Slave Immigrant

Edited by Nightbird

Okay let's recap; in part one I told you how my dead brain was kidnapped and I was offered the chance to live again as a Bonded Immigrant on a star system one hundred and twenty-seven light years away. And I wasn't the only person who was taken this way, seems the Company; a conglomerate of several corporations has taken over a thousand humans from Planet Earth. For the post part they refer to us as "Protected Planet Earth" as if that is much of a description, but there are many other planets named after the surface covering.

They took a sample of my DNA and filtered it so that I would not come down with any hereditary diseases to live longer. The cloned body was also given some body modifications, sculpting, and mind language training so that we could quickly fit into their society as low level workers. The only choices I had were unskilled Labourer or Prostitute. And since

they

knew I frequented sexual submission websites and chat-rooms, well it was enough for their "Human Recourses" Department to match my job profile. I was a Class Ten Prostitute, a lowly sex slave there to be spanked, tormented, and endure whatever humiliations to be unloaded on me. Worse still when I was raped by an Android they knew I was ready to go to work for the lowest paid visitors to the Corporation's Anything Goes Zone, Heredshe spacewomen.

The Heredshe are a planet where, well the humanoid women are the dominate species. It is possible for other humanoid men and women to have sex with them, but it is a different experience. At any rate I soon learned that the starport's medical facility I was kept at was also the holding area for thirty other Bonded Immigrants from the Protected Planet Earth. The lot of us were kept for ten days while we were being "checked-out" for medical problems. Surprisingly the whole lot of us were to be transferred on the same day to the Boom-Boom Room. A quaint entertainment facility; that was on the outer border of Central City's space-port and gateway to the Freedom Quadrant of the City.

The Boom-Boom Room was originally a bar with half a dozen back rooms where prostitutes had eager patrons ready for a quick fuck. That was over a hundred years ago, now the place was a multi-level complex about the size of an average five star hotel. It reminded me of the Watergate Hotel for some unknown reason.

So while we all come from a planet called Earth, we then became sex slaves on the planet Free Skies. Capital City, Central City, population forty million, talk about interesting names. Free Skies is a member planet of the Coalition, which is made up of about a dozen inhabited solar systems. Transporting of bonded sex slaves was like something out of an Anne Rice novel; we were hung up on hover-racks to be taken in one long chain for a five block move to the Boom-Boom Room.

My only belonging was my lap-top which was clamped to one side of the rack while my wrist and ankles were pulled apart suspending me on a flying X. At least I wasn't hanging upside down. The only nice thing was that I and everyone else was wearing the flimsy cloth bikini bottom held by strings. Six men and twenty one women, and from what I could see, we were all from Earth.

"Hey," said a blond woman on the next cart, "I'm from Detroit."

"I'm from Chicago," said a guy a little ways over.

"Seattle."

"London, England," called another from the back.

"I'm from Edmonton, Alberta," I called. "That's in Canada."

"Well we ain't stupid," another voice called back.

"By Koon's Flaming haemorrhoids," bellowed an authoritative voice. A firm hand smacked me on the bottom and I saw our lead wrangler looked very concerned. "You people are all Bonded Sex Slaves, you should be ashamed of yourselves, now shut up while we move you to your new home."

"Well some of us are excited and want to be here," a defiant voice called back.

This made the overseerer even more upset as a few others agreed and began talking to their neighbours as if being carried off in public was an everyday thing. I kept my mouth shut, I was at the head of the line and the guy was standing right behind me. This guy looked like the classic overseerer, six foot two, thirty pounds overweight, wore some sort of a uniform, including a well worn leather bomber jacket. He even had a pistol of some sort on his hip, which was on a utility belt which held several pouches. He was talking into his cell phone because this was a little beyond him.

I later learned that the Company usually might have about as many as six bonded sex slaves transferred from other cities or in-system. To most locals of Free Skies being so dead flat broke that you have to prostitute yourself to this level was utter shame. I guess coming from sexually repressed Earth the idea of being a 24/7 sex slave openly is rather exciting. Some folks would even pay for that to happen.

