Captives of Alien Milers

I woke up still on my belly, my right hand clamped between my thighs. When I tried to pull it away, I found that it was stuck to my pubic hair by my own dried juices. I moaned as the tender skin ached when I pulled my fingers free.

I rolled onto my back and draped an arm over my eyes. I was too tired to be scared. The room smelled of sweat and female juices. God, I wanted a shower.

Then I remembered my Captain and Major Thrace.

They, too, were asleep, or passed out. They sprawled nearby on their bellies, arms flung wide. Their legs were scissored together, with their asses snugged tight against each other, feet almost in each other's face. I stared at them, trying to envision what had happened. How had I not noticed that? How had I not heard them fucking each other? Had I passed out so quickly?

The Captain's face was turned toward me, her hand resting lightly on Thrace's ankle. Her features were slack, her mouth open, a pool of saliva on the floor. I thought for a moment she might be dead, but her back rose and fell with her breathing.

Her ass was so much bigger, and softer, than Thrace's rock-hard one. Thorne, too, was pale and pasty-looking in the harsh light, a harsh contrast to Clark's olive skin. Thrace's face was turned away from me, but her array of tattoos across her muscular body gleamed vivid on her still-sweaty skin.

I felt a sudden, shuddering sense of my own nakedness as I looked at them. None of us deserved to be humiliated like this, stripped and put on display, our bodies exposed and our basest instincts artificially encouraged. Yet our captors saw us only as animals, useful simply for the fluid our body produced: much as ancient humanity considered their cows.

I wondered suddenly just how they got milk from human women. It must involve some sort of pump, similar to what naturally lactating women used to store milk for their children. Or would it be closer to what was used on old-time farms, cold metal tubes that attached to our nipples and produced irresistible suction so that it pulled the milk from us forcefully?

What would that feel like? Would it hurt? Would we scream in agony? Captain Clark had read files about this, and seemed to know a great deal more than we did. Did I dare ask her when she woke up?

As if on cue, Clark moaned and slowly flexed her fingers around Thrace's ankle. I backed away. I wasn't sure about Thrace, but I couldn't imagine that Captain Clark wanted her yeoman to see her in this condition. Carefully, as quietly as possible, I lay back down on the mattress and pretended sleep, watching the other two women through my eyelashes.

Thrace sat up suddenly, twisting her upper body to look back at Captain Clark. Clark moved more slowly, disentangling her legs from the Major's before they both turned and looked at each other.

They said nothing. But something passed between them that I couldn't identify, and when they got to their feet, they briefly touched fingers, like they each wanted to hold hands but knew better.

I pretended to wake up as well. Captain Clark said, "Are you all right, Yeoman?"

"I'm sore," I said honestly as I got to my feet. My legs were wobbly and I had to use the wall for support.

"I know how you feel," Captain Clark said. "It was more difficult to resist than I expected. When we get back, I'll have to add that to the official files on this."

"What happens to us next?" I asked.

Before she could answer, the door opened, and I got my first look at G'Oran.

They were insectoid, with three-part bodies and heads with multiple eyes. They stood on their second and third pairs of legs, while their first pair ended in grasping digits halfway between hands and claws. They wore fabric outfits of various colors, which I supposed marked rank or status. Their chittering voices, made by the clicking of mouth parts, had never been translated. They also smelled, a sharp acidic odor that made my eyes water.

We were marched down a cold corridor. Captain Clark strode as purposefully as she did on her own ship, chin high, shoulders back. If she was self-conscious about her breasts bouncing with every step, she gave no sign. Major Thrace was tense, every muscle taut against her pale skin, ready to take any opportunity to escape or attack. Her bust was smaller, firmer, and did not visibly jiggle. I forced my hands to stay at my side, balling my fists against the urge to cover myself. Of course our nakedness didn't matter to the G'Oran.

We entered a room with a row of simple metal benches against one wall, and the G'Oran gestured for us to sit. Captain Clark did so, feet flat on the floor, back straight. Almost at once, manacles appeared and clamped on her wrists, and a strap slid around her waist.

She said, "Don't be afraid. This is part of their training for us. They want our bodies to get used to this procedure, so that in the future, our milk will let down when they bring us in here."

The alien nudged Thrace. She snapped around, one hand raised to deliver a blow, but caught herself. Trembling with suppressed fury, she took a seat beside Clark. An identical strap slid around her waist, and manacles also secured her wrists.

Now it was my turn. The bench was cold against my bare ass, as was the wall against my back. I tried not to pull away as the manacles and strap secured me in position. I glanced at Clark, who still sat immobile and rigid, her breasts thrust out by her posture. The cold made all our nipples stand out.

Then I felt something beneath me.

With no warning, something rounded and phallic-shaped rose and tried to penetrate me. I squealed and tried to shift, to allow it to come up between my thighs, but the strap held me in place. It poked at me slowly, giving my body time to respond, before it parted my labia and began to enter me.

I looked over at the others; clearly they were experiencing the same thing. Thrace bucked against her bonds, shouting, "No! Stop it!" Captain Clark let out a sharp gasp but otherwise kept still and silent.

