Sweet Memories

Everything aches comfortingly. Your hands are cuffed together above your head in weighted cuffs as they have been for most of the day. Three things keep them there. You’re arms, shaking from exhaustion, the fear of more pain than you can reasonably endure, and the **** desire to earn the approval of your betters.

The gibbet you’re in hangs over the open air market. Below you, victorious Iah Kuruh barter and trade their loot and their slaves. From various stalls and hover carts talented artisans (or in some cases slaves) offer creative trinkets of war, slavery, and whatever else an Iah Kuruh tribe-herm could desire. The main attraction of course is the **** auction. Right now, a busty and well hung Mynta is on display, spread eagle between two posts on a raised platform in the center of the large square. The Iah Kuruh’s favorite **** species are other herms and there is a viscous bidding war over this prize. Every time there is a slow down in the bids, the auctioneer gives her striped dick a quick smack with the crop, inciting impressive raises from the assembled host. You envy the pitiful prisoner. She will be someone's prize soon, and be taken with viscous lust.

The breeze picks up, causing your cage to sway like your mistresses' cock as they walk past. You wince with gleeful pain as you’re **** to shift into three of the dozen shock prods that face inwards from the bars and the spiked ball hanging from your pierced tongue bounces between your tattooed tits. Sensing your arousal, the vibrators buried inside you shut off. All you can do is moan in frustration.

Bellextra’s harem manager had selected you to be a display girl for today, for no particular reason other than you were the first one she saw when it was on her mind. You’re only job is to provide an atmosphere of sex, submission, and arousal that is the preferred ambience of the Iah Kuruh. It is no small point of pride that you do it quite well.

To this end, you were locked in a narrow cage, not wide enough to sit in, even if the you were allowed enough bend to do so. Barbs point inward from the bars like the teeth of Lugo crocodile, some resting less than an inch from your skin. Any movement carries the threat of an electric bite should you touch any of the pointed prods. A few criss-cross between your arms, forcing you to hold them high, continually testing your discipline and endurance. Thin chains pull your tits wide by their nipple piercings, which is fortunate for you. Suspended in front of your chest is a morning star like weight that hangs by a chain anchored to your tongue. Before the weight was attached, it was coated in a mild nerve agent that can be absorbed through the skin. Nothing harmful, but it does make your skin tingle all over and inflames your desires. Sticking your tongue out as far as it goes is all you can do to mitigate the maddening effects. To keep you from leaning your neck forward, and thus increasing the distance between the poisoned weight and your **** ta-ta’s, a rigid posture collar holds your neck straight.

The experiences of the past few years has made you well conditioned to such trials, but the one thing you'll never get used to, never be allowed to get used to, is denial. The denial vibrators are the only part of your predicament that constitute real **** anymore. One is lodged deep inside your glutinous slit, and sealed in by four of labia piercings that hold your swollen lips tight together. It’s partner pulses and vibrates in your back door when it’s active. Together they do their best to keep you on just the edge, turning off whenever you approach sweet release. Agonizing practice has taught you they can be tricked, but only with careful timing and a little luck.

As has become your practice when you find yourself left to suffer by your malicious mistresses, you reflect on how you became the broken whore you are today. No, broken is what simple minded, undeserving Natalia would think of you. That’s not who you are anymore. You are Ass Licker and you have been uplifted.

It began with your tattooing. Though painful and degrading at the time, you now cherish it as the day you began your journey of self discovery. You remember it as though it were yesterday. Bellextra pulling you out of the cage and dragging you through the ship by your hair as though she was trying to scalp you. When she had released your bindings so she could strap you to the tattoo table, you had tried to fight back. There was still some small hope of… you don’t even know what. She had laughed so hard at your futile attempt that you almost got away.

As is only natural, Bellextra started with your new name. The words “Ass Licker” rise above your cleavage, with some of the lettering diving in between and around your voluptuous breasts. Like all of the text on your body (over the years your skin has acquired enough words to write a short story, complete with pictures), these words are written in stylized Iah Kuruh, elegant and barbaric at the same time. Just like Bellextra. Your tits received their own artistic treatment. Your mistress cupped them with a jagged collection of tribal markings that accent their size and shape. Below them she had written in ornate Iah Kuruh “Will shake when whipped.”

