Taken Up North

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A proud warrior becomes the slave of a female soldier.
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PulpWyatt
PulpWyatt
290 Followers

I never spent much time thinking about the world outside. When you grow up where I did, you never bother to. My tribe and I lived in a jungle surrounding a river delta, where we thrived on fish, birds, and whatever it pleased us to grow in our back gardens. Some time ago, however, all that changed forever.

I was walking back home after the other men of the village and I had been hunting. As we clambered through the difficult jungle, we made sure to keep our prizes away from the thousand tiny, prying eyes that stared hungrily at our fresh meat. I had my bow at the ready, just in case.

Brushing through the last of the trees, I saw the first longhouse of our village in the distance. An extra spring came into my step as we approached.

"We're back!" I happily announced.

"Darren, is that you?" came a soft, female voice from inside one of the longhouses.

A beautiful, wiry light-brown-haired woman rushed out to greet me.

"Darren, you're back!" she celebrated. "I missed you!"

"I missed you to, Mona," I informed.

"Then why can't I come with you?" she begged.

"You couldn't have," I forbade. "A hunting expedition is no place for a woman."

"I know," sighed Mona, in a voice that clearly indicated that she did not believe it.

"Come on," I prompted changing the subject to cheer her up. "Let's get this cooked."

Barely had I taken one step towards the fire pit when Mona said, "Do you hear something?"

"I don't hear anything," I dismissed. "The summer heat must be making you dizzy."

At that, I continued off to the fire pit, only to freeze when I heard a roar up above. Looking up, I froze in place.

Some gigantic shape blotted out the sky. Its underside was shiny and tiny little specks fell from it, then sprouted peacock-like tails as they descended.

"What are those?" I cried, to no one in particular.

Quickly dropping the carcass, I drew my bow and took aim at one of the falling specks, but I did not shoot.

When the falling specks drew near enough, I recognized human figures hanging from the puffy hemispheres that seemed to float in the air like flower seeds. Suddenly, and to my further surprise, these humans then detached from their tails and landed hard on the ground.

"Nobody move," I heard a deep, strangely echoing voice command, coming from one of the intruders.

I did not know which of these sudden visitors it had come from; their faces were all covered in shiny teal shells.

Before I knew what was happening, a pair of cold, scaly hands behind me grabbed my arms and bound them behind my back by some device I could not see. Then, a shape similar to the one in the sky- but only about as big as a longhouse- touched down silently on the village grounds. The humanoid behind me pushed me toward it.

As I walked toward the metal beast, I looked around, seeing my fellow warriors similarly bound. A brief rage surged inside me. We had gone down without a fight. Helplessly, I looked to Mona, who watched from behind a boulder, shooting me a look I could not decipher. I did not fault her for not intervening. What, after all, could a woman do to stop this?

Inside the metal beast, I was surrounded by white. I do not remember much that happened within the next few hours. I remember thinking I was dead, wandering about a featureless, walled-in void until I collapsed from exhaustion.

* * *

I woke up after a length of time I had no way of estimating. To my disconcert, my collar was strapped around my neck, and my kilt was cut down to something better resembling a loincloth. Eventually, my chamber took a bump from below, and the vibrations and rumblings- which I only then realized had been surrounding me- ceased, all at once.

Several days' worth of hunger burned in my stomach, but I did not mind that; instead, rage continued to boil inside me, like a caged animal. My village had gone down without a fight. None of us got our chance to prove our mettle in combat. First the metal people came down, then we were all prisoners. Nothing galled me more than being denied the chance to prove my fighting skills.

At last, all at once and without warning, a door to my chamber opened up. After I had processed this, a woman strode in. The woman wore fingerless gloves of the same scaly material I had felt before, as well as hardy-looking boots, and, most surprisingly, nothing else. She was tall and powerful-looking, with arms and legs that were thin, but rippled with visible musculature, and her skin was uniformly pale.

I stared at her in shock. I had seen a naked woman before, but never before had I witnessed one so unabashed and self-assured in her nudity, baring her sex like a man might bare his.

