Slavers in Space

Slavers in Space

Thank you for looking at my story: I hope you enjoy it. Ratings and comments are very welcome, and might help me to decide whether or not there ought to be a sequel. At the moment it is a stand-alone story. It could obviously have been placed in the "science fiction" category, but there is non-consensual content, so I have put it under that heading.

I cannot help wondering whether anyone has every had sex in zero-gravity. If so, they were probably not in bondage, so my description is doubly speculative, and I hope that readers will look kindly on it.

Party Slave

In the five years that Tuma had served as a pleasure slave, the gathering in the small satellite-hotel was the most unusual party that he had attended. The place was usually used as a dormitory by people visiting the nearby Orbital Palace, and despite having only twenty suites it made a healthy profit for the owner and proprietrix, who was also Tuma's mistress. He wore a brand on his left buttock to prove it, and a QR code etched into the sole of his right foot.

For three nights all the rooms had been booked for a group of twelve women, all wealthy and all between the ages of twenty- five and thirty-five. They had each brought one sex-slave, but they were all female, distinguishable from their owners by the fact that they were always naked, cuffed and collared, although not always restrained.

The group had asked the proprietrix to leave them enough food, drink and bedding, but to take a holiday with the rest of the staff, although they wanted her to leave Tuma, her only male slave. He was thus the sole possessor of a penis among twenty-four potential users, or putting it another way, seventy-two receptacles, assuming they would see intermammary sex as a wasteful extravagance. Even with the help of his erection regulator he would struggle to meet the demand.

He had known from the beginning that he would not be choosing the lucky apertures himself. The only question was how they would be chosen. He could not tell who was in charge, as decisions seemed to be made in the private suites, not in the main hall that also served as the dining and breakfast room. The gravity there was lower than in the rooms, but it was still possible to walk and move around normally. It was good for dancing; especially the more demanding numbers like the Viennese Waltz.

As the last of the party arrived in a public shuttle, nobody was dancing. Most were standing or sitting around chatting, although a few were snogging with and/or groping one another's slaves. It was the custom at purely social gatherings that all slaves were made available to everyone, and that owners did not use their own. At these early stages the best-looking girls were passed rapidly from hand to hand before choices were made for the first night. There were various methods of dealing with any competition for the best examples, often using complex algorithms that shared them out over the eight or more "sessions;" mornings, afternoons, evenings and nights.

Tuma- named thus by his owner because, even without his regulator, he was often tumescent- was being treated as a special case. All the attendees- both free and enslaved- were polyamorous, but the weekend was supposed to be a celebration of lesbian delights. It was important, therefore, that he should not be treated like the female slaves, but he was not sure whether or not they had decided exactly what to do with him.

Tuma was surprised at how long he was left alone. Perhaps, having come to an all-girl weekend, none of the women wanted to admit that they were interested in him. Perhaps he was being treated like a wedding cake; not to be sampled until opened by the guests of honour. He began to notice when one or two of those present- mistresses and slaves- gave him furtive, sidelong glances, often looking only at his penis, but no-one approached him directly until everyone had arrived, found a vacant slavegirl, and filled a plate with food from the buffet.

Tuma had been bound to the post for three hours, for his owner had tied him there before she left. Much more used to chains, he knew that the coarse ropes would leave "tyre marks" on much of his body, and he was beginning to feel the scratchiness of the jute fibres. He kept wriggling and struggling to stop them from digging in to spots that were becoming more sensitive as the hours passed. He was used to long-term bondage, so however long they left him there he knew he could stand it, but it was frustrating to see so many other slaves being pampered and played with.

Then, when most of those present had eaten enough to keep their bodies and souls together, one of the slightly older and portlier women tapped a glass, and made a brief welcoming speech before referring to Tuma. "As you can see, ladies, we've got one fully intact male to play with. I had to promise the owner that we wouldn't do him any serious damage, so with twelve of us we can't really have a whipping competition. As you all know, I've asked around discreetly- I hope- and about half us are interested in using him, to clear their palates, so to speak."

