Captives Of Alien Milkers Pt 05

They shoved me into another faceless room. As the door closed behind me, the first thing that hit me was the smell: harsh male musk, along with the unmistakable odor of semen. I'd smelled it before, but never this strongly, and as I tried to move, I had to peel my feet from something sticky on the floor. My stomach twisted into knots.

Unlike the brightly-lit cell that we'd occupied, this one was dim. As my eyes adjusted, I made out the shapes of numerous bodies on the floor, sprawled or curled up. They were all men, all naked, and all sported erections.

I backed up until my bare ass contacted the door. I'd never felt so vulnerable in my life. I'd nearly been raped once, in college, but I'd convinced him to stop before things went too far. I doubted I'd have that same luck now, with no clothes and no escape.

I covered my pubic area with one hand, and my nipples with my other arm. I found myself perversely hoping for the rush of forced arousal, for the drug that would make me want what I had no doubt was about to happen. I'd seen the result of visiting this room on Major Thrace and Captain Clark; if those two strong, confident women could be reduced to the numb, traumatized shells I'd seen, what chance did I have?

One of the human men stirred. With a groan of either pain or exhaustion, he got to his knees, his erection bobbing with every move. I assumed they'd been drugged as well, and wondered if it hurt to have that sort of irresistible hard-on?

He looked at me, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus. I was surprised to see, not blind animalistic desire, but agony and despair. He was about forty years old, broad-chested and narrow-hipped, and seemed to be in great physical shape. He reached down and shook the shoulder of the man sleeping face-down beside him.

This man was younger, about my age. He had longish hair, sweat-matted and tangled. His erection was larger than the older man's, and yet when they stood side by side, I saw a distinct resemblance.

The older man pushed the younger one toward me. "Please," he croaked, "let my son fuck you first. He didn't get a chance with the other two."

I tried to think of a response, but no words came.

"Please!" the man said desperately. Both he and his son looked tormented beyond belief. "Let him fuck you before the others wake up."

The boy-he was a boy, I realized, maybe even younger than me, the age of first-year cadets fresh out of high school-was trembling, and when I glanced down, I saw a drop of thick white liquid seeping from the tip of his penis. He was about to come just from looking at me. They were drugged, just like we had been, but it seemed to hurt them more than it did us, and he had a helpless look in his eye that I hadn't seen in my fellow female captives. I understood the physical differences between male and female sexuality, but it hadn't occurred to me that there would be such emotional differences.

"I'm not..." I started to say. I stopped when I realized I was actually hoping for the arousing gas.

The boy made a desperate keening sound, pitiful and horrifying at the same time, and lunged at me. He pushed my arm away and fastened his mouth on my left nipple, sucking hard and painfully. His father dropped to his knees and sucked my right one, both of them shouldering for position, their hands pawing at my ass and thighs. The sensation was overpowering and, I had to admit, arousing even without artificial help. After the relatively gentle feminine encounters with the Captain and the Major, this entirely masculine approach actually did, at some level, turn me on. That it also felt like the insistent tugging of the milking machines was not lost on me, either.

They pulled me down to the floor. Their unwashed naked bodies smelled of sweat and maleness. The father disengaged from my nipple and looked into my eyes. This close, I could see the stubble on his chin and the way he strained to stay composed enough to get out the words.

"Please," he whimpered, "let my son fuck you first. It's killing him."

As he spoke, his son ran his mouth down my belly and used his hands to push my legs apart. I twisted and fought, but the father grabbed my face and said, "He won't last long. None of us do. Just please...let him fuck you."

The son grabbed my ankles and pulled me away from the wall, fully onto my back. He crawled up my body, and I felt his erection pressing into the skin of my inner thigh as he sought my vulva. I began to fight in earnest, realizing in that moment that I was about to be raped.

The father grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the metal floor, stunning me. The son positioned his cock against me. I hoped I was wet enough to accept him, since there seemed to be no way to avoid it. Why had the G'Oran not drugged me? I would've been begging for this.

The father looked at me, tortured by his own agony. "My wife...daughter...both here somewhere. Carmen and Emily. Have you seen them?"

I raised my knees to ease the boy's passage inside me. He was still fumbling for position.

"No, I haven't-AHHHHHH!"

With one motion, he pushed into me. I'd never felt anyone so hard; his cock was like a metal vibrator, but hot instead of cool. Almost at once he ejaculated, with a rocketing intensity unlike anything I'd ever experienced. He let out a cry, so loud it made my ears ring, then collapsed on top of me. I lay there, stunned by what he'd done inside me and wondering if he might, in fact, be dead.

The father pushed him off me, though, and crawled into the same spot. He said, "I'm so sorry," and like his son, pushed into me and came after a mere three strokes. Also like his son, his ejaculation felt stronger and more voluminous that any man I'd ever been with. What had the G'oran done to them?

