The "In Space" series to date:
The Pasture in Space
The Pasture in Space - Revolution
The Plantation in Space
Foreward: This work is a part of a larger science fiction series that crosses into a myriad of genres, specifically extreme BDSM, Mindcontrol, Fetish, Nonhuman, and Nonconsent. Though the first two stories focused on female orgasm denial, the Plantation stories explore permanent male chastity and sissification.
Each submission stands alone, so please do not feel the need to read previous entries first.
*****
"How long?"
The woman asked, already suspecting the answer.
Half a cycle before we land.
"Space that telepathy nonsense, you've got a mouth."
"You indulged him too long," the centaur said. "He is needed on Eda immediately."
"Look, Altair, I get it. You're the one piloting the ship and everything and I'm just the slutty milk maid creating sissies, but there's more to it than just shoving a mask on his face."
"You still have his seed on you," Altair said.
Absently, Leda shrugged, using one finger to work around her face until she touched the stray drop, wiping the useless liquid on her silver uniform. Only a minute before, she had ruined orgasm of her prisoner, leaving him having discharged a tremendous volume of cum on her without feeling any satisfaction.
"He's still heterosexual now," Leda said. "That was a part of his transformation. If it takes a few minutes, it's worth it the end."
"My species cannot wait for you to indulge your impulses," Altair said.
"Sure it can," Leda said. "Antollella waited for what, three hundred rotations shoving tentacles into innocent girls trying to breed your kind? What is the harm in another few minutes?"
Altair's expression remained stolidly sour. It was one of the features of the centaur caste, though humanoid in appearance from the waist up, they never adopted the expressions of their relatives. And so all three of them adopted a sort of dour, soulful look that bothered Leda.
She never cared for their supposed superiority, no matter how true it might be. After all, it was a simple, unschooled milk maid like herself who freed the woman of Epsilon 7, who breed with the strange, tentacle aliens that created these all-powerful centaurs.
If only they didn't always project an arrogant single-mindedness, a separation from the species they descended from. They existed secluded in their starships, under the guise of exploring the galaxy. None of the centaurs would speak to any human other than one of their mothers; expectantly waiting on the colony to provide them with more suitable sperm to inseminate suitably telepathic women.
These were in short enough supply. Most of the mild maids showed a spark of telepathic prowess, but so far only their Queen and her consort could actually conceive. It might be another generation or two before enough psychically telepathic genes were mixed to offer up a woman sensitive enough to breed a new generation of centaurs.
But Altair and his brother and sister were impatient. Under the instruction of their mother, their telepathic gifts provided for the Epsilon colonies, aiding in everything from the growth of new crops to the building to additional starships only they could pilot. To the milk maids, their insistence on constructing a plantation to focus on generating even more volume from the most virile males was a condemnation of their purpose, a sharp rebuke on the old machine that used to coerced repeated ruined orgasms from captive males.
What hurt most was how effective it had been. Selecting the best bulls, larger, darker-skinned, well-endowed and providing them with real-life playthings like the prisoner they were transporting, had nearly doubled the amount of usable semen. Still, Leda and the other maids believe they understood the psychology necessary better than Altair.
"Go ahead, take a look on the monitor," Leda said.
I do not need that device.
The thought came through coarse, causing the milk maid to wince. Altair strongly but subtly asserted his superiority, not creating harm, but communicating a clear distaste through his telepathic powers.
Leda ground her teeth, more at her pride than any pain.
"There's going to a few archaic words from our limited archives," Leda said. "Before the collective created peace throughout the galaxy, certain derogatory slangs were used to demean men for meaningless characteristics like skin or hair color. We have found including some phrases to be particularly effective."
I am sure I will manage.
And with that last thought, the centaur directed his abilities, staring into the captives brain.
*****
The sedatives created a deliberate hallucinogenic effect, disorienting Taylen, causing him to briefly forget what was happening as he focused on the images in the visor.
Only in the very recesses of his mind did he remember where he was - strapped with his arms and legs suspended, his cock forced into a plastisteel cage - permanent after the milk maid gave him one last ruinous orgasm. He could only see the vivid, nearly holographic humans in front of him, real enough that he might have reached out and touched them had his hands not been restrained.
It started with a woman with iconic purpled hair, clad in the silver uniform of a common milk maid. Violet Nall was anything but that. Her breasts bulged out of the v-shaped top of the uniform, the milky-white skin of the twin curves on proud display. The Overseer of Episolon 7 spoke with a demanding, domineering tone, riveting Taylen's attention to her.
Not that he had a choice.
"You should be grateful," Violet said sternly. "You have been selected."
She seemed to step closer, her breasts jutting out.
"Only a few years ago, you would have been strapped to a milking machine. A little tube would have been fixed to your small, desperate penis. I would have pumped you full of chemicals to make you cum over and over again, keeping you in a constant state of arousal.
Now there's a better way. We don't need those big, clunky machines or milk maids to monitor them. Because we don't need your cum. It's worthless, a little piddle you make whenever you look at women..."
She leaned over, her gloved hands resting on her knees so that her large tits spilled out of the top seductively.
"Only sometimes you do more than look.
You want to touch women.