"Alright take off your belts and give them all twenty," the Overseerer called as the frames suddenly bent over and us too presenting our asses in the air. "Take their panties off too," he ordered as he pulled mine off. "We'll take them over naked."

"All of them," asked one of the guards who struggled with his pant's belt.

"Hey you need a hand," asked a group of Space Marines who were passing by carrying their duffel bags. "You got lots of ass there to handle."

"You won't have to even pay me for helping," said another who openly groped Seattle's behind. "Just let me stuff my gun into this pretty one right here, right now."

"What are you doing Lance Corporal," bellowed an even louder voice.

"Helping the civilian handle these bonded sex slaves, SIR!"

"You're disgracing the Uniform."

"I'll gladly take it off sir."

"You'll do no such thing Lance Corporal. Now pick up your things and move along with your mates. You don't want me to report you after such a long voyage do you?"

"No sir," I couldn't see him move away. "And thank you sir," he called back.

"You there," the Officer called.

"Yes sir," said the Overseerer. A belt smacked me smartly across the bottom, "eyes straight ahead."

"Do you have a permit to," he paused for a moment, "do whatever this is."

"Yes sir, here's my permit. This is the accepted method of transporting Bonded Sex Slaves, Class 10. Very un-rudely lot sir. And these Earthmen, well they just need the discipline. I have a robot runner bringing some extra discipline equipment, gags and butt-plugs all round."

"Why so many."

"The Unofficial Earth Contact Law sir. For a year we've been allowed to make contact with Earth and have immigrants. Except nobody but the Company found a way to get them over. These people actually want to be here."

"Darn right," said somebody further down, who obviously hasn't been paddled yet.

"And you got all of them here," asked the Officer.

"Well the Company has thirty for Central City sir. Each major city got about thirty, another twenty or so for the orbital cities. Actually about thirty-five hundred in this first lot."

"First lot," the officer said after a long pause.

"Look sir," said the Overseerer, "all I was told for the next year every three months we can expect three to four thousand. It's no big secret."

"I'll have a platoon of Space Port Police here to escort your party. I'll post an official memo, either one handler per slave, or request an escort for this large amount."

With the help of the police the lot of us were paddled, gagged, and a rather uncomfortable plug went up our rectums. I guess one slave might not cause too much attention, but it was like a circus parade as we were moved through the foot-paths of the spaceport. What I didn't know was that we were in the "X-Rated" section of the Spaceport. Three quarters of the spaceport was no different than say an airport. Regular airports had families with their children. The X-Rated section did not. A practicing nudist could strip down to their boots and walk to the Free Section of the city. The Free Section of the City was that secluded part of the city where people could practice complete sexual freedom. It was strictly adults only, and parents with children were not even allowed in there. Mom and Dad were devoted to each other, or at least till the youngest kid turned twenty-five.

We were taken to a complex called the Boom-Boom Room. The main feature of the building was a large light statue of a set of hands playing boom-boom on an equally large bottom over the main doors. One at a time we were taken off our platforms and lead past the leers and gropes of the patrons to a spanking post where a good paddling was delivered. It was such a blurry nightmare of faces, laughter, and loud blaring music that it didn't take much to have me crying. A more life-like android then carried me to my room.

So there I was, dumped into what was my home till I either earned my way out or was promoted to a better class of brothel. For the most part I had no idea what the time was, but law is law and the robots kept track of my time card. My room has an android that makes me move. So here's how my so-called day went.

Morning: after about eight hours sleep, usually alone I get a smack on the butt and a glass of some fruity tasting power drink.

Just when you are almost awake, you have to take a morning bathroom break and then calisthenics. There is one of those bow-flex, treadmill, power-lift things that folds out of the wall while the android makes sure you work your entire body. I mean no wonder everybody I see is so buff, they don't need motivation, but well us Lazy Earth Types do. I also was required to use this time to clean the room. Mandy the Room Android made sure I did that. It was for the most part a bachelor apartment. It had a good functioning kitchenette in the back complete with a TV where I got instructions on how to cook. Large living room with a sofa that folded out into a bed. A rather large ottoman who's legs could extend into a proper spanking horse complete with tie-downs. A monster of an entertainment centre with theatre chairs to watch various movies. My few windows overlooked the Live-Sex Complex next door. Yea, I was definitely in a cheap room.