On your inner thigh there is a startling life like penis, modeled after Bellextra’s own. The crimson tip is pointing at your always wet slit, perpetually ready to impale you. Along your clavicle, bold font, easily visible from afar reads "Mistress No More." Even early into your slavery, Bellextra knew your hidden craving for pain. So that everyone else would too, she wrote “Hurt Me For Lubrication” in an arch around your pubic mound.

Next were the facial tattoos. These were the hardest and the most painful, not physically, but emotionally. For one unwilling to accept her role as a ****, such dramatic branding nearly shattered you. All you could do is groan around the spider gag as a head clamp kept you from thrashing and making a mess of your new labels. At the time, having the words “Cum Thirsty” written upon left your cheek and “Degradation” written above your right eyebrow was the most humiliating thing you could imagine. Foolishly, you swore **** against Bellextra and for weeks after you fantasized about escaping and delivering sweet ball busting comeuppance against her. This was before Bellextra returned you to the home world, of course.

Your musings are interrupted as the denial vibrators restart. The devices have a somewhat misleading name. They make it difficult for a **** to cum, but they serve other purposes. The Iah Kuruh are loathe to see a **** doing nothing, or more precisely, having nothing done to it. Denial is fun and all but after awhile it becomes a little boring. To that end, some additional features were programmed into the vibrators. They must be active for a certain amount of time per hour, they must never be off for longer than five minutes, they must intensify when an Iah Kuruh approaches, they must reach maximum intensity for one minute no more than ten times per day, but no less than five, and other odd parameters that have nothing to do with their title. With so many different settings that must be met, some are prioritized more than others. An Iah Kuruh pauses beneath you to haggle over the price of a **** drone with a ****-vendor and the humming between your legs grows louder.

The Mynta is finally sold for an exorbitant amount to what is either a very successful captain, or a newly indebted one. Whichever she is, this captain is also very generous; her crew are awarded first go at the new ****. Five Iah Kuruh surround the helpless herm, foolishly panicking at her fate. The restraints holding her wide are released and she is immediately grabbed from behind. One of the raiders locks her arms behind her back, presenting her chest for inspection. Red hands pop against the vibrant yellow, blue, and pink skin as they squeeze and grope her heavy bosom. Her dick receives no less gentle treatment; another raider is holding her rod (rock hard in spite of her protests) against her tummy so that she can slap the slaves nuts back and forth. After a few minutes of this, all cheered on by the crowd, she is bent forward so her ass can be examined. And fucked obviously.

An Iah Kuruh holds the ****'s arms so they are above her shoulders, forcing her bend over with an enough strain in her shoulders joints to make you want to trade places. You whimper with jealousy as the crew take turns slapping that ass, congratulating themselves on how much their new toy jiggles when played with. Looking below, you see that the Iah Kuruh is completing her purchase. You panic. If she leaves before they start fucking this lucky ****, the vibrators will shut off before you can finish! Not seeing the irony, you curse your mistresses for taking so long to savor their prey. The disoriented **** must split her attentions between the two cocks that are now at her eye level. The **** being delivered to her rear makes it all the more difficult. Her tongue, long and sinuous, wraps around one before a brutal spank, makes her squeal, breaking her focus. Tiring of her inadequate oral foreplay, one of the Iah Kuruh simply grabs her by the head tentacles and forces her all the way down. Your cock hungry mouth waters at the sight and a droplet of drool runs down your tongue chain. Behind the ****, the an Iah Kuruh lines up for the first thrust. You’re so close…

The Iah Kuruh below you walks away with a customized D1D-43VR abduction drone (a nice model, if you remember correctly). The vibrators shutoff. Your screams of frustration aren’t heard over the crowd of lustful aliens and dominated slaves, but your outburst does shake the cage so that you now rock between electric prods. The sweet pain is almost enough to push you over that delightful edge. Almost.

Crying from the pain and the lost opportunity, you try to reflect on happier, more fulfilling, times. Immediately Bellextra’s cock fills your mind as it once filled you. The flight from Tetrion Beta to Hellno may have been the happiest time of your life. You only shared Bellextra with Cock Sucker, and your mistress was domme enough that you didn’t mind. Being a remote planet, the long trip to Hellno gave your mistress plenty of time make you accept your new life. Not break you, not just yet, but close. True, you still railed against your fate, but Bellextra gave you **** but to indulge in your submissive side.

