tagSci-Fi & FantasyI Was An Amazon Sex Slave!

I Was An Amazon Sex Slave!

byPussyrider©

As she stood astride my prostrate body I didn't really notice her face. My entire concentration at that moment was focussed on the tip of the hand blaster she held at arms length, pointing directly at my nose from a distance of less than half a meter. "Okay pretty boy, get your pants off."

I was too stunned to move for a moment. Surely I couldn't have heard her right? The Amazons had just raided our station, the Pacifiers were sure to arrive at any moment – and she wanted me to strip? It's amazing the fine detail you notice when you're absolutely terrified: I actually saw the tip of her finger whiten as it tightened on the kill button of the blaster. She said, very quietly and menacingly, "I mean now, cocksucker."

I don't think I had ever moved so fast as I did at that moment. Lifting my torso, bearing my weight on my shoulder blades and the soles of my feet, I tore at the belt of my uniform pants and thrust them down my legs, together with my undershorts. Her dark eyes left mine for a moment and flickered to my groin. She didn't look impressed. Well, you try getting sexually aroused when one of the most notorious terrorists in the Sol System is threatening to turn your head into a fine spray spattered across every surface in the room!

This wasn't what I signed up for when I accepted a contract as a systems controller for the Northern Confed's Outreach Program. After three sols' dedicated study at Mare Criseum Academy, then a further two sols pretty much running the university's research program, I could have picked any job I wanted in the sentient technology field. I know for a fact that if I'd defected to Farside, to the huge Indochin station there, I could have earned enough creds to set up on my own in five sols. I even cast nostalgic eyes towards Terra. Like most of us Lunartics, born and bred on the planet's sole satellite, I felt a natural pull towards the crumbling sphere the nostalgics still refer to as Planet Earth. But also like a true Lunartic, I believed that the huge financial rewards such a move offered, together with the unique opportunity to experience natural air, simply didn't compensate for the discreds we'd all heard about: the Sun cancers; the landsink; the nuclear deserts; the 8 million deaths in the North American famine...even in stable regions life expectancy was reckoned to be no more than maybe 93 years (to use the archaic Terran term for sols).

I could have joined one of the glocos. Apple-Virgin had just finished terraforming Enceladus, and I could have stared out of my office window at beautiful Saturn as I made my fortune and my new home world circled the planet every 1.5 T-days. Instead I decided to do the patriotic thing and go into Gov-serv. Okay, the pay was crap, and we got all the best technoware third-hand; but at least it offered job security, and a comfortable retirement for the 70 sols of loyal servitude I was expected to give. Well, I was shipped out to Titania – beautiful name, shithole moon, a mere 2.5 billion kilos from Luna – where I'd been bored out of my mind for two sols creating sentech solutions to nonsensical problems. Nothing exciting ever happened there – at least, it didn't until the Amazons came to town.

Titania has a reputation Lunaside as a wild, crazy frontier zone. That's true if you happen to be located in Condoleezza, near the vast Ignacio Arroya mining complex. But our base, the Jayef-Kennedy Science Center, is more than 400 kilos away, in the shadow of Will Smith Scarp. (Every damned thing on the rock is named after some president of North America or other.) We'd heard about a couple of raids by the Amazons on settlements around Condi in recent months, but the Pacifiers had assured us on several occasions that given our isolation, and the fact that we were primarily a research facility, we were perfectly safe. Of course, our isolation also put us 30 kilos from the nearest Pacifier station in sleepy little Saphangthong.

The Amazons actually call themselves the Daughters of Germaine, whatever the osama that means. The name they're commonly known by refers to some ancient tribe of Terran women, from the Brazilia Dustbowl I think. They claim to be 'a sisterhood of resistance to the phallocentric domination of humin (sic) society through the ages'. Perhaps they haven't noticed that the last three NorCon presidents have all been, well, clitocentric. In truth they seemed to be just a gang of women who liked killing men in enormous numbers; if the newswebs were to be believed, the more painfully and messily the better. They had started out on Terra hundreds of years ago, and were gradually spreading their way, in a loose coalition, across the Sol System. About a year ago we heard that a breakaway group had made it to Titania – and now the most infamous of them was staring at my flaccid cock with her blaster pointing into my face!