"Do you want food?" she asked, in an unnervingly matter-of-fact voice.

"No," I declared, standing up. "I want a fight."

With an insufferably haughty "hmph," the woman turned and strode out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

When she did, I realized how hungry I really was. That act of nonchalance- from a woman, no less- tore my warrior's pride to shreds, leaving me to realize that I had more immediate problems. Sitting dejectedly, I waited for her to return, mentally preparing myself to accept her demeaning offer.

Soon enough, she did return, this time holding a container of some sort.

"Are you hungry now?" she asked.

"Yes," I admitted, looking away.

"Then kiss me on the lips," the woman ordered.

My instinct to disobey quickly reared its head, but I forced it back down, swallowed my pride and stood up.

"No," the woman corrected, understanding my intent. "Not these lips." She reached down, parted her vagina with her fingers and said, "These lips."

Baffled, I stared at her for a moment, hesitant to believe that she was serious.

"Come on," she prodded, with a taunting smile. "On your knees, boy."

That she saw it fit to call me a boy nearly reignited my fighting spirit, but, even in my simmering anger, I knew that I had bigger concerns.

Closing my eyes, I slowly got back down on my knees and edged toward her, then wrapped my arms around her posterior and brought my mouth closer. Depressing my tongue, I pressed my lips to hers and tried to avoid tasting anything. As I sucked, I could not help but marvel at how warm her skin felt against my lips. As soon as this wonder passed, I realized that it had been long enough and pulled hastily away.

"Good boy," she rewarded, patting my head patronizingly and handing over the container. "Here you go."

Embarrassed, I took the container without looking at her and, after probing its unpromising exterior for a few seconds, found the lid, then tried to pry it open. The woman laughed at my failed attempts.

At this insult, I frowned, doubting she had done any better the very first time she encountered such a container, before finally hitting upon the idea of twisting. I twisted while I pushed and twisted while I pulled, then it finally gave. Casting aside the lid, I drew out a sort of thick, starchy cake and sampled it. It tasted halfway between tender steak and sweet fruit.

All while I ate, the woman watched me with a vacant smile. As soon as I finished, she snatched the container from me and strutted out of the room. I was alone again.

For several more feeding times, the process repeated with little variation. Sometimes I was supposed to strip, sometimes I was supposed to debase myself verbally and sometimes I was supposed to dance. As with my other tasks, I made a fool of myself when I danced, but it seemed to be my caretaker's favorite; she demanded more dances than any other act of submission.

Other than that, however, complicated tasks were rare; usually, my only duty was to lie back and accept whatever she wished to do to me. She never forced intercourse on me, but she would lick my nipples or fondle my genitals, or simply sit there and cuddle me like a stuffed animal. Whatever her desire, I always obeyed. If I did not, I knew, then I would only be forced to obey later.

In my down time, of which I had only too much, I thought about this strange woman and her mannish sexuality; she saw me as a man sees a woman- as a target to be conquered, or as an object to be used. Never had I seen a female of such voraciousness.

She wouldn't be the last.

One day, she strode into my room with no food, but instead with what I recognized as a leash, a short whip and what looked like a pair of handcuffs. Unusually, she was fully clad.

"Stand up straight," she casually ordered.

Standing up, I realized that she had nothing to offer me. I saw a rare opportunity for petty defiance.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

That had come out more passively than I had intended.

As her answer, the woman drew her whip and flicked it out at me, striking my left haunch and nearly causing me to topple over under the sudden pain.

"Never question your orders, boy," she hissed. "Now do as you're told. Turn around, put your wrists together behind your back and stand up straight."

Once again seeing no other option, I obeyed her, placing my wrists behind my back as, predictably, they were locked there by a contraption that felt strangely smooth, yet dry to the touch. In short order, I heard a metallic click, which I assumed to be the attachment of the leash.

Confirming this, I felt myself suddenly jerked backward by the collar. Without the use of my hands, I toppled backward into the woman, who took her time in standing me up.