The device moved up into me with slow deliberation, as if careful not to injure me, but the sense of violation was every bit as awful. It was warm, and slippery, so the sensation was not painful, but I was being raped by the G'Oran yet again, and it was hard to ignore. I began to sob.

"Ensign," Captain Clark said calmly. Her face was tight with effort, and despite the chill she was sweating. "Be still, and d-don't fight it. We're valuable to them. They w-won't hurt us."

Her trembling voice scared me more than anything.

Thrace sat fully upright, muscles taut against the manacles, teeth gritted. "Too far," she whispered. "It's too far...can't bear it..."

It certainly was far up inside me, dangerously near my cervix. I felt impaled, as if it might come up my throat if it went any further. My breath came in shallow little gasps, and I struggled not to give into the panic. I sat there helpless, naked, violated, with my breasts defenseless to whatever these aliens wanted to do to them.

Captain Clark, like Thrace and I, sat upright, back arched against the device violating her. Her voice trembled a little when she said, "This is j-just a dry run. All w-we have to do is enduh...endure it."

"Bastards," Thrace said through gritted teeth. She strained against the manacles on our wrists, and the muscles in her arms swelled with the futile effort.

Jointed, tubular devices descended from the ceiling and unfolded like mechanical insects. Two open-ended tubes leveled themselves at each of us, right at nipple level. I looked down to see the red light of some sort of targeting system playing across my breasts. The tubes slid slowly forward, and despite the way my panicked breathing made my chest heave, they unerringly snugged themselves against me. A gentle suction held them in place. Through their clear plastic, I saw my nipples.

Captain Clark was likewise positioned, the tubes attached. She flushed red across her neck and shoulders as she tried to find some sort of comfortable position.

Thrace, though, was not ready to give up. She fought as hard as she could, twisting her torso to keep the cups from locking onto her breasts. But the bonds that held us, and the devices deep inside us, severely limited her movements, and the cups edged closed, their red lights playing across her skin.

"No, you motherfuckers!" Thrace yelled furiously. "I'm not your fucking cow! No!"

"Major, calm down," Clark said. "You're just going to hurt yourself."

Thrace glared at her, but did as she was told, and the cups attached themselves to her breasts. She was breathing heavily, brow knitted with rage, when the vibrators inside us came to life.

We all cried out. There was no way not to. The metallic protrusion inside me rippled and buzzed, not painfully but certainly overwhelming. I squirmed in place, unable to really move and respond to it.

Then the suction cups began to pull on me. I winced as the edges of the cups dug into my skin, and when I looked down, I saw my breasts being pulled into the cups, my nipples distorting as they extended. The cups covered my entire aureolas, and the tension grew in slow increments.

Captain Clark sat perfectly still, eyes closed, but I could see the flesh of her breasts and ass trembling, and her toes flexed and curled. Thrace's whole body was tense, every muscle straining, as her own small breasts were tugged into the cups.

I let out a soft gasp. I couldn't help it. As horny as I'd been earlier, as many times as I'd come by my own hand, this machine was making me even more aroused. Later I'd learn that it was studded with sensors that measured every response and calibrated itself to them; in a short time, it learned exactly how to make you have an orgasm whether you wanted it or not. But on that first occasion, I wriggled my bare ass on the bench and tried not to react to it.

The suction cups attached to my breasts began to tug even harder as well. It wasn't painful, and with the vibrator doing its obscene work it was actually, awfully, rather pleasant, at least physically. But the pull grew stronger with each passing moment, and it was bound to start hurting soon.

Captain Clark cried out softly, a lone gasp of, "Oh." It was a sound of such eloquent agony that I felt my own cunt start to tingle and twitch in response. I looked at her: eyes closed, face tight, lips parted slightly. Her whole body gleamed with sweat, and her breasts rose and fell, making the cups and hoses attached to them sway. Past her, I saw Major Thrace with her teeth gritted, an expression of agony more than arousal. I wondered if she was in actual pain, or if the experience was just so awful that she was fighting it with all her strength.

Then, with very little warning, I came.

It was a small orgasm, nothing like the ones I'd brought myself to back in the cell. I let out a little sob, and my whole body shuddered. I looked down at my breasts again, and wished my hands were free to fondle them.

"Oh, God," Captain Clark whimpered. Major Thrace let out a raw, angry moan. I realized then that they, too, had come at exactly the same moment. Perversely, I wished I'd been watching; I wanted to see their orgasm faces, and have them see mine. Little did I know how familiar we'd become with those.

Then the suction cups suddenly shut down, dropped from our breasts and retracted. The manacles around our wrists withdrew. And the vibrators slid out of us, back into the bench. We all moaned at the sudden cessation, and I cupped my breasts gingerly. My nipples were engorged and red, and the cup had left a three-inch mark around my aureolas.

I looked over at the others. Clark, like me, cupped her breasts. Thrace turned away from us, hands balled into fists.

I met the Captain's eyes. She said, her voice shaky, "Th-this was just a c-conditioning session. They'll take us back to the cell now..."

And she was right. The G'Oran had to help us to our feet, since our legs were weak. We were marched down the same hall and placed back in the same cell, with one crucial difference: Major Thrace was not with us when the door closed.

"Wait!" Captain Clark cried, but it was too late. She and I were alone in the room.

To be continued...