There isn't an adult alive who hasn't seen the holimage of the dreaded Tawny the Cannibal. I know a number of guys who have downloaded it to abuse and humiliate on a nightly basis, in whatever way they choose – beating her to death, fucking her in every orifice...I had heard suggestions that she was on Titania, but I didn't believe it – until now. After all, reports of raids by the Amazons on half the settlements in the System included the fact that they had been led by Tawny. Even as this flashed through my mind she squatted between my legs and wrapped a fist around my dick. I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth in paralysing fear, wondering if I would pee myself as she sliced it off. It took me a few seconds to realise that she was actually squeezing and stroking it, calmly and efficiently trying to get a response. Despite my terror – or perhaps because of it – she succeeded. I watched amazed as my cock pointed stiffly towards the ceiling. Tawny ripped open a Velcro flap in her pants – apparently custom-made – and, well, proceeded to rape me. I stared at the ceiling, praying that I didn't disappoint her, as she squatted onto my rod and pumped up and down on powerful thighs, driving my ass hard against the cold floor. Not once did her eyes leave my face, and the tip of the blaster pressed painfully into my belly. Just as I felt my juices beginning to flow another Amazon ran into the room. "Tawny, mother of goddess! Pacos about five mins away. For fuck's sake get off that thing, kill it and let's get out of here."

Tawny ignored the woman, and the warning of Pacifier intervention, entirely, her face completely impassive as she screwed me. My fear given an extra jolt by the knowledge that I would almost certainly die the moment it was over, I shot into her, causing no more than a wince to flash across her face, and awaited my end with my eyes tightly closed. But I felt her dragging me by my arm to my very shaky legs, and flashing very white teeth she leered into my face "Come on pretty boy, get your pants up. You and I are going to enjoy another ride together now." She dragged me through familiar corridors, past the occasional corpse, then through the air lock and into a large landhopper. I was hurled into a luggage container, and seconds later a pressure suit followed. Almost immediately the vehicle took to the air and I struggled into the suit. That would ensure I didn't freeze to death in the hold, but that was no guarantee of longevity once this ride was over. They must have a plan for me or they wouldn't have tolerated my extra weight, such as it was, in the vehicle. If I was lucky I would just be held for ransom, although it seemed unlikely NorCon would relax its 'no compromise with terror' stance for a relatively junior ST geek. If I was unlucky...

I'd heard the miners, on my few visits to Condi, joking about the attractions of becoming Amazon sex slaves. I guess there's always been some kind of male fantasy about combative sex with strong, feisty women. Reality, as revealed by rare survivors liberated by the Pacifiers, was, not surprisingly, rather less attractive. Referred to as 'donks', they were forced to work for their captors, often in exhausting manual tasks, required to be available to sexually service whatever warrior might want them, when she wanted them, and the first time they failed to provide the required physical response they were casually killed. Despite Tawny's recent, er, use of me, I couldn't believe that, of all the guys at the Kennedy Center, I would have been selected for such a purpose. I was, well, I'd say wiry, less kind men might say, indeed had, a scrawny weed. There's no way I would be selected as a promising manual worker, my talents are all in my brain.

Despite the cold and my fear I slept. When I awoke the vehicle was back on the ground, and apparently descending rough terrain. It had been rumoured that the Amazons' base on Titania was somewhere in the Clinton Void (otherwise known, for reasons lost to history, as Hillary's Mouth), a vast canyon which, seen from space, looks like an unfathomable, vicious tear across the surface of the moon. It's far too huge for the Pacifiers ever to have mounted any kind of realistic search and, cynics said, also far too deadly for the taste of our brave law enforcers. As the vehicle came to a halt I guessed that was where I was. I was dragged by my hair out of the craft and towards a large structure which seemed to serve as some kind of communal hall. As I went I got a brief glimpse of the base. It was open to the sky, protected by what appeared to be an ancient terrashield, in places visible to the naked eye and milky white. Even in the few secs I saw it I noticed a couple of sparks dance across the surface, and shuddered: however bad your situation, it's difficult to imagine anything worse than the surface temperature of minus 216 degrees Centigrade and the cocktail of deadly gases in the atmosphere penetrating the few microns thickness of the shield.

