Aberrant Futures Ch. 03

My dreams were intense and disturbing--In one, I lived with other women on a ranch where the farmer milked us like dairy cows. In another, a wolf monster impregnated me with a python-like penis. In the dream, I felt his litter of puppies squirming in me, and I woke sweating under a heavy comforter in a small room I didn't recognize. My memories of the day before were confused and feverish. I thought they were dreams too until I found the note on the stand by the bed. Blue ink from a broad nibbed pen scrawled across heavy stationery, "Emergency at work... away until six... make yourself at home... your to-do list is downstairs...."

Yesterday came back in a flood of surreal memories--my opening day, finding my way to the house, accepting McVoy's offer to let him breed me (what was I thinking!). I had been unbearably horny as a side effect of his tinkering with my body's fertility. When I disobeyed his command not to touch myself, he whipped me. The red stripes were still hot and sore on my ass under the covers.

I would later learn that McVoy kept the riding crop within reach but rarely disciplined me for honest mistakes. Many of my whippings would be due to what he called "willful disobedience," but were usually me faking defiance to satisfy the occasional masochistic urge. Through tears and sobs, I always wondered what I had been thinking. The thrill of fear from seeing the jet-black leather loop was enough to keep me in line most of the time.

I didn't know if thinking about the spanking was turning me on or if it was normal for someone as artificially fertile as me to crave penetration, but the temptation to finger myself was becoming too much. I pushed the sheets off me--McVoy had put me to bed nude and tucked me in--and tried the doors around my room. The nearest opened into to hallway beyond which the house and my servitude loomed. Feeling exposed, I closed myself back in. The next was a side door into the beautiful master bedroom; it overlooked the stream and was furnished with what looked like authentic old Earth oak antiques. I paused for a moment to admire the reflection of my girlish figure in the full-length mirror, and I imagined what I would look like sleeping in the bed with a baby bump. McVoy would decide when, I thought, and reluctantly closed the door. The next was a plain but sparkling clean bathroom where I showered and dried myself. Lastly was a walk-in closet with a mirror on the door. My old clothes were nowhere to be seen, and the style of my new wardrobe was what I can best describe as "archaic sensual librarian." The underwear was a complicated tangle of buckles and straps that never seemed to cover the bare minimum of skin, no matter how many pounds of lace were used. Satisfied that I had an outfit mostly right, I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. The grey sweater and knee-length skirt on the hangers appeared conservative, even dull, but they were tailored to hug my curves, and the sensation of the intricate underwear underneath made me feel feminine. I imagined the Professor's huge hands fumbling with the buttons or just ripping them off and taking me on the floor. While absorbed in my fantasies, I began to caress myself with my hands and then yanked them to my sides when I became aware. I was too hot and bothered to let myself be idle, so I headed downstairs to distract myself with a late breakfast.

On the fridge was an arms-length to-do list, at the top of which was "Feed Lauren." I was trying to sort out who Lauren was when the calico chirped at me from the floor. I refilled her water and food dish and scrambled myself some eggs. I stood at the counter to eat and put on my speaker phone to check in with my friends, starting with Ally.

"Hey, girlfriend!" She said from my screen. She looked like her usual happy, pretty self. In the background, we're the stacks of the undergraduate library where we liked to study. I was surprised; I'd expected her to be traumatized and hiding away at her parents' house.

"Ally!" "I said. "I saw what happened to you. I'm so sorry. Are you ok?"

"Oh my god, yes, I'm fine." She laughed embarrassedly, "I'm sorry I upset you; I asked them not to film. But I did tell ya'll I was going to call the lacrosse team from the clinic." Then she tried to change the subject, "But how are you? We didn't see you at the courthouse. Whose kitchen is that? It's fancy."

I didn't let her put me off. "Ally, I saw that Eric was there, Ew!" I gestured with my finger in my throat and pantomimed vomiting. "And there were so many guys..."

She wasn't smiling now and said seriously, "It's just sex, Claire. You're embarrassing me, and there are like ten guys total in the house; Eric probably won't even be the father. Can we talk about you now?"

I wanted to believe we were both revolted by our subjugation to the men who had captured us, and I was frustrated with Ally for not being outraged at what had happened to her. But at the same time, and I tried not to acknowledge it, I couldn't help thinking ten men might be enough to satisfy the need I had to be filled. I pulled my attention back to the conversation, apologized to Ally, and brought her up to speed.