Step into the dark room and get fully cleaned. Those dark bathrooms make you feel so clean, and even give you a medical. The only part of my body it doesn't clean, is my groin. Yes I'm expected every few days sit on a stool in front of a camera and shave my groin. It's humiliating, just knowing somebody is in a bar, or hotel room somewhere checking me out and having dirty thoughts.

Breakfast is weird in the Boom-Boom Room. Sometimes somebody will come into my room and expect me to cook breakfast for two at the kitchenette. Other times somebody will come in and I'll have a platter of food on me, or food on them and, well, I'm hungry. If I don't like the melted chocolate energy food out of the crack of that person's ass I will go hungry. Finally yes, at times I or somebody else will have a special enema that is a meal in itself. Maybe the clients get it with a non-evasive unit, because to me it's like having a very large prick up your ass leaving a very large crap inside you. And of course ninety percent of the time, my ass gets a darn good beating.

Late morning or lunch time the Android puts a medicated pad on my ass. The pad is to promote healing, it will not dull the pain. This is the regulated part of my day where I actually have free time to improve myself. I have a nice lunch that comes through the dumb-waiter on the kitchenette part of my room and I lay on my side on the sofa and watch the news. I'll get into what the local television is like, I am required to take citizenship tests, if I ever want a free day off to get outside the Boom-Boom Room. That's where my lap-top comes in. I can link in with the Boom-Boom Room's entertainment centre, but what was loaded into my lap-top was a very good start. Also my room's android makes sure I spend over half my time off learning.

Mid-afternoon, client again. I swear to god these Heredshe spacewomen have to be lined up around the block or something. The later part of the day could either be one long session, or two regular sessions with a short break in between while I get cleaned up in the dark room and medication.

So that's pretty well my day. I get seriously paddled at least three times a day with very little time off in between clients. I mean men from Heredshe must either have a permanent case of the red ass, or these women just don't care their too horny to wait.

The fact I was given free access to the Media fascinated me. There were three levels of cable, not including the internet that came in. First level was the Boom-Boom Room's entertainment channels. (As if the Heredshe spacewomen needed any suggestions on what to do with us Class 10 Sex Slaves.) But the next level was more interesting the Free Section, or Adult Only channels. This was even better than watching the Naked News on Earth. I didn't even know the Coalition was at war. Starships moved in slow moving convoys because the trade routes were subject to terrorism of some sort. Some other Empire found themselves in a horribly one sided war against us, and loosing badly. The Governor's are not going to let politics muddle things. That Empire is going to be absorbed into the Coalition and who knows, they'll have versions of the Boom-Boom Room on their space ports too.

Finally there is the Regular Entertainment Channels, which is very much G-rated stuff. There is about ten times more channels and what variety. I guess people may want to live a few years of their lives in the Free-Zone, but their heart is in the more wholesome part of the planet. I even found a few religious channels that refer to the Free-Zone as to "Dance with the Devil," and they just may be right. But I rarely get a chance to watch say a three hour big budget movie, Mandy the Room Android turns off the TV and tells me to get into the bathroom.

Bathing in the bathroom is about the first level of submission. Gentle hands lift me up, bathe me, apply depilatories to keep my body hairless, and I feel a penis shaped plug go up against my ass. I try to not let it in, but a few slaps on the butt forces me into that space of mind and it goes into me. For the most part it feels like a simple water enema, warm and clean. After I expel it all I am blown dry with a careful mixture of powder that Heredshe spacewomen find attractive. I then step out of the closet to find whatever costume my client wants. Normally it's the same thing, Heredshe men's wear.

Heredshe male underwear is a complicated thong to which Mandy helps me into cause it requires the ribbons to be tied in an elaborate pattern on the upper part of my ass that the women just love to unwrap. Next comes a garter belt with seamed stocking, and it doesn't matter how much I work at it, the seams never seem straight to my pretend wife. Next came a sheer form fitting shirt which locks to the garter belt. Skirts are usually silk, sometimes cotton, and go from very very short, to dragging on the floor. The long ones come with a quick snap so that the back can be lifted showing off my ass.