The two women dragging me by the arms took me into a small dark room and dumped me on the floor. For the second time in a few hours I stared from a reclining position at Tawny. With a light from behind her turning her curly black hair into a halo, hands on her hips, legs set slightly apart, her pose was clearly intended to impress, and for all my fear of her it worked. If you can ignore for a moment her reputation as the most psychotic disemboweller of men in the universe (if!), she really is a very striking woman. The short, glossy hair; the bronze skin; eyes large and black, glinting like chips of flint; a slightly flat face with a slim nose, framed by prominent high cheekbones tapering to a sharp dimpled chin; sensual, fleshy lips; impressive musculature of her shoulders and bare biceps; a substantial swell of breast that her grubby grey combat fatigues did little to disguise.

Gently she reached a hand under my elbow and helped me to my feet. Standing with her face centimeters from mine – we're both 1.83 tall - she murmured, "Okay pretty boy, here's the deal." A hand shot beneath the waistband of my pants and fingers like steel bands gripped my balls, just firmly enough to make my eyes water. "We need a good sentechnician to upgrade our rather antiquated systems; oh yeah, and to integrate one or two little pieces of hardware we just grabbed from Kennedy. We'd prefer a womin, but there isn't one available, and we heard you're the best around here. So," I gasped as the pressure on my balls increased a notch, "you give us what we need, and I'll do my best to keep you alive. Oh, and I also have certain needs that I prefer not to satisfy with the filthy donk shitbrains the other womin here use. So, you're going to meet those needs too. Okay?" It wasn't a question, and as if to seal the deal she smacked her lips onto mine and a muscular tongue thrust into my mouth and went on an exploratory mission.

So the pattern of my life for the immediate future was set. By day I worked on trying to improve the performance of the camp's ST system, a task a bit like trying to build a stellar cruiser with wood and twine. I also used my hacking skills to clone useful routines from other people's systems, to try and make my task a little easier. The system appeared to be a random assemblage of bits and pieces grabbed on raids by someone with only the vaguest idea of what might and might not be useful. I guessed that was Donna. A vaguely pretty, petite but muscular blonde girl, she was my principal guard during the working day. She fancied herself as an ST whiz, but I rated her as only moderately intelligent – an IQ of maybe 160, 170. I tried not to think about what purposes the intel I was gathering, on the movement of freighters, prominent people, wealth and Pacifiers, was being put to.

I was also allowed occasional exercise walks around the camp, and to use the fitness equipment that was available, enabling me to gradually put a few stringy muscles on my ectomorph body. The camp appeared to be on a ridge in the wall of Clinton, maybe 1.5 kilos across – stretching the dilapidated terrashield to its limit. A sheer rock face extended kilos above and, presumably, below the ridge. The far wall of the gorge was too distant to be seen. Around me the donks worked slavishly, and the women trained, planned raids, sabotage, assassinations. Occasionally some Amazon would stalk up to a random donk, grab the short leash that hung from his waist, and lead him unresisting to her quarters. Twice I saw the bodies of donks – what was left of them – being carried by their former fellows towards one of the perimeter airlocks. It served as a harsh warning to the survivors of what would await them the first time they couldn't provide the necessary degree of arousal. On my little tours of the camps I was able to pick up quite a lot of knowledge – general layout, security arrangements, number of Amazons, command structures, the way they planned, the kind of targets they identified, frequency of actions...if I did get out alive that sort of knowledge could finish them on Titania.

In the evenings I was escorted back to Tawny's low-lit quarters. There I'd get my second meal of the day and, little by little, in her husky, strangely accented voice, my captor told me her life story, reflectively, staring into space. Then she would thrust me back onto her bed, work up my erection and screw herself on me before sending me to the small cot I had in one corner. Her sex with me was always quick and efficient. I was never quite sure how she did it, but with techniques of hand and mouth borne of years of experience, night after night she had me hard and ready for her in seconds.

