, are tanks available?"

"We should have some by the end of the day."

"Good.  I want to put them both in, increase breast sensitivity."

"Not size?"

I smiled wryly, gesturing to two of the most magnificent pairs of tits on planet Earth.  "Do they look like they need it?"

The tech shrugged.  "I know some who'd still say yes.  Okay, sensitivity, how much?"

"Alexandra," I motioned to the raven-haired beauty, her penetrating blue eyes rimmed red from crying, "level three.  Lucy," I indicated the brown-haired beauty with even more impressive melons, "level seven."

The tech nodded.  "One 'feels so good,' one 'gonna come with your dick in her tits', got it."

"And roll Lucy's age back. . . what, five years?" I asked her.  Numbly, she nodded.

Alexandra thrashed as much as her restraints allowed (so basically, not at all) and let out an agonized, enraged sob of "CUNT!"

"Five years, okay."

"I think that'll cover the tanks.  For programming. . ." I trailed off, reaching out to stroke Lucy's calf.  "You were really telling the truth about being bi?"

She tried to nod, realized her head wouldn't move, and said "Yes."

"Okay.  Just in case, make them both full bi.  Also, I want Lucy to only be able to come when she's in contact with a real penis.  No matter how much she enjoys playing with the girls, she'll need a man to satisfy her."

Lucy whimpered and looked about to object, then realized it was pointless and would probably only make her situation worse.

And, if I looked really close, I could see a hidden spark of desire in her eyes.  This is what she'd wanted, being completely at my mercy.  I could remake her however I wanted, and she was powerless to stop or even influence that decision.

"And I want her to know what a good slave she is.  She volunteered, she helped us win.  She's better than any of the cunts we had to catch, and definitely better than the ones that fought us."

The tech chuckled.  "Nice touch."

"This one," I said, stroking Alexandra's thigh.  Her muscles clenched and twitched, but that was all the resistance she was capable of.  "I want her to be very, very sorry.  I want her to understand just how wrong she was to oppose us, be so very grateful I decided to be nice to her and take her in.  And I want her to know, deep down to her very core that for all her crimes she deserves to be punished.  And I want her to be extremely happy and thankful when her Master graciously takes time out of his very busy schedule to punish her like she knows she deserves."

"Fuck," the tech said.  "You've got a mean streak.  I see why Dusahn likes you."

Alexandra squeezed her eyes shut and cried quietly.

"You want to do anything with nanites?"

"Just kill the body hair.  I've got three slaves to take care of now, hopefully four when we catch Jeri Ryan.  God, I want her bad."

"Then save up.  Word is Dusahn's going to sponsor her in the Rape Run, along with that other one that got away."

"Hayley Atwell?" I asked.

"Yeah.  For getting so close to ruining everything.  They'll get caught, and he'll make an example of them in the Run."  The tech picked up the injectors and got to work.


The Rape Run had only been revealed to some, like me, shortly after Dusahn took over.  A bunch of us were shown selected scenes from the previous year, including establishing the basic premise.

Each Faction Leader donates two women to the Run, who must be caught and brought to Aghara-Penthay for Processing before the event commenced.  Thus, Salvish's concern about pacifying Earth "in time."  He'd invested too much time and effort here to seek quality Runners elsewhere.  Every year, a list of particularly desired women for potential inclusion was compiled, the Slavers would then pick and choose off that list based on how much prestige they'd get for catching a particularly desirable or dangerous female versus how easy they'd be to actually acquire.  Runners were, pretty much by definition, high-profile targets, including interstellar celebrities, war heroes, infamous pirates, even planetary leaders.

Salvish had hoped to score bonus points by going off that list and donating the first Terrans.  Something new and exotic the audience hadn't seen before.  And he'd anticipated eventual human resistance, figured some of those humans would be notable by deed, if not by name, in the galactic community.  But he'd had to call in Dusahn, who now had that honor.  Salvish could still donate two Terrans, but Dusahn would be acknowledged as "first."

Once the Runners were selected, caught, and Processed, there was the pre-Run interview show, designed to humiliate them further, then, when all was set, they were released into the Zone, a barren valley on the arid world of Aghara-Penthay.  The Runners' implants were mostly inactive, the only programs active being that they couldn't hurt men or themselves.