"You will obey anyone who has you on leash," the woman dictated. "Whether she owns you or not."

"Owns me?" I protested.

"Speak only if I ask you a direct question," the woman chastised. "Try to gauge whether or not your mistress expects an answer."

"Mistress?!" I indignantly repeated.

"Do I need to whip you again?"

"No..." I demurred.

"Good."

Snapping her fingers, the woman pulled me by my leash to the exit of the room.

Immediately, it occurred to me to ask what snapping of the fingers meant, but I knew that I would get no answer. In either case, such trifling curiosities instantly fled my mind as, belatedly, I realized that I was finally leaving my featureless prison. A flicker of excitement stirred me, and I noticed a spring in my step, even as I was led out on a leash like a common animal.

First, I followed the woman through a series of hallways, all of which were of similar architecture to my cell, but with a few more features, with glowing patches on the walls and ceiling with contours that looked like straight-edged muscles and veins.

Then, approaching what appeared to be a dead end, my guide stepped up to a particularly noticeable glowing panel, then looked back to me. Seeing me standing there cluelessly, she smiled condescendingly and gave my leash two tugs.

Correctly interpreting her, I stepped forward just as a wall much like the one ahead slid quickly into place behind me. The very next moment, the wall ahead slid away. A cold draft blew into the room.

Instantly, I convulsed, trying to hug my bare stomach and chest with my arms, then looked up. Outside were obelisk-like structures, at least fifty feet wide each and rising as high as I could see, arranged in two rows, which framed a smooth, slick black street.

Accounting for the temperature, snow lay piled up in banks at every corner, while flakes blew through the air, carried by a frozen wind, which cut straight through my loincloth. As we stepped out into this freezing nightmare, my bare feet contacted the icy ground, and I had to stay myself from crying out like a little girl.

Seeing this reaction telling on my face, the woman with my leash laughed out loud. Wrapping my leash around her wrists twice, she reeled me in- I doing my best to follow her lead- until she had me by the collar.

Pulling, she yanked me off my balance and into her arms in front of her. Then, in a show of strength I had only ever seen in men before, she hoisted me up and slung me over her shoulder, then continued on, with one hand resting on my hind flesh.

Even though I was now in full contact with her, and her warm, bare hand helped with my chills, my new loss of movement deprived me of the one source of heat that I supplied, and the wind blew up my loincloth, sending a new kind of shiver through me. As I trembled and chattered in the cold, I idly wondered how much I was showing to anyone who might watch.

For maybe five minutes, I was carried like a carcass down the frigid street, slowly turning white. To distract myself, I focused on my bearer's hand as it wandered from one of my hind cheeks the seam between them. After that, she tested my legs, squeezing my muscles in various places. As she did, she let out monosyllabic indications of approval and surprise, all in an airy, womanly hum.

When, at last, we entered some construct that sheltered us from the wind, my captor set me down, where I stood and shivered idly.

Looking around, I saw myself to be in a room of vaguely similar design to my prison cell, but with all kinds of unfamiliar implements and devices on the floor, walls and even ceiling.

The woman brought me into a smaller room, pointed to what looked like a huge dish and ordered, "Fill that tub with warm water and get in it."

I looked over at the tub, then back to the woman. "How?"

Slapping her forehead, the woman pushed me roughly aside, then turned a handle above a protrusion over the tub, causing water to pour into it. As I watched in amazement, she explained to me the mechanics of the device, then, before I could resist, grabbed my collar, yanked off my loincloth and pulled me into the tub.

For one awful moment, I thought she was trying to drown me, until she pulled me back up. Only then did I notice the wonderful sensation of how impossibly warm the water was.

No sooner than I regained my composure, the woman shoved me against one of the walls of the tub and began smearing a transparent gel over my chest.

"What is that?" I demanded.

"Quiet," the woman insisted, trying to sound emotionless but failing to contain her perverted smile.