She thought she was maybe 23 or 24 sols old. She'd grown up on a remote farm in North Zeeland, back on Terra, slaughtering animals with her father from the time she could walk. When she was still a kid four drugged Pacifiers – 'Your Guarantee of Security and Justice' – had come by and raped and killed both her parents. As the fourth Paco took his turn with Tawny she managed to get a hand on his thermolance, instantly turning his belly to a smoking pit. Seconds later two severed heads hit the floor. The fourth one was badly wounded, but she kept him alive for a while. Form her graphic description of how she used that time I have no doubt he welcomed his death as a merciful release. After that she'd lived in the hills for a while, doing what it took to survive, then one day she'd gone into the local town and started selling herself. It was then that someone, unable to manage her birthname – Hokuikakai – had called her Tawny, because of the colour of her skin, and it had stuck. She'd managed to hop a sea freighter to Shanghai, being shared between the crew on a daily basis. After taking her revenge on all six of them on her last night aboard, she disappeared into the crowded streets of the city for a time. Then she lied about her age and got into one of the Volunteer Colonist programmes Indochin ran from time to time. That had got her as far as Phobos, where she'd worked in a bar but made far more creds working on men again, until one night when the Amazons raided the town, and her life changed forever...

I listened in horrified fascination, like some reverse Scheherezade from the Tales of the Transislamia Nights, silently praying each time that tonight wouldn't be the night she got bored telling me this, and decided to kill me. She insisted vehemently that her nickname of The Cannibal was no more a myth attached to her by the newswebs to make her appear even more demonic. "I might carve a man's guts out before I kill him, but you have to keep some moral standards." I almost laughed at what I took to be ironic black humor; fortunately something in her eyes warned me of the instant fatality of such an action.

It was clear that Tawny was one of the leaders of the group, but less clear why she alone seemed to be allowed her personal screw, let alone why she had chosen me. I suppose her name for me, 'pretty boy', partly explained it. Also, she was clearly intelligent, and would try to engage me in wider conversation about all kinds of things; which was fine as long as I never foolishly expressed an opinion which ran counter to any of hers. Some of the other women were clearly dykes, but most seemed to just satisfy themselves with a donk whenever the urge arose. I got the impression that the other women, with the possible exception of Donna, hated me with a vengeance, and I heard myself being referred to a few times as Tawny's toy. When one of the donks managed to whisper to me what he and his mates would do to my pampered little body if they ever got hold of me I understood that Tawny had her work cut out keeping death away from me.

One night, as I lay on my cot, I was woken by the sound of raised voices – Tawny's and Donna's. It appeared that Donna was negotiating for my, er, services. "Look Tawn, I'm not trying to take it off you. I just want to rent it out now and then, and once I've fucked it I'll give it right back to you. It's worth, say, 300 creds a time to me."

There was a scuffling sound and a small cry. I turned my head just enough to see a terrified Donna thrust against a wall, an old-fashioned steel blade pressed against her throat, the tip bright with a drop of ruby red blood. In a voice that turned my blood to ice, Tawny hissed "Listen Donna, Adem is not for sale, rent or anything else. If I even suspect that you've ever been within 50 meters of him again, your atoms are going to orbit Uranus for the rest of eternity. Am I getting through to you, 'sister'?" I lay back and stared towards the ceiling in surprise: I hadn't realised Tawny even knew my name. After that I didn't see Donna again. I had different guards and I heard that she had died about a week later on a raid, the victim of a stray blaster shot. There had been worrying mutterings about the details of that.

A few nights after the incident with Donna, as I was returned to my home, as I had begun to think of it, I saw Tawny sitting on her bed with tears rolling down her cheeks. That was the most shocking thing I'd seen since being taken by the Amazons. I couldn't imagine anything that would upset Tawny enough to cry without resulting in instant, excruciating death. I stood paralysed, praying her tears were nothing to do with me. She glanced up and said, in an alarming, small voice, "Adem, come and sit here", patting the bed beside her. Now I was really scared – it was the first time she'd ever called me by my name. Placing a hand on my frozen shoulder, she gazed intently at me and whispered, "Adem, I want you to make love to me." Unable to help myself, I swivelled my head and stared at her in total incomprehension. She'd screwed me almost every night since she brought me back to the camp. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, as if trying to figure out how to explain something to a small, particularly stupid child. "Look, I've fucked and been fucked by dozens of men. But nobody has ever, in my whole life, made love to me. Just once, I want to experience what that feels like."

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