Angela wakes from cryosleep to find herself imprisoned on Chime Station: a space station notorious for harboring a male supremacist secret society, where it's rumored that women are kept as sex slaves. After being implanted with a neuro-chip that controls her orgasms, she's shipped off to a training facility, where she'll learn first-hand what happens to the women of Chime Station. 20k words, erotic horror content rating - please read all warnings with caution and do not expect a happy ending.
This story will be released in four parts; all tags and warnings apply to all parts.
Content warnings/tags: noncon; sexual slavery; medical play (including needles); brainwashing/ego death; torture; chemical play; pain play; torture; extreme misogyny and misogynist language, including slut-shaming; degradation; claustrophobia; careless use; public use; betrayal by a spouse; mentions of nonconsensual impregnation; forced exhibitionism; forced voyeurism
Angela wakes slowly, disoriented.
She's on a hard surface, not her bed, and the lights are too bright...is she in a medical facility?
She casts her mind back in a foggy panic. The last thing she remembers is traveling with her husband, Ben. They were going to...Sector Felix? Ben had said something about having a lead on a new story, one that would benefit from their investigation as husband-and-wife freelance reporters.
She had loaded into cryosleep on their ship, and he was going to follow her. And after that...nothing.
"I think she's waking up," a familiar voice says from somewhere in the room.
Ben. Angela feels a wash of relief to know that he's alright, followed by a spike of anxiety when she tries to turn towards him but can't--she's strapped down?
"Ben?" she tries to say, but it comes out as a muffled noise. There's something in her mouth, preventing her from speaking. She pulls harder against the straps, struggling, but she can't move an inch.
"Don't worry," another voice says. A man--a stranger. "She's not going anywhere."
"I thought she would be sedated for the entire procedure," says Ben.
Procedure? What procedure?!
Angela tries to express her confusion with a panicked noise that's muffled by the gag. She blinks hard, trying to bully her eyes into focusing; Ben and the stranger are two dark silhouettes against the bright medical lights and stark white walls of the room.
"No, no," the other man says. "We find they adjust more easily if they're awake. Also, sedation can interfere with the neuro-calibration."
"Ahh." Ben sounds slightly nervous. "So...she can hear us...?"
"Oh, yes." The stranger laughs. "You didn't tell her you were bringing her to Chime Station, did you?"
Something in Angela goes cold before she can even consciously remember why.
Chime Station. That's an unincorporated station, outside of the jurisdiction of any sector laws. It's the station that was founded by an extremist male supremacy group.
Nobody really knows exactly what happens there, but there are rumors. Some leaked videos, awful footage of women led around nude on leashes, kneeling at men's feet like pets--all forced into a state of absurdly visible arousal.
Most people have dismissed the footage as a hoax, or as displaying some kind of advanced sex-bot manufactured exclusively on the station. Others have theorized that they're sub-human-intelligence clones--illegal in any civilized sector, but not human, not really.
Of course, nobody has seriously considered the option that they might be real women, because that would require that nearby sectors take action to intervene. Even being outside of jurisdiction wouldn't excuse Chime Station from practicing slavery. So, officially, it's not considered an option.
But they can't be on Chime Station. Ben would never...
This must be some kind of terrible joke.
Angela tries to say something, tries to beg Ben to be serious, but the gag muffles her words again. She squeezes her eyes shut and starts taking quick, panicked breaths through her nose.
"She's going to hyperventilate," Ben says. The other man clucks.
"She'll settle right down in a minute, it's just a little tantrum. They always get this way when they understand what's happening."
Angela tries to scream a denial into her gag, then cuts off the sound with an abrupt yelp when an unfamiliar hand pats her much too familiarly on the inside of her thigh. She realizes very suddenly that she's entirely naked aside from the restraint straps.
She erupts into another fit of frantic struggling that gets her absolutely nowhere.
"She does seem very upset. You're sure she shouldn't be sedated?" Ben asks.
"No, no, she'll wear herself out. But it is a more difficult adjustment, you know, when you bring in one this old. She's been spoiled too long by the outside world," the stranger says. "If it's upsetting for you, you can still consider doing a swap. We have plenty of station-born, fully-trained girls available. My Mindy was one of the first batch, and she's an absolute dream--no complaining, no whining. She understands her place completely."