I did my best to stay silent and look dignified as the woman ran her hands up and down my body, handling me the way I might handle a fresh kill. Enduring quietly, I wished I could at least know the purpose of this humiliating exercise, but dared not speak up. When she began to stroke my face and run her fingers through my hair, I shrugged her aside, only to feel the sudden sting of her palm on my cheek, followed quickly by that probing hand continuing to rub my entire face down.

"Now, stand," she commanded, finished at last.

For a split second, I debated in my head whether or not I should obey, then hurried to my feet before that cruel whip made the decision for me. Standing, I tried not to make eye contact with the woman in front of me, who stared hungrily at my manhood, which was- to my surprise as well as hers- fully erect.

Tugging on my leash, she pulled me into another, darker room, where she clapped twice and summoned light from a cube resting on the floor.

The portion of the room that I could see was empty, save for a setup of hooks in the floor and a huge mirror on the wall.

I put up no resistance as the woman grabbed my left foot and placed it in the floor contraption, locking it in place with a lever, before doing the same with my right foot, pulling my legs together and trapping my penis between my legs. With a lecherous smile, she grabbed it and pulled it out.

As she did, I had to restrain myself from whooping with surprise, then struggled to regain my serious complexion as she walked up next to the mirror, stood up imperiously and faced me.

Seeing myself in the mirror, I realized what it was for. In it, I saw myself as a naked ornament, deprived of his covering, leashed and forced to bear his sex like a slave girl.

"Now," said the woman, "I want you tell me what you are."

I had already pieced together exactly what I was. However, I wanted to see myself make one last move of defiance in the mirror.

"I am Darren, son of Daniel," I replied. "I am a warrior from the delta and have killed three ironbacks without help."

"Wrong," the woman replied. "You are Silk, a sex slave to Sergeant Joan Keppler of the Snefolk Imperial Army and a toy for the pleasure of women. Is that clear?"

"Yes," I reluctantly replied, not wanting to incur the wrath of the whip.

"Call me by my title, slave," she corrected. "And to you, I am not a sergeant. I am 'Mistress.'"

I took a deep breath and answered, "Yes, Mistress."

"Good," the woman slowly replied, smiling proudly. "Now, don't resist."

I stood like a statue- or, rather, like a toy- as the woman pushed me backwards until I was lying on the cold, slick, polished wooden floor. She then freed my feet from the latch mechanism, and, with unwomanly strength, pried my legs apart.

"Consider this your initiation," she ordered, slipping down her pants to reveal a hungrily moistened vagina.

I could have done something to reaffirm my warrior's dying pride. I could have pulled away or shaken her off- maybe even attacked her. Instead, I closed my eyes and relaxed, putting up no resistance as she forced herself on me. There would be no licking or begging or dancing or fondling now. For the first time, I prepared for intercourse.

She slid onto me, then began to bounce. As she bucked and moaned, I felt her smooth friction over my hardness sending waves of heat through me and pushing my heart to a fighting pace. My manhood felt like it was constantly tightening, ready to implode.

Before it could, however, the woman's moaning crested with what sounded more like a wail, and she separated herself from me as feminine secretions gushed from her, soaking my lower torso.

For a second, she paused as her lust subsided and she regained her senses. Then, as she stood up and pulled her pants back up, I looked to my engorged masculinity, then back to her, seeing a condescending smile on her face.

"You want more, don't you?" she purred, walking away.

I stopped, then forced myself to answer, "No."

The woman let out a deep chuckle.

"You'll accept it eventually," she decided, leaving the room. "She saw it in you, I see it in you... It's only a matter of time until you realize who you are."

She closed the door, leaving me alone.

I didn't try to escape. I didn't clean myself off. I didn't even get up. In my mind, I grappled with the haunting realization that she was right.

I am just a sex slave- a toy for the pleasure of women.

PulpWyatt
PulpWyatt
290 Followers
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ZZchromosomeZZchromosomeover 1 year ago

I liked the science fiction elements, that was a fun enhancement of the story.

AnonymousAnonymousover 4 years ago

This was very well-written. Few stories make me feel the way yours do.

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