"Oh my god," she said when I was done, "Oh my god, did you not know who he was? He is be*yond* sexy. I'm so jellie. Fuck, Claire; when he captured you in class and played with you, *I* felt it."

"Uh, ok," I said. I used to think Ally adopted her slutty bimbo persona to clown around. Now that I knew her high-pitched squeals and alarming suggestions were genuine, they made me uncomfortable. Beneath that, I was trying to tell myself that I wasn't jealous and didn't wish I could trade places with her. But the desire to do anything for relief from my urges was beginning to become unbearable. Talking to her stirred up feelings that were too intense for me, and I had to get her off the phone.

"Sure," I said. "Hey, Ally, catch up later, ok? My mom is calling." One by one, I called the rest of my friends. Many didn't pick up; a few were safe on their opening vacation. But I spoke to maybe nine or ten girls, mainly in Ally's same sorority, who had been captured. Some briefly by strangers, and others by family, friends, and neighbors. I talked to Chelsea last. She answered the phone with a preoccupied expression against a backdrop of pine trees. Her shoulders were bare, so I guessed she was in her bikini outside by the pool.

"Hey, girlfriend," I greeted enthusiastically.

"Hey!" she smiled back, but something was off; she seemed distracted.

"Are you ok?" I asked. Her head was bobbing against the horizon, almost but not quite like she was walking or gently bouncing on a trampoline. I was just on the cusp of identifying the motion when she groaned her brother's name in embarrassed horror at what she couldn't hide was an orgasm, "Sam, please, no!" I hung up the phone to spare her any more humiliation.

There was no one left to talk to, and I was still horny and lonely in an empty house. The homey kitchen was incongruent with the desires and feelings inflamed by talking to my girlfriends. It seemed like everyone was getting fucked but me. I wondered how I was going to make it until McVoy got back. And then I wondered what he would make me do when he was. My only distraction from myself was the chores list.

It unfolded to twice the length when I took it off the fridge. There were pictures and diagrams, and annotations. The stripes on my ass burned in anticipation of discipline from failing to follow them just right. I took the packet to the kitchen counter to read and skimmed through the main sections--gardening, housekeeping, personal care, exercise, meditation, academic studies, public duties, etc., etc. At the top of each was the outfit I was supposed to wear during. I gathered that the professor was more than a little of a control freak. I set my goal for the day: to get through the housekeeping section and dinner preparation before six and hope for the best. "Servants' utility closet" directed the instructions to where I would find the maid uniform, and blue handwriting in the margin read "Hidden lever behind ficus."

Under the ledge of molding, midway up the wall in the hall of house plants, was a cubby I had to feel around in with my index and middle finger. Making a "come hither" motion was the trick, and a concealed doorway cracked open. Inside was a utilitarian closet full of buckets, mops, brooms, and more. A distracting image popped into my mind of me fucking myself with the feather duster handle, but I suppressed the urge and looked for my maid uniform. It was hanging inside the hidden door--a white apron, black dress, and black loafers. The apron had a frilly halter, and the dress's neckline sported a big, goofy, white bow. I was careful not to close myself in the closet while putting it on--I wasn't sure how to open the door from the inside. The big bows and frills bounced foolishly when I moved; the neckline was so low my nipples were at risk of escaping. Bending exposed my garter, and picking something off the floor exposed my panties. Wearing it made me feel servile, infantilized, and thoroughly objectified. I contemplated rebelling and just wearing the "librarian" outfit. But McVoy might be spying on me, and I didn't think I could stand another whipping so soon.

I started in the library. The big pink feather duster completed my silly outfit, and waving it around made me feel even more foolish. I did my best to focus on my work and not on how much of my underwear I was exposing through the big window with every bend and twist. I remembered from the street outside how airy and beautiful the wood-shelved space looked, and I tried not to picture how my black and white uniform must have stood out. I turned on music to drown out the turbulence in my mind and dusted to the rhythm. Lauren curled up in a warm beam of light with her nose twitching from all the motes I was kicking up. For a while, I successfully lost myself in cleaning and picking which books I'd try to find again later.