Everyone waited expectantly while she paused to drink some fruit juice, and then carried on. "I read a very old novel not long ago, and it gives me an idea of how we can share him out. Those interested will each snog him for two minutes, and the non-users will watch and award point scores. He'll be blindfolded, so he won't be able to influence the result in favour of those he fancies most. The two highest scorers will go into a playoff with five minutes each. In the first round; no touching him below the waist. In the second, anything goes. Any questions?"

There were a few, and some murmurings of discontent when it was revealed that she would be taking part. One rather sharp-faced and muscular woman would have preferred something that did not involve Tuma in the process, such as a bondage wrestling contest in which they would all take part. That was a minority view, so soon the chairs were being arranged so that everyone could watch comfortably. Tuma was left where he was, having been told that failure to respond properly to all the women would mean a whipping, whatever his owner had stipulated.

Tuma was left standing, and blindfolded very thoroughly with faux-rubber pads over his eyes, reinforced by a wrapping of torn cotton cloth around his head. His body was still bound tightly to the post but his head was not. If there was a risk that he would respond differently to each contestant even if he couldn't see them, it had to be accepted that his responses were partly a result of the stimuli that were applied.

Before the blindfold was applied, Tuma had tried to memorize any features of individual women that he might be able to recognise when kissing. Some had wider, fuller or more pouting lips, or breasts large enough to push against his chest when they stood against him. He knew, however, that lips tended to soften during an intense, passionate kiss, and feel larger than they were. None of the women present were plain, let alone ugly, so ultimately he had to conclude that it was not worth taxing his brain and his memory in what would probably be a futile attempt to influence the outcome.

A hush descended onto the room as the first contestant approached Tuma. He tried to ready himself to respond, but was surprised when, instead of kissing him immediately, she ran her tongue lightly around his lips. Then she pressed a little harder, and after another two circuits she slipped it into his mouth, inclining her head to allow their lips to merge. Meanwhile she stroked his chest with her hands, careful to keep her thumbs on and around his nipples. He was not used to having so much attention paid to them, but with his cock now being forbidden territory, they would probably be the default option for all the contestants.

The two minutes passed very quickly, and the next woman had much fuller lips. He wondered whether she was the only black guest, but he realized that he might be stereotyping her. Some of the others were very pouty, one or two being visibly Botoxed. She was particularly adept at making small movements, almost rippling her lips against his, and he hoped that she would prove to be one of the finalists. He tried to encourage her by rocking his own head and pushing it forward, hoping to show the judges that she was having an effect on him.

In Tuma's view, none of the other four quite matched the second woman, although all their lips felt good against his mouth, and one seemed to have a stronger and longer tongue than the others. The last contestant had very full lips, and he found himself wondering whether she might be the black woman. It was a quality that the watching non-participants obviously appreciated, for she and the second woman were the two finalists. When the verdict was read out the women were identified in order, so Tuma knew, this time, what he was getting.

To his surprise, they kept to the same order. The woman took immediate advantage of the new rules by just placing her lips against his and keeping them still while she took his penis into one hand, grasping his balls with the other. He could feel her body against him, breasts pushing through her dress against his chest, so he knew that she was fairly buxom. As she stroked his erection he was impelled to push his mouth forward against hers, and her strategy became obvious then. Instead of showing the judges how she could kiss him, she was showing them how the power of her sexuality was impelling him, blind as he was, to respond to her.

Afterwards there was a ten-minute break to ensure that the second woman would not have the advantage of finding him ready-aroused. She was more conventional in her approach, taking much longer to explore his mouth with her tongue. Then, inevitably, her hand descended to his penis, and she was remarkably skilful in using her fingers in the very confined space between them. Her aim was first to stroke his penis and fondle his balls, just like the other woman, but she seemed to hope that she could trump her by working at least one finger underneath, pressing on the sensitive area between his scrotum and his anus. The latter was her ultimate destination, and it was just a matter of how far she could penetrate him with her index finger.