He lay down on me and began to cry. Over his shoulder, I saw the others stirring, men and Baylunians, all ages, all naked and rock-hard.

I wrapped my arms and legs around the man, even as his cock softened and slipped out of me. "Please," I whispered, "stay on top of me. Don't let them get me."

"I can't," he said into my shoulder. "I can't..."

He pushed himself up and off me. I was left on my back, my legs spread, the roomful of men all staring at my exposed vagina. I tried to scream, to protest, but the hoard of bobbing cocks, the human ones red and the Baylunians' purple, choked the sound in my throat. What had Major Thrace done when confronted with this? How had Captain Clark responded?

I scooted up against the wall and curled up, wrapping my arms around my tightly-clamped knees. I couldn't handle them all, I couldn't take them into me, not all of them...

And then my stomach flipped, my pussy flooded, and I realized that they'd gassed me again. I sobbed with relief, and started to turn toward the men, but it was too late. Like a pack of zombies in a horror movie, they were already on me.

I don't know how many men fucked me. I was passed between them like a doll, turned this way and that, pressed flat on my back or pulled up onto all fours. I had to work to protect my ass, because they were desperate, and clumsy, enough to try any hole.

The worst part was that they didn't last. Five strokes at the most and they came, shooting off like a water gun inside me. I wasn't sure how much come I could hold, and eventually it started seeping out around their cocks, mixing with my own juices.

I sucked them off, too, except I quickly realized I had to make them come outside my mouth, because their rocketing ejaculation was too much for me. My chin and neck were coated with their semen before long, and they showed no sign of slowing down. I could not imagine how much I actually swallowed, and remembered it drooling from Major Thrace's mouth.

Because each one was so brief, I couldn't get off myself. I tried to hustle them into me faster, to keep the momentum, but they were like blind, insistent animals, only capable of comprehending one thing: my pussy. When they came, they immediately softened and collapsed, then were pulled away by the next desperate male.

At last I felt one fall away, his hands sliding from my sweaty waist, and I realized no one scrambled to take his place. I looked back over my shoulder and saw that they were all sprawled on the floor unconscious. Many of them had erections again, but none of them were moving to fuck me.

I let myself collapse then, aching limbs relaxing for the first time in...how long? My loud gasps for air echoed off the walls, and some of the men began to snore. That made me laugh. I wiped the drying semen from my mouth and face, ignoring the way it coated my breasts and matted my hair. It was all I could smell, or taste.

And then without realizing it, I was stroking my clit, and finally getting the orgasm their constant switching had denied me. My pubic hair was coated with semen, and my inner thighs dripped with it. Then, like them, I passed out, or at least fell into a numb semi-consciousness.

I don't know when the G'Oran returned for me, but they did, yanking me to my feet and making me stumble along between two of them. They took me to a shower, and the tepid water snapped me away as it struck me with the force of a blow. There was no effort to be delicate about it, and they directed one nozzle between my legs, hammering my already-sore intimate parts until most of the residue was gone. They used no soap, and did not dry me. They simply finished and pulled me back into the metal hallway. I was so intimately sore that each step was agony, and my sobs echoed around me.

I sobbed the whole way back to my cell. When they tossed me inside, neither Captain Clark nor Major Thrace looked up. They were both asleep on the mattress pad, sprawled on their backs. I felt my heart catch a little when I saw they held hands, their fingers threaded delicately together.

I fell to all fours as the door closed behind me. With the last of my fading strength I crawled over to them, planning to curl up asleep on the floor beside them. But as I got closer, I froze.

Both women's nipples were erect and wet. Little trickles of liquid ran down from their aureolas as their breasts gently rose and fell. They were leaking milk, which meant their breasts must be full. As if to confirm this, Major Thrace moaned in her sleep, a sound of such quiet, eloquent agony that I no longer had any doubt.

I stared. Thrace's breasts were still small, but they were firmer than I remembered, more round. The Captain's full, heavy breasts, instead of standing up as they'd done before, now sagged slightly to either side of her torso. I looked down at my own breasts. They weren't leaking, but now that I was aware, I felt the strange sensation within them, the beginnings of lactation.

I lifted my breasts. They were tender and sore. I didn't think I had any tears left in me, but I began to cry again, soft and defeated. I was a cow for the G'Oran now.

I lay down on my back on the floor beside my fellow victims. In moments I, like them, was unconscious. But oddly, my last thoughts were of the mother and daughter mentioned by the agonized man who'd fucked me. Were they together in a room like this, naked and helpless? Had they been forced to make love to each other by the strange aphrodisiac drug the G'Oran used? Would mother and daughter eventually be fucked by father and son?

And what would become of them, and us, once we began to produce milk in earnest?

TO BE CONTINUED