While bending down to dust a baseboard, I felt a slight prick in my neck. I was confused at first until, reaching with my hand, I touched my collar and realized it must be the sensation of a failed check attempt. The second prick made me yelp and freeze in terror. Then there was another prick and another. My pulse was beating in my ears, and without moving my body, I craned my head to look behind me. My panties had the attention of the landscaping crew across the street. They were sweaty and dirty and seemed like massive men. McVoy's words came back to me, "your threshold is set too high to be checkable." But in my imagination, the crew was desperate to have me, would break down the door to get to me, rip off my uniform, and carry me to the office. On the desk in my mind, they took turns pounding me and filling me up. In real life, I tried to pretend I didn't see them and that they couldn't see as much of me as they obviously and appreciatively did. I tried to stare fixedly at the shelves, but my eyes kept meeting theirs by accident. When I finished in the library, and I was ready to move on, the men were still watching me. I had confusing and disturbing feelings about the experience I didn't understand. Instead of hurrying to the next room, I lingered, looking back at them in the doorway.

It was easier to ignore my skirt riding up and my mile of cleavage while cleaning the quiet, more private office. But I could imagine how I'd feel with McVoy in the house and wonder if he would tell me to stop covering myself when my blouse fell open or cop a feel up the back of my skirt when I bent over to straighten up his desk. In the reflective glass of the cabinet doors, I posed with my mouth open wide in mock surprise and outrage as his imaginary hands molested me. I wondered if servants from the olden days felt similarly powerless and available to their masters.

I was about to move on to the living room when one of the machines on the desk caught my attention. It had a glowing pair of cables of rainbow liquid running from the back of the desk across the carpet and under the wall. I could tell from the bubbles racing along that the liquid was carried up one into the machine and back down under the wall through the other. I got on my hands and knees, ignored the draft up my skirt and my pinup-like pose, and felt warm air from the crack below the wall where the cables ran. Remembering my secret servants' door, I looked up and saw a similar button under the molding. I weighed the possibility of getting in trouble and remembered what he'd said the other day, "The whipping is not for exploring the book." I decided the curiosity was too much for me to bare anyway, and the wall opened with a satisfying click when I got my finger in the sweet spot. The opening door exposed a heavy stone arch over rough, uneven steps that twisted circularly down out of sight.

I'd read about wealthy homeowners circumventing zoning restrictions with underground extensions, but this was something else. It looked like the entrance to a crypt or maybe a wine cellar modeled on an old castle's. The cables of glowing liquid cast prisms of technicolor light down the grey stairwell. I leaned in the opening feeling like Nancy Drew in some sort of "Mystery of the Hidden Staircase" novel. Except I couldn't recall the girl detective having to pull her kinky maid skirt back in place every thirty seconds to stay modest. With my butt tingling in fear of the possibility of having misread the professor, I left my duster on the desk and descended. Lauren sniffed the air and decided to wait for me up top.

The staircase twisted, so I didn't see where I was going until I was out of it. I came out in a central room under a stone dome surrounded by blinking lights and humming computers. On the perimeter were roomy alcoves decorated with models of plants and animals, but the contraption at the center grabbed my attention first. It looked a little like a motorbike seat, the kind you leaned forward on almost lying down. Except where the handlebars would have been, there were locking cuffs. And it was tipped forward so the "rider's" butt would stick up in the air right toward a metallic hanging bulb bristling with thick, black protuberances. Thinking about where those were supposed to plug into made me shiver. Instead of wheels, it rested on a nest of wires, sensors, blinking lights, clamps, straps, metal tentacles, and what looked like industrial breast milk pumps. It was either brand new and unused or meticulously cleaned and washed. I was repulsed by it, afraid of what McVoy might intend for me with it, and at the same time, tempted to climb up and see what it did. It wasn't hard to see where my legs would go on either side, held wide apart by the width of the seat, or how the joint that held back the protuberances could be angled just right to slide them into me. I imagined them heavily, slowly, and inexorably opening me. My own whimper as I started to move toward the device startled me out of my daydream. Even if plugging myself into an unknown machine weren't incredibly foolish, I reminded myself I'd probably just sit there doing nothing without someone to operate it. I resolved to have fewer dirty thoughts about the appliances and explore the model creatures instead. For all I knew, I told myself with a giggle it was the professor's prostate exam machine. Deep inside, I knew better.