Wouldn't be much sport if the game came when you called, right?

The Faction Leaders then led their chosen posses through the Zone, hunting down the Runners.  The tracking function of the implants was intermittently active, based on how much the voting audience wanted to see a given Runner caught, stripped, and raped.  When only one Runner remained free, she was spared, her implant permanently deactivated and given passage back to wherever home was for her.

But she'd always bear the knowledge that the Slavers had her and chose to let her go, that the price of her freedom was the slavery of her sisters.  And the slave mark of Aghara-Penthay.

I haven't mentioned those before because they were hidden until Terra was pacified, and only started to be applied to Terran slaves recently.  The high-tech tattoo, the swirling symbol of the Slavers, is applied over a slave's right eye.  No known techniques can remove it, not even the bacteriological recuperative fluid of the healing tank, which can cure anything short of clinical death.

A Runner's ordeal didn't end with the Hunters who caught her.  They'd have their fun -- then probably invite the other factions over to share -- then after the Run was over, anyone who paid high enough could take a turn, before or after the implant was finally fully activated.  Bidding for the time of a Runner was ferocious, with some Runners commanding tens of thousands of credits per customer.  Then once all the Hunters and all the payers had taken their turns, then the Runner was sent off to her final destination.

Most often, this was a personal sex slave, and a Runner's desirability, what made them worthy of being a Runner in the first place, ensured this bidding was rabid.  It wasn't uncommon for a Runner to be won for millions of credits.

You weren't just buying a sex slave, you were buying a piece of history, a symbol of men striking a blow against the misandrist insanity sweeping the galaxy.

And Jeri Ryan, who I'd drooled over since I was in the horniest stages of my teens, would be one of them.

I must have her.

Luckily, my participation in SnatchSnare and rounding up Resistance stragglers meant I was now quite wealthy.

Shelly Hennig, in case no one else has heard of her.

« Last Edit: August 05, 2021, 12:22:40 PM by ErikModi »

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #26 on: August 05, 2021, 03:06:33 PM »
Would love to read what happens if someone managed to counteract the conditioning but pretends to obey until they return back to earth! Merit awarded from me!

Offline shaitanxxx
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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #27 on: August 05, 2021, 10:42:12 PM »
I am loving the story. I think a cool thing to have in the implant would be a code word you could say that would return them to their original personality but making them unable to hurt you or escape.

Offline ErikModi

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #28 on: August 06, 2021, 10:29:54 AM »
Would love to read what happens if someone managed to counteract the conditioning but pretends to obey until they return back to earth! Merit awarded from me!

Well, that's thing.  Once the implant is in and activated, that's it.  Can't be removed, and only the Agharans know how to reprogram them or deactivate them (and those are both very tricky even for them).  So once a woman gets caught, she's pretty much done.  That said. . .

I am loving the story. I think a cool thing to have in the implant would be a code word you could say that would return them to their original personality but making them unable to hurt you or escape.

It would be fun, and the Agharans can deactivate an implant completely.  But it's a very closely guarded secret, since (in my version of this, at least) it's their primary means of defense against a devastating gender war.  Restoring free will "for fun" is something they wouldn't really be down for.  And remember (or see below) how subtle the implants are. . . depending on a variety of factors, after a time, much of an implanted slave's personality will likely alter itself around the programming of the implant, because they simply can't distinguish which thoughts are theirs and which are the implant's.  That said. . . well, keep reading  ;)
« Last Edit: August 06, 2021, 10:51:30 AM by ErikModi »

Offline ErikModi

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Re: The Rape Run Modern
« Reply #29 on: August 06, 2021, 10:35:46 AM »
This is a work of fiction.  The events within did not, probably will not, and definitely should not occur.  Any opinions expressed are those of the characters in the story, not the author.  None of the characters are real people, even the ones based on real people.  This is a fantasy for consenting adults.  If you cannot tell the difference between fantasy and reality, please seek appropriate counseling.

Warnings:  Punishment, humiliation (kind of)

Interlude -- Alexandra

My breath caught as I saw Master approach, Lucy at his side.  I thought I saw the right set in his face, the right glint in his eye, but I'd been wrong before.