Unfortunately for her, the answer was; not at all. He was excited by the feel of her finger pushing behind his testicles, and the result was apparent in the way their mouths were writing together, tongues occasionally visible to the spectators. His legs were, however, tied together so tightly that, from her position right up against his body, she could not work her hand far enough between them to finger his anus, and that was probably her undoing, even though in other respects she was very successful.

The first-round losers were allowed to vote on the final result, and the original number two was declared the winner by six votes to four. It didn't matter very much, for they would both take their turns with him, but she would have him in her room for the first night and until dinner time the next day. Then he would be transferred for the remainder of the weekend. Both women would have their usual allotment of female slaves, so if they wanted they could keep Tuma in a perpetual threesome. Both would be entitled to invite others to share him, but that seemed unlikely to happen. When his blindfold was removed, he found that most of the women, even those who had not competed for him, wanted to kiss him goodbye, as if they expected him to be confined to the two suites for the entirety of their visits.

When he was untied be was left chained to the post while he exercised his arms for five minutes, and then his wrists were locked behind his back. Still hobbled and shuffling, he was led to the winner's suite, which was one of the nearest to the meeting room. At that point he was still not sure who the winners were, except that he was ninety-nine percent certain that the only black woman had come second. They had all kissed him since the contest, and his attempt to remember which of them had looked the happiest was futile, and probably vain.

It was a surprisingly long time before he learnt who his user for the night would be. He guessed that there was some kind of committee meeting going on which she had to attend. In the meantime he was left as he was, hands behind him and ankles hobbled, with a slavegirl who was spread out in an "X" on the bed. It was a surprise, because he had expected to be in that position himself. He was told that he could play with her, but that he must not ejaculate or penetrate her. Even in his bondage he would have been able to do both, being experienced and proficient at the "goldfish," but he was also an obedient slave, or at least one that preferred not to be whipped.

The girl, who told him that her name was Clita, was friendly and cheerful, and clearly expected something from him. He sat on the bed by her side and looked down at her, and she smiled and shook her pert, upright little breasts. He flopped down onto his stomach and worked his way over her chest, and applied himself to sucking her nipples gently, alternating every few seconds between one and the other. He usually preferred bigger boobs, but had to admit that hers were perfect for their relative positions.

As she began to breathe more deeply and to tug at her chains, he left her breasts and moved down to her groin, working his way right down to lie between her splayed-out legs, dropping his face onto her vulva. He thus had gravity helping him as he lapped at her opening, although from that position it was difficult to push his tongue far inside. He was experienced enough not to waste time on that, and once he was sure that she was juicing freely he moved to her clitoral area, circling it until she showed signs of cumming, whereupon he pressed his tongue onto the bud itself.

It was a wild ride then, as she bucked, writhed and twisted in her chains. Without his hands he struggled to stay in position, but when he was forced aside he was soon back in place again. By varying the pressure and making his direct contact with her clitoris intermittent, he felt that he could keep her going from one orgasm to the next almost indefinitely, and she was probably on her fifth or sixth when the door opened to admit the woman who, he assumed, was the winner of the snogging competition. The unfortunate girl had to abandoned in an instant as he scrambled to his knees, deciding to stay on the bed rather than risk falling in his haste to get off it.

It must have been a very short meeting, or perhaps the woman had left it early. She was not the one that he had imagined, but the oldest of the party, looking to be in her mid-thirties. That probably meant she was between sixty or seventy. She was certainly buxom but also slightly overweight, which also suggested an age at or beyond his higher estimate. It was easy to lose weight, but although older women continued to look youthful, some felt that a certain portliness emphasised their seniority, experience and authority.