"What would happen to Angela if I did a swap?"
"At her age?" The man is still rubbing Angela's thigh, and she can't pull away. With the gag in her mouth, she can't even tell him to fuck off. "She'll go into the stables. Either sterilized for the free use pleasure stable, or sent to the reproduction stable--broodmares, you know--for men who want to seed a womb but don't want to take care of one. It would depend on the strength of her genes."
"Her genes are excellent," Ben says, sounding a little offended.
Angela's vision is beginning to clear now, and she can see that he looks taken aback, too.
The stranger standing beside Ben is dressed in a doctor's coat. He's wearing gloves, too, but the way he's touching her thigh does not at all feel like a doctor respectfully touching a patient. It's halfway between a vet patting a dog and something more licentious.
The doctor smiles at Ben in a pacifying way. "Yes, of course. I'm sure they are. But consider the benefits of a fresh one, with her genes fully encoded--you would know exactly what you're breeding out of her, and she wouldn't give you any trouble at all. Here, let me show you Mindy." He steps away, finally taking his hand off of Angela's thigh, and pokes his head out of the room. "Mindy!"
A minute later, a woman walks in. She's not much younger than Angela. Horrifyingly, she's fully nude except for a collar around her neck and a couple of decorative piercings--two in her nipples and one ringing her absurdly, visibly erect clit. Her hair is styled in long curls, but she's not wearing makeup or nail polish; there is a redness to her lips, but it appears natural, as if she's been biting them frequently.
"Here she is," the doctor says, putting an arm around her and steering her into the room. The woman leans into him and gazes up at him, her expression strangely blank like she's been drugged. He puts his other hand on her thigh, very much like how he'd touched Angela, and Mindy immediately gasps and spreads her legs, showing the dampness collecting between them. "You see how sweet she is."
"And you keep her...restricted?" Ben asks.
"Oh, yes, of course. That's really the only way to do it. Even the professional training will be spoiled if you let them come too often."
His fingers slip up against Mindy's crotch, sliding over her plump labia, and the woman mewls like an animal, her eyes rolling back in her head and all of her muscles cording up. She looks seconds away from a massive, pornographic orgasm.
Angela finds herself flushing with sympathetic embarrassment, even though she knows she's just as exposed, strapped naked to the table. At least she's not about to come in a room full of relative strangers, like this poor woman.
But the doctor keeps on massaging, and Mindy doesn't come.
She just goes on gasping out needy little noises, her mouth hanging open, her body shaking with the tension. Eventually, her stomach spasms and she squirts, a wet spray of fluid splashing her thighs and the doctor's hand--but the desperate tension never leaves her body, there's no orgasmic trembling or sounds of relief.
The doctor chuckles. "Oh, Mindy, now you're making a mess."
"Did she come?" Ben asks, sounding confused.
The doctor shakes his head, wiping his hand off on his coat. "No, no. Mindy often squirts without orgasm--most of the trained women will. It's just a matter of build-up of pressure."
"How often do you let her...?"
"Come? Twice," the doctor says, steering Mindy to the corner of the room and pushing her down.
Mindy kneels obediently, keeping her legs spread wide like she's hoping to be touched some more, her expression still doped-out. Maybe not with drugs at all, Angela is realizing with growing horror; is it the effect of some sort of brainwashing, or maybe an illegal neuro-implant?
"Twice a year? That seems--"
"Oh, no, not twice a year," the doctor interrupts Ben. "I've allowed her to orgasm twice. Once after she gave birth to my son, as a reward. And once a few years ago, for my own amusement--I wanted to see if the order would register while she was asleep." He chuckles. "Well, it certainly woke her up, I'll tell you that much."
"Oh," Ben says, eyes going wide with understanding. "And...she really doesn't complain?"
"She knows better. She knows her place," the doctor says easily. "There's really nothing that matches a well-trained, station-bred girl. I'm telling you, if you trade in, you won't regret it."
"Well..." Ben looks briefly like he's considering it.
Angela screams into her gag, outraged. He doesn't even look in her direction.