"Alexandra," he said as he approached.  "Come."  He turned and walked away, Lucy following.  I fell into step behind him.

He led the way through his house, finally to The Door.  I sighed in relief while my heart pattered with fear.  It was happening.

Master opened The Door, and walked in.  Lucy and I followed.  The Door swung shut behind us.

"Wrap off," Master said, and I immediately unclasped the garment and set it on the table, set by The Door for precisely that.  "Sit," Master said, indicating a chair.

My heart skipped a beat and my mouth went dry as I looked at it.  It was a new arrival to Master's sparse but growing Punishment Room.  I'd seen drawings of something like it, old drawings.  In person, it was terrifying.

But I couldn't help getting wet as I looked at the frightening chair, feeling my heart swell with love and gratitude for Master.  This thing couldn't have been cheap, and Master bought it just to punish me.  He was spending his time and money on making me pay for the awful, awful mistakes I'd made.  He was so good to me, better than I ever could have deserved.

The chair was made entirely of metal, a tall back set at a perfect right angle from the seat.  Back, seat, and armrests were covered in small metal pyramids, about an inch square at their base.  The tips were fairly rounded, but with my whole body weight pushing my soft, pale skin against them, I could tell they'd almost immediately become uncomfortable and quickly work up to excruciating.

This was going to hurt more than anything Master had done yet.

He was so good to me.

I sat in the chair, trying not to wince as I felt the rounded tips burrow into my flesh, or shiver at the coldness of the metal sucking the heat from my skin.  Master pulled leather straps out from below the armrests and buckled my wrists tight to the chair, then did the same to my ankles, ensuring I couldn't stand up until he released me.  Not that I would without his permission.  I wanted to prove to him I understood, I was sorry, I knew I deserved this.

Master took his own seat in a comfy chair he'd recently brought into the Punishment Room.  I caught Lucy's eye as I tried not to let my growing discomfort show in my face, she smirked.


I recall being angry with her for selling us out, but that was before I understood how wrong I was about everything.  But she seemed to hold a grudge, looking down on me and filling that British accent with scorn.  Only a few days after Master brought us home, I'd tried to apologize to her.

"Keep your mouth shut unless Master wants to shove his dick in it," she'd replied.  "That's all stupid cunts like you are good for."

I'd asked Gina what her problem was.

"She thinks she's better than us," she replied.  Gina got the same treatment, despite the fact she could have squished Lucy into a ball and shot hoops with her if she wanted.  "Just because she asked to belong to Master.  We had to be convinced."  Gina shrugged.  "But Master likes her, and if he's happy, so are we."

I liked Gina.  She was uncomplicated.  And almost as good a pussy eater as Lucy, and Lucy only went down on us when Master told her to.  Like Gina said, she thinks she's better than us, so we eat her out, not the other way around.

"On your knees, Lucy," Master said, and she rushed to obey him.  Soon, I heard his pants open, saw Lucy's head bob as she slipped Master's dick in her mouth.  I whimpered, only partly from the growing pain.  I wanted to taste Master's cock, swallow his seed, prove to him I was a good, obedient, very sorry girl.

I writhed and shifted in the chair as Lucy sucked, trying to relieve the growing spots of pain all over my ass, thighs, back, and arms.  One of the pyramids, through accident or design, scraped its tip right over my clit as I moved.  The sudden jolt made me shift rapidly and made me hornier, the sudden movement caused the rounded points to scrape against and dig into my skin, which made me hornier, so my clit engorged more and pressed more painfully against the pyramid that seemed to be locked on to it.

I whined in pain, eyes narrowing as tears welled.  Still, I looked at Master, trying to let him see how much I appreciated his consideration, taking the time to give me what I so richly deserved.

"Thank you, Master," I said, voice thick with suffering.  "I'm worthless without you."

I quickly lost track of time, existing only in the ever-increasing torment I'd brought on myself for being stupid and selfish and generally horrible.  Nothing Master could ever come up with would truly repay what I'd done.

But he’d keep trying, looking for more inventive and excruciating punishments.  It’s how I knew he loved me, and I loved him for it.