My hair is kept respectably short, but sometimes Mandy puts a wig on me. Various layers of make-up, jewellery, and maybe a jacket depending on what the client wants, (no extra charge). Then the really uncomfortable bit, high heels. Occasionally I'm given time to practice walking with them on, tripping and falling brings a variety of responses which just embarrass me. Eventually I learn how to walk with them on, and kept them on for extended periods of time.

Once fully dressed I would nervously pace while Mandy moved to her alcove. On the kitchenette table was where she would leave final instructions. Heredshe men normally wore an ownership collar which fitted over my own metal collar. Under it was written instructions.

Mister Jones, your client's name is Peerless Martel, Purser 2

nd

Class of the Heredshe freight ship Victoria Starbuck. The fridge is stocked with her favourite brand of beer. She likes home cooked meals and timid men who need a little discipline. She shares a husband with three others on her home base and is a little nervous. She's at the bar having a little liquid courage. So relax, get yourself a snack and go watch some TV.

I never knew whether to believe these notes or not. I looked in the fridge and found a plate of chocolates and a coke. I guess Heredshe men liked chocolate, and the coke was the original Earth recipe and even had the registered trade-mark. It seemed a good number of Earth products have found their way into space and rather than let knock-off companies make profit holding companies ran in the name Earth companies who haven't a clue how much money they have off planet. So I relaxed and started watching the movie I was interested in earlier.

"LOVER I'M HOME," bellowed the feminine voice of what had to be my client. "Where da hell's my beer?" There she stood in the doorway, six foot five, built like a blocker, still wearing an all weather trench coat, Space Navy Merchant Marine cap jauntily cocked to one side, and a duffel bag over her shoulder. She terrified me, she looked like she was going to move in for gawd knows how long. I guess my startled expression amused her. "Well what are you sitting there for," she ordered, "get me a beer, RIGHT NOW!"

I left my stuff on the side table of the theatre chair and ran to the kitchenette. Meanwhile Purser 2

nd

Class Peerless Martel tossed her duffel bag to Mandy the Android and ordered it to clean the contents and get the smell of disinfectant out of them. I stifled a curse as I ran back with a bottle of beer. (Surprise, it seems long neck bottles are in style, but this one was very penis shaped.)

"What's a matter," she laughed at me, "can't walk in proper shoes?" I didn't know what to do, so I looked at the floor and noticed I was getting aroused under my mini-skirt. "Well," she continued with a chuckle, "help me out of these stinking clothes so that Mandy here can clean em."

By the time Purser 2

nd

Class Peerless Martel was undressed to her body undershirt and boxers I suddenly realized she looked more like a member of the Russian Female Shot-put Team without even shaving off her body hair. Not that it was the very thick kind of body hair you find on a man, but just enough to make me uncomfortable. I had just finished taking off her socks and noticed I was face-to-crotch with her. Meanwhile she had already taken off her undershirt and her taunt 44 C-cups looked down at me.

"Well; take them off," she told me.

After pulling off her boxers I was surprised to see that her pubis was, well, rather natural. I was told and saw diagrams that tentacles come out of a Heredshe's vagina to impregnate a man. More than that she obviously trimmed the hair down there, which in a Dom sort of way was, exciting. I gave a long sigh, breathing on her just to see a re-action.

"Well get to work," she told me as she sucked on her beer bottle. "You can clean the disinfectant out of there."

I started licking her pussy hair and did notice the taste of soap on her. I mashed my face against her vagina, she didn't need to push me, I may be a Level 10 Sex Slave, but I wanted to do better. Her knees buckled as she moaned and got into the mood. I stroked my tongue deeper into her and mingled in with the soap was a somewhat acidic taste. My hands clutched and stroked her ass. I then ran a finger down the crack of her ass.

"What da fuck," she cursed. She pulled my head back by the hair with one hand and smacked me across the face. "You don't touch a woman's asshole, EVER." She pushed me towards the ottoman which had already raised itself into a spanking post. "You bend over that post and think about the punishment I'm going to give you. Fucking Earthman, they said you were better than Free Sky Men."