Every day of that trip began with either Cock Sucker's terrified screams or your own as your mistress’s powerful hands pulled one of you from the small cage you shared and **** her organ into whatever hole she fancied. Being a giving mistress, Bellextra always made sure to take whoever was left after thoroughly violating the first one. Once the Red Queen was satisfied, a truly exhausting endeavor, she would usually **** you both, favoring simple yet painful methods. Whips where her preference. You can’t remember how many strokes you took those first few days, arms pulled above your head with just enough slack so that you could stick your ass out for the routine fuck breaks. All of that was before breakfast.

By the end of the trip to Hellno, you no longer wanted ****. Part of this was your submissive side being made to flourish, but mostly it was exhaustion. Getting free from Bellextra would have taken way more energy than you had at the time. Both you and Cock Sucker spent countless hours under the tattoo needle along the way. Many more tattoos were emblazoned on your flesh. Most signal your position as a fuck toy, but some are whimsical. The lyrics to one of Bellextra’s favorite songs are on your bicep, and there is a very beautiful picture of a Telosian wolf on your shoulder. Your True Mistress is such an artist.

Dinner briefly interrupts your reflections. A loud buzz signals the approach of a maintenance drone. Like any decently civilized society, the Iah Kuruh ensure that their sex slaves are well taken care of as well as abused. Devices like this are common amongst the Iah Kuruh. The ornithopter looks like a bizarre insect with three misshapen abdomens and a sophisticated medical scanner where the head would be. A green light flashes over you as the drone determines your needs. It gives a few deep beeps in an alien centro-decimal system. Apparently it's feeding time.

Two manipulators land on the cage just above your head, causing it to shake as the buzzing wings retract. You scream as you bounce painfully between separate shock prods. Ignoring the ruckus, specialized arms hold your head steady and your mouth wide as the feeding tube emerges from one of three attachments in the back. Purposefully, it pushes its way down your throat. Nothing resembling a gag reflex remains in you, so you don’t cough but you still cannot breathe. Your throat bulges as it pushes down your esophagus. Without thought you swallow whatever it is it pumps into you. You assume it tastes like cum, most of your food does, but you can’t tell because it never touches your tongue. The chain with the weight bounces merrily between your tits, each strike leaving a burning sensation that radiates across your body before settling in your stuffed and sealed pussy. For a minute and a half, your lungs are denied oxygen as you are fed. Finally it finishes, and leaves you breathing heavily, still rocking in agony. “Ah!” you squeal as the vibrators restart. Had it already been five minutes! At this rate, you may be able to cum, if you can make yourself want it enough. With **** purpose, you rethink your submissive rebirth.

Above Hellno, you received a new **** sister. Apparently, the Syndicate wasn't willing to let Hellno go just yet and anyone who wanted the treasure there was going to have a hard time. As her cock will attest, Bellextra only does things hard; after a brief interlude where you and Cock Sucker huddled together in your cage, Bellextra returned with the prize. The new ****, Cum Guzzler, was a beautiful woman with raven hair and cinnamon skin, skin that was soon blessed with tattoos. Cum Guzzler’s initial defiance taught you how hard your mistress had worked to make you appreciate the joys of submission, and you felt silly. There you were, thinking about escape, and ****, when you could be focusing on what was really important; being the best ****-bitch. That same night, you "accidentally" knocked over a rack of sex toys. As "punishment," Mistress Bellextra stayed up all night, using every single one on you. Later, you had the biggest orgasm of your life. There, with four dildoes shoved up your cooch, **** on a the largest penis gag you've ever seen, cuffed to Cock Suckers cage while your **** sister masturbated along, and with your Mistress' cock pounding obedience into your needy ass, you fell in love.

Waiting for her on Hellno had been hard. Not because you doubted her success. Cum Guzzler told you about the fall of the Freedom’s End. No, it was hard because Mistress didn’t program any breaks into the dungeons automated systems. It was two days of non stop **** orgasms and automated pain. Sleeping was difficult, what with your cunt linked to Cum Guzzlers tongue ring as she rode an electrified monster dildo. And your tits cropped by a tireless machine. And Cock Sucker screaming out her umpteenth orgasm of the hour in a inverted spread eagle. But you managed. Who knew that a twelve hour stream of pain-gasms was such an effective sleep aid. Finally however, Mistress did return, and brought with her Sex Light, another **** to be tattooed.