Finally, he told Lucy to stop and move aside.  He stood and unfastened the straps, taking my hands and pulling me to my feet.  I was relieved to be out of the mounting agony of the chair, disappointed my punishment was already over.

Master had me lay down on a massage table, one of the few things in the room not designed for punishing stupid useless cunts like me.  He had Lucy rub healing paste all over my back, butt, arms, and legs.  I didn't deserve that, to have my wounds healed and the pain taken away.  Master really was far too generous.

Then he sat back down in his chair, and told me to approach and kneel.  I did.  If he wanted me to thank him for his time and attention, I would, gladly.  If he wanted to punish me more, I'd be happy for that, too.

He told me to suck his cock.  With delight, I took his hard dick in my mouth, tasting Lucy's spit still on it, and sucked to the best of my ability.  I looked up at him, I knew Master liked my eyes, especially after he'd made me shed punishment tears.  I tried to beam all the gratitude and appreciation and subservience and awe I felt for him through my beautiful blue eyes, show him just how glad I was he'd taken pity on worthless, pathetic me and made me his.

He told me to make him come on my face, so I did, pulling my mouth off and pumping him with my hand as I felt him getting close.  His hot, sticky spunk felt so good on my skin.

Master sighed in contentment, and I shuddered with pleasure at having drawn such a sound from him.  "Put on your short skirt, then go to the store and buy fixings for beef stroganoff."

"Yes, Master," I said, his sperm still running down my face as I stood.

Master had bought Lucy and I the same alternative slave wrap outfits he had for Gina, sometimes finding it useful and sometimes just liking us to wear something else.

This choice made perfect sense to me.  The blue short skirt barely covered any of me, especially since none of us had underwear, but the blue color would let everyone know I was privately owned.

So I went out to the store, tits bare, Master's jizz sliding down my face and neck, and fresh memories of agony in my mind.

It was a good day.

Lots of men stared at me as I walked to the store, my big bare boobs or Master's fresh mark on my face.  I smiled politely at them.  You should be nice to people.

I wasn't sure what exactly we still had on hand in the pantry or the two fridges and three freezers scattered between the kitchen and the basement, but I'd been told to get fixings for stroganoff, so I got everything we'd need.  Thinking I knew better than men was my biggest mistake, no way I was going to repeat it.

The clerk who checked me out also. . . well, checked me out.  He had to correct the transaction three times, but I was patient.  It was still early, and Master hadn't seemed in a hurry, so he probably didn't need dinner soon.  I could be nice and let the man do his job.

And if Master was upset the shopping had taken too long, he could always punish me again. . .

Finally, the total was ready, and I pressed my thumb to the plate.  Because I was registered to Master, the funds would come from his account automatically.  I didn’t need my own money anymore, I only spent Master's money, and only when he told me to.

"Can I touch your boobs?" the clerk asked, unable to tolerate having my magnificent tits so close any longer.

I thought about it a moment.  Master hadn't said I should let anyone else touch me, but he hadn't said I shouldn't.  And he had sent me out topless, surely he knew I'd be looked at, and men always wanted to look with their hands.  But I belonged to Master, and this had already taken awhile. . .

"I'm sorry," I said after a moment.  "I don't know if my Master is okay with that."

"Let me touch your tits," he said more firmly.

Well, he wanted it so badly, he'd asked so nicely, and I'd been basically teasing him this whole time.  I wouldn't be a very good girl if I denied him.  If Master had a problem with it, he would have told me, sent me out with something covering my tits.

"Okay," I said, arching my back and thrusting my boobs out towards him.

He took one in each hand, caressing, hefting, and squeezing them.  I moaned, feeling my cunt growing wet.  My tits were so sensitive these days, it made having them played with so much fun.  And made them such perfect targets for Master's more hands-on punishment tools.  "Fuck, those are amazing," he said as he released them after several seconds.  "Your Master's a lucky guy."

"I'm the lucky one," I said earnestly as I began loading up the groceries in a bag.  "Bye," I said, turning for the door.

"What's your Master's name?" the clerk called after me.

I paused and turned.  "I never thought to ask."  I shrugged.  "He's just my Master."  I waved him goodbye and headed home.