Having caught him giving the slavegirl cunnilingus she was smiling indulgently. "I'm glad you found a way to pass the time," she said. "We had to agree the menus. The main meals are coming in by shuttle, so we won't need kitchen staff. I gather your name's Tuma, and yours, if you're coherent enough to be listening to me, is Clita. Presumably your owner thinks you have torpedo tits. I imagine Tuma's on a hair trigger by now, so I'll blow him first, then you can eat me out, and then he should be ready to give me a good, long shag. Does that sound like a plan?"

The question was obviously rhetorical, but their "Yes, mistress," was automatic. As she had her dress over her head she probably didn't hear it, and as she wore no underwear she stood before them, a second or two later, in her birthday suit. She was verging on plump, as Tuma had previously thought, and her breasts were very large, with prominent nipples and rough, circular areolas. Her body was hairless- anything else was very unusual- and there were no visible piercings. Even free women occasionally sported nipple and/or clit rings, but they had come back into fashion only very recently.

It took her the rest of the evening to carry out her plan. It seemed very unselfish of her to fellate Tuma first, but it was, in a sense, preparing him to give of his best later. It was rather like growing potatoes in a freshly manured field, making it perfect for a crop of oats afterwards. As he had expected, her lips were ideally suited for giving blowjobs, and he managed, not so unselfishly, to enjoy them for longer than she had expected.

The woman's name was Janine, although Tuma didn't know that then. She swallowed his spunk and sucked out every last drop, making him think that her taste had been modified so that she craved its flavour. He had never before encountered that in a free woman, and could not possibly guess what her motives might have been. It helped to make it the best blowjob that Tuma could remember.

When she was sure that he was completely empty she used a padlock to hogtie him, so he lay helpless between the slavegirl's legs while Janine squatted over her face in the "reverse cowgirl" position. She had chosen to face that way, it seemed, so that while receiving cunnilingus she could lean forward and stimulate Clita's clitoris with her fingers. Both women enjoyed a long succession of orgasms, and Tuma could only wonder how Clita was keeping full control of her lips, tongue and jaw while she was fighting her chains through some Himalayan climaxes. It seemed that she never faltered, and he could only regret that he would probably never have another one-to-one session with her.

Janine seemed tireless, and eventually she stuffed a pillow under Clita's head to hold it against her crotch while she flopped down to the "69" position. Then he watched the two bodies heaving together for what seemed like an hour, but was probably nearer twenty minutes. He could see that their pace was slowing and their orgasms were gentler, and that they were both soaked in perspiration that was dripping from their bodies. Finally they stopped, and the mistress turned around and curled up against the slavegirl, head on her breasts, and they both went to sleep.

Their nap lasted for about an hour, and although Tuma may have dropped off for a few minutes now and again, there was really no rest to be had in so strict a hogtie. He was not unused to tight, long-term bondage, and indeed his "default" position was to have his wrists locked behind his back. He was used to being mounted on crosses and spread out on beds, or even harnessed to loads and made to crawl about the satellite. The hogtie was, however, rarely used by his users, being more commonly used for display bondage, or by hunters wanting to restrain their captures.

Tuma, like all slaves, had been rendered immune to cramp, but his joints and muscles ached as he struggled too keep them flexing and moving, pulling at the padlock with his arms and legs alternately. When the women woke up, Janine removed the hogtie lock immediately, and watched with amusement as he stretched repeatedly, pushing at Clita's legs to widen the boundary that they formed. She gave him four or five minutes, and then went with him to the

en suite

to use the toilet, and they both peed. He was used to being rinsed and dried by free women, and he felt no embarrassment.

Tuma was trying not to seem impatient, but he was eager now to have sex with Janine. He had to wait longer, however, for the time had come for a change of female slaves. It took about fifteen minutes to unchain Clita and lock her wrists behind her back, and then to half-carry her out of the suite to return a few minutes later with a darker, rounder and more buxom girl. She looked vaguely southern European, but full lips and very dark nipples, areolas and outer labia suggested at least one black ancestor. Her name, apparently, was Seva, which might have had something to do with Seville oranges.