You did ask about what the Federation cruiser held. After all, you did risk, and lose, everything to find it. It is only natural that you would be curious, even if any desire to actually posses it had been abolished from your heart. When asked however, Bellextra answered cryptically. “Something I’m not sure what to do with,” she said, before her cock silenced you. You meant to follow up with her after she had time to reflect, but you were more concerned with the fact that you now had to share a cage overcrowded with three other squirming and horny sex toys. With the cage barely being big enough for two slaves, it took exceptional cooperation and painful practice to change position in the small confines. This was especially true on the nights Bellextra attached you to your **** sisters' nipple rings by the shortest of chains, or worse, made multiple slaves share a single piercing.

The next leg of your journey passed much like the trip to Hellno, with Bellextra administrating her brutal and sensual domination on the four of you. There was something, missing however. It wasn’t just that you didn’t get as much one on one time with your goddess. Bellextra worked so hard to make sure that each of her **** sluts went to sleep each night oversexed and exhausted, but there were four sex slaves and only one of her. Although you must admit it was it’s own kind of **** to watch the other slaves receive orgasms at the tip of Mistress’s cock while you had to make do with the pitiful vibrators. No, she seemed distracted. You and your fellow slaves discussed it (well, mumbled it; you were all gagged when not in use) and everyone agreed that her attentions were somewhere else.

After a long voyage that left all the slaves with well stretched holes and flesh that was a mural, Bellextra arrived the home world. The Iah Kuruh never wasted time naming their planet; it’s just the home world. You were irrevocably a **** at this point, and happy for it. After so long being dormant, your dominant side had atrophied away. It was no longer possible to imagine yourself on top. Even today, you give it a try once in awhile, but whenever you do all you can think of are the twelve tenets of sexual slavery, as though they were written on your soul. That’s of course ridiculous; they are written on your thigh, upside down so you when you kneel with your head bowed, you have something to read. Gone were the troublesome days of chasing bounties and worrying about your ship. Those early days, you simply concerned yourself with Bellextra’s pleasure, an easy task since she gave you **** but to please her.

The Mynta's torment continues. Although chased off stage so a pair of Oo'lick twins could go up for sale, the freshly purchased **** has earned herself a small following. The captain has tied her cock and tits up on a bench with her legs spread and hands behind her. The crew seem content (for now) but other Iah Kuruh are replacing them. An experienced warrior regards the ****-herm with an appraising eye as the **** bobs up and down her dick while another feels the weight of her tits. A third red domme stokes her cock while questioningly fingering her lower holes. All the while the Captain jabbers on in Iah Kuruh. This is a pretty common practice among the Iah Kuruh. A captain’s competency is largely measured by her ability to provide her crew with high quality slaves.

Bellextra used you the same way when for your first few days on the homeworld. At first you assumed she was pimping her slaves out, as was her just right (some would say obligation). You and your fellow slaves were passed around like pieces of meat, serving dozens of red dicks before being returned to your mistress to be hosed off. It's one of your favorite memories, which is why you are really sad when the vibrators shut off and take you back to the abyss of sexual frustration.

By the time you were frog marched/dragged into the longship there were four more dicks that needed to be serviced. Recruiting help was a good move on Bellexrta's part and exhausting on your part. Serving one Iah Kuruh was hard enough, but five? Holy shit. The first half of that voyage is a blur of red pain and orgasms. Life consisted of balls slapping against your face, sweet stitches of pain across your flesh, and the electric sensation that courses through your veins after repeated cascading orgasms.

Even as fit and as desperately horny as you were, you just couldn't keep up. You're pretty sure your heart was on the verge of exploding. That would have been the end of you if Bellextra wasn’t so damned magnificent. She raided a core world. Shouldn’t be possible for lots of reasons that aren’t important to a **** only good for fucking like yourself. What is important is that your mistress did it. Captured a dozen slaves, all politicians, executives and celebrities. Good thing she did too. The original four **** girls were going to expire at that rate.