I returned home to find Master, Gina, and Lucy in the living room.  All of them were naked, Gina on all fours getting plowed by Master while she enthusiastically ate Lucy's pussy.  Giving them only a few lingering looks, I took the groceries into the kitchen and put them away.  We'd had enough of everything we needed, but it never hurts to have extra.

Once that was done, I returned to the living room and took a seat.  Maybe Master would want to fuck me next, I was certainly in the mood after wearing his come for so long and having my tits groped by the clerk.

With a grunt, Master shot into Gina, I could tell from her muffled moans and grunts that she was coming, too.  As Master pulled out of Gina, he wrapped her hair in his fist and pulled her face away from Lucy's snatch.  The effortless way he exerted control over the powerful woman never failed to make my knees wobbly.  I remembered well how helpless I'd been her grip once, and she was just as helpless against him.

"Lucy, go start cooking dinner."  I winced as Lucy got up off the floor and trudged to the kitchen.  She always got especially catty when Master fucked me or Gina and not her for a while.

Master cranked Gina's head back by her hair, looking at her face, smeared with Lucy's juices.  Then he looked at me, his mostly-dried jizz streaking my face and neck.  "Let's get you filthy sluts cleaned up."

Master's bathroom had a shower more than big enough for all of us.  Gina and I lathered, scrubbed, and rinsed each other indulgently, Gina spending a lot of time and effort on my boobs, she knew how much I loved having attention paid to them.  My knees were quaking and my cunt was gushing by the time she stopped, I was ready to beg Master to fuck me.  But I was bad, I didn't deserve to even beg to be fucked.  If Master wanted to give me my release, it was only because he was so very forgiving of me.  Otherwise, the frustration in my loins was just another punishment.

Gina and I turned our attentions to bathing Master, getting our wet and soapy hands all over his sleek, tight, rippling body.  God, he was so sexy.  His cock was so big, so hard from our work, I wanted to take it in my mouth, look up his body and into his eyes, show him how much I wanted to make him happy, how desperate I was to satisfy him and, maybe, convince him to satisfy me.  But good girls do what they're told, and nothing they're not, and I wanted to be a good girl for Master.

So Gina and I paid his cock only as much attention as necessary to clean it, then moved on.  Once we'd lathered and rinsed every inch of Master's flawless body, Gina and I washed each other's hair, then worked together to wash Master's.

After that, Master turned off the water, we all dried ourselves and each other, and Master got dressed.  I watched his glorious hard-on vanish into his trousers, felt it was a shame to waste it.  But supper was probably almost ready, and if Master felt he didn't need immediate relief, who was I to argue?


After supper, Master set to some work on his computer, leaving us to our own devices.  Gina pulled me into one of the big chairs, stroking my hair and cuddling me close.  Lucy had been left to do the dishes and put away the leftovers, so she came in some time later.  She sneered at Gina and I, surveyed the living room, then left for other parts of the house.  Probably looking for something to clean.

Finally, Master declared it was time for bed.

He had Lucy lay on the bed, me start eating her out, then had Gina sit on her face.  He stood above and put his cock to Gina's lips, she started sucking eagerly.  Once he shot a load in her mouth, he had Gina and I switch places, and now it was my turn to have Lucy lick my cunt while I sucked Master's cock.

It was amazing.  Getting to serve Master, pleasure him, while Lucy made me come twice.  And I got to swallow Master's seed this time.  I purred a thank you before he ordered us into a new position.

Lucy lay on her back with her head hanging off the edge of the bed.  As Master guided his cock into her mouth, I took her right breast and Gina her left.  We kissed, caressed, licked, nibbled, pinched, and twisted her astonishing mounds, making her squeal around Master's dick and writhe in delight.  I'm sure she came at least three times before Master filled her mouth, too.

Satisfied, Master laid himself down in the middle of the huge bed.  Lucy cuddled up to his right side, me to his left.  Gina pressed herself to my back, draping a strong arm across me to rest a hand on Master's stomach.  She leaned up and kissed the back of my ear.  "Night, sweetness."

I felt so warm, and safe, and protected, and loved, and knew I didn't deserve any of it.  They were all so good to me, so much better than I had any right to expect, even Lucy at her bitchiest.

I was so grateful Master had chosen me, let me be a part of this.  It made me so happy it hurt.