There were five alcoves around the room, making it a blunt-angled pentagram. Each alcove was recessed into the floor and was deep enough to be nearly another room. One had a liquid golden-skinned giant posing like a Greek sculpture. He had a fully detailed penis that was ridiculously large, erect, and shiny. I mentally nicknamed him the "Golden Pervert." The next was full of water up to the main floor, where two delicate-looking mermaids with bare chests were frozen in the act of combing each other's hair. Their mouths were full of needle teeth. I nicknamed them "The Sisters." I couldn't see into the alcove directly across from me because of the motorcycle chair, but in the one a little further around was a thick horse-like creature with too many legs. The legs in front had grasping simian hands, and the thing's eyes were huge, human-like, and wild. I shuddered and nicknamed it the "Rapist." Purple, leafless vines covered the alcove nearest me. It was the least frightening display, and I investigated.

When I stepped over the border into the display, a cable hidden by a lip of stone gurgled to life and glowed with red liquid. In its light, the purple vines appeared reddish black. I crouched to touch the nearest tendril and was shocked to discover it was warm and supple. It felt alive. The idea that the other creatures might be more than displays frightened me; I glanced to make sure they were still frozen before standing. Except I couldn't stand up. As I bent down, a tendril had surreptitiously curled around my thigh, gently but firmly holding it in place.

I panicked and yanked on it with my hands, and it came free, but I couldn't escape because more had wrapped around my feet and ankles. The tendrils felt more like octopus arms than vines. They were rubbery, muscly, and hot. My wrenching and tugging never seemed to break or hurt, even those no thicker than a pencil, and they gave the impression of only exerting a fraction of their strength. In a few moments, they were up to my knees and then my waist. Ten more replaced every one I unpeeled. The rush of adrenalin I felt at being submerged in the creature gave me enough strength to twist my foot just about an inch off the floor, where it was then held frozen as the tentacles curled around my arms and then neck. My entire body was held immobile in the center of the twisting mass. I felt them wherever my skin was bare, pulsing and moving with the tips curiously probing me. For a while, I couldn't think for blind panic, but when my breathing had slowed a little, it occurred to me that the thing had avoided covering my nose and, despite its strength, never exerted enough pressure to hurt me. I observed it seemed to like contact with my skin; it was touching as much of my surface as it could without harming me.

I opened my mouth to try and talk to and reason with it. A tendril about as thick as my thumb snaked through my lips before I could make a sound, and more held my mouth open, anticipating and preventing me from clamping down with my teeth. My eyes watered as I felt it slide down into my throat. It pulsed gently and deposited a stream of sticky fluid directly into my stomach. The small part of me that wasn't terrified and trying not to gag was giggling hysterically. "Way to go, Claire." I thought to myself. "Meet the alien, make first contact, and fellate it." Very quickly after the first glob of goo dripped down my throat, I felt warm and tingly all over and then happy and playful. My fear and rational thought ebbed away, and I began to have friendly feelings about my new purple friend. I understood It had drugged me, but I was too drugged to care. Gently but firmly, tentacles slid under my clothes. It felt like a massage to my addled brain. When I felt the ripping of cloth as it undressed me, I realized I had made a mistake--it didn't want to touch me; it had just been mapping me, exploring my shape and what of me was me and what was just packaging. I came awake a little as I felt cool air against my bare skin where the tentacles had been, but it still had me firmly by my arms, legs, waist, and neck. The one in my throat held my head immobile. I couldn't help swallowing more goo, stopped struggling, and relaxed again.

While I was completely enveloped, the creature had maneuvered me with my back to the ground and legs spread like I was doing reverse cowgirl on the invisible man. It supported me so I was perfectly comfortable and could see down my body where a mass of tentacles hovered around my pussy. Very decent of it to give me a view, I thought foggily and watched stray fronds curl and twist across my bare stomach, breast, and thighs. The tips of the tendrils were investigatively prodding every dimple and crevice. The tip of one brushed my clit, and I couldn't help pressing my pelvis into it and moaning around the one in my mouth. The sensation and my reaction woke me up one last time to what my objective, rational brain recognized as a dangerous, unwanted invasion, and I struggled uselessly against my bonds. But more thick liquid oozed down my throat, and I relaxed again into a dreamy, submissive acceptance of my captor. It gave me enough freedom to grind my hips against the tendril between my legs.