You were surprised to learn of the origins of the slaves, the Renada system. It’s far, super far, from the home world. It would take months of travel to get there, with no less than twenty jumps. While it’s easy to believe that you lost track of time, what with the never ending orgy and all, it’s harder to believe that Bellextra made it to Renada without being challenged by the Federation Navy. Sure Renada itself is a vacation planet for the rich (all super models, movie actresses and trophy wives if the slaves Bellextra’s crew captured are a representative sample), so it doesn’t have much in the way of defenses, but it’s still in the Federation core. Surely you would have noticed if all the Iah Kuruh on board stopped fucking their playthings to go man the weapons? But no, just constantly servicing your mistresses, and the boom! New slaves.

While all desire to break a proud woman down into a submissive bitch has left you, you still admire the process, and the Iah Kuruh are masters of it. Of course you would rather the five Iah Kuruh apply personalized humiliations for you, but seeing them inflicted on the most glamorous woman in the Federation was a nice consolation prize.

There was the singer Jesse Tietra, whose beautiful voice was perpetually silenced by engorged Iah Kuruh dick. Another musical artist captured was Enrapture (she had a real name once but no one remembers or cares, certainly not her). While she had also had a nice voice, she was mostly famous for shaking her ass in music holos. Turns out the Iah Kuruh could make it clap just as well as anyone. That same ass you had seen twerking it’s way across the holo-projector was thoroughly tapped, smacked, and inked by the raiders. Interestingly, the Iah Kuruh let her keep the name Enrapture, but rather than tattooing it above her breast, put her name above her ass. In your worthless opinion, the most impressive feat of dominance had been the breaking of Xia Bing. Xia was the mind behind the Infinity Corporation, and one of those celebrity CEO’s that everyone likes to rave about. Fucking beautiful by any rational standard, even with her head shaved and all of the words she cried and whimpered while pleading for mercy tattooed where her hair was.

Speaking of Game Board (as the former Ms. Bing now answers to), you’re pretty sure you see her in the public stockade. It’s hard to tell with her face buried in the groin of one of your mistresses and her ass being pounded, but you have a good view of her back. Even covered in cum, the romshalla markings are still visible. Romshalla is a game kind of like go, except the game board is a **** and it uses cum instead game pieces. You’ve never understood the rules, other than one player uses the ****'s mouth and the other uses the ****'s ass or pussy, with the two players taking turns cumming on various sections of the board (usually tattooed on the back of a ****, but you have seen flat chested slaves have the game on their front). It’s supposedly a very complicated game that requires the players to really take their time thinking over their movement. Regardless of how the game is played, it seems like everyone wins.

The backwash from a low flying freighter once again sets your cage to swaying and your nerve endings to stinging. Another **** ship. That’s the second one this week. Bellextra just keeps getting busier. After transforming the celebrity slaves into just slaves, Bellextra sold a few some of them on the auction block, used a few more for recruitment, and got herself a bigger ship. Then she did it all over again. Raid, enslave, sell, recruit, upgrade, repeat. She never sold you, but you did start seeing her less and less. Not that you lacked for attention. Bigger ships meant bigger crews and more sophisticated dungeons. Automated systems made sure that whenever humiliating acts of bound **** weren’t being heaped upon you by the Iah Kuruh, you were not left wanting. Speaking of automated systems, you moan pitifully as the vibrations restart and pulse pleasure through your pelvis. It must be the getting close to the end of the day. The denial vibrators have a difficult time preventing your orgasms and meeting all of the additional parameters of their programming. After long periods of torment it just doesn't take that much to make a **** girl cum. You bite your tongue mischievously as they buzz away.

Being an anonymous **** girl on your mighty mistresses' ship was everything you never knew you needed. Servitude, complete and irrevocable servitude, is the most rewarding thing you have done with your life. The thrills of the hunt seem so cheap now that you have taken so many deserving mistresses to countless climaxes. Not only do they reward you generously with thundering orgasm and delightful pain, you didn't even have to do anything to earn it! They did all that for you whether you were good or bad. True, as a ****, you are always fucking terrible, and deserving of nothing but except punishment and humiliation, but it was nice not to have to worry about it.

There was something missing though. A deep depression set in whenever you were left unattended. Not from lack of attention, even when left alone they always made sure something filled your holes. No, it had been too long since you saw your true mistress. All of the crew were sadistic and never left you wanting for sex, but they weren't her. They weren't the one who captured you, who broke, you made you a ****. Your first is always special.

You weren’t a true **** yet. in spite of getting the worst feeling of Libertaphobia (the fear of freedom) whenever you were unbound, there was a final lesson you needed to learn.

It happened on the return leg from one of the **** raids. An anonymous Iah Kuruh warrior was strapping you into a storage pod (complete with an array of vibrators and clamps so you didn’t get bored) so that the crew could focus on breaking in the fresh catch. “Please ma’am, may I ask a question?”

“Sure. What's up slut?” She didn’t pause her work, ensuring that once the door was closed, a strategically positioned vibrator would **** your clit.

“Where is mistress?” You had been trying to remember when you last saw Bellextra. It wasn't the last time you were on home world. Was it the time before that? Time had become an increasingly abstract concept to you during your slavery.

She gave your tit a quick slap. “I’m right here. What’s wrong with you?” She slowly shoved 8 inches of anal feed between your cheeks.

You were confused. Not only was the invader breaking your focus, but you thought your question was clear. “But… Bellextra?”

“The War Queen?” Now the warrior was confused. “I don’t know where she is, I’m just a ground pounder. Probably back on home world trying to figure out how she wants to get her dick wet. Or leading a raid.”

“What do you mean?”

The warrior is as perplexed as you are and stopped to look you in the eye. “I mean, she’s the War Queen now. She oversees a warband the size of… well we’ve never made this big of a warband before. She’s kind of busy.”

“But she’s my mistress!” you pleaded.

She shrugged and continued her work, ensuring that your arms were locked into place. “She’s every slaves mistress. At least every **** in this warband, which is a fuck ton.” Another strap went around your neck, holding you in place. “You’re just one out of I don’t know how many.” You tried to protest but that was when the dildo between your legs started pumping. She locked the final strap over your chest and sealed the pod. There was nothing more to say.

In the darkness with nothing but the sexual **** of the storage pod to keep you company, you thought about those last words. It should have made you sad or angry or hurt. You loved your mistress, you still do. Yet she had forsaken you. Just passed you off to her minions. Did she ever intend to come back for you? And you were obviously a prize. Just look at yourself. Ink or no ink, people have literally killed to have your body. Bellextra’s just the only one who’s managed to keep it for this long. Why didn’t you seem to mind that you were just another sex toy for an army of well endowed sadistic warriors? When the vibrators kicked into high gear, you had your answer.

Who the fuck cares. You loved Bellextra sure. You love anyone who ties you up and forces you to submit. Was that Iah Kuruh who left you in fucking machine built to keep slaves occupied while she attended to other things any less deserving than Bellextra? Fuck no. Because of that random warrior, you had no less than 5 orgasms that rest period. It was amazing. Agonizing as well between the non stop stimulation and sleep deprivation, but holy shit did you feel alive. You are a ****. It didn’t matter who your mistress was, as long as you had a mistress.

That was the truth. That was what made this so gods damned good. “AHHHHHHHH!!!!” Right on queue, the vibrators kick into high gear. You may be one of many, but you’re also one for many. The phalluses roar at their highest setting against your helpless g-spots, mercilessly pumping a sweet orgasm into you. Masochistic convulsions **** you back and forth between the prods, each shock spiking your endorphins. Without thought you spray down onto the ground below, drenching the merchant who runs the stall below. His curses at you are ignored as you enjoy the sweet bliss that is acceptance.

Some time later the **** handler lowers your cage. The pleasant exhaustion that comes from a long day of humiliation hangs off of you like a warm bathrobe. “Hello Mis'ess.” It’s hard to talk with the ball and chain hanging from your tongue.

“Ass Licker,” she lets you out and looks you over. “Were you good today?” You dutifully shake your head, making the spiked ball bounce between your tingling breasts. Being a **** means your always a naughty, nasty slut, and you would never lie to your mistress. “I’ll punish you later.” Ignoring your delighted grin, she removes the weight and pulls you along by the tongue chain. “Right now there are two young warriors who are looking to sign on with our ship. Give them a warm welcome will you?”