The Pasture in Space

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

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Author's note: I am recovering from repeated surgeries on both arms to correct a degenerative nerve condition. To write this, I use voice to text software which isn't always accurate. As my recovery will take considerable time, I have decided to continue writing and give my best effort at doing the thing I love. Please, if you spot any typos or grammatical mistakes, consider volunteering as my editor to allow me to write more stories more frequently with better quality.

I want to thank ChloeTzang for organizing this year's Geek Pride author's event. I also want to thank AlexClayton for his help editing this work and inspiring me with his own series.

*

The door slid open.

Don't rape me. Please be here for Astra. Please be here for Astra.

The headache came with her concentration, burning around the temples of her head. Her own feelings of self-hatred rose at having wished such a horror on her bunkmate. But there was no other explanation for the sudden entrance. Another man was coming to use one of the girls for his selfish pleasure.

Suspended around a thousand stars, Gwendolyn had never seen one.

No woman had.

She trained herself to look busy, perpetually in a state of preoccupied thought, always prepared to give a satisfactory account. There was never any rest; never any time that she could let her mind wander freely through its own recesses. Every second of every day was devoted to one singular goal; avoiding the fate of the stock.

Epsilon 7 was little more than a rock in space. A barren, lifeless asteroid hurtling around the sun. Survivors of the great war landed centuries before, fleeing their radioactive planet and carving out a colony by drilling caves down deep into the dust. The only way to survive was through severe segregation, with every resource being devoted towards the careful caloric calculations needed to prevented massive starvation for the tens of thousands scratching out a living on the barren soil.

Gwendolyn spent her youth alone, avoiding the men of the colony. While other woman used their sensuality to court laborers and leaders of the colony, she devoted her time to isolated studies. She'd been uncannily lucky, avoiding many of the uncontrolled rapes and abuses regularly committed by men who spent 18 hour days cultivating the lifeless topsoil. Safety without the protection of a higher-born male was unheard of - women were communal property unless claimed otherwise. It was a miracle Gwendolyn had been left largely alone.

Still she wanted more. Gwendolyn envisioned a life for herself, emboldened by a woman who worked independently. The one woman who had broken the cycle of subjugation and submission to claim a small piece of status. Her whole life had been devoted to studying the subjects necessary to gain Violet's Nall's attention. To show enough mastery on the exams to earn a coveted position on her staff, monitoring the systematic milking of females.

The life of a milk maid might not have seemed like much; but here no woman could imagine a higher calling. The only alternative to live as a hucow was selection as a breeder, which meant a life of repeated rapes, dependent of their continued fertility. Sooner rather than later, she would be selected to serve in one of these castes.

Now there was nothing to now but wait. She squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the man moving closer, her head throbbing with pain as she repeated the same selfish thought.

Not me, not me, not me.

She felt him move past. Then heard the startled sounds of Astra waking. Her roommate gave out a small cry, whimpering but not resisting her own rape. There was no point in that - fighting would only make it worse. And a girl as pretty as Astra knew by now that begging would accomplish nothing. She didn't dare move, didn't dare to as much as cover her ears. So she hear the pitiful moan as the man violated her body. Every muffled sob, every deep, desperate breath ringing in her shame filled ears.

Gwendolyn lay in her bunk, trying to sleep past the sounds of sex bouncing off the walls of the dorminity. In the dark, she couldn't tell what was happening, but she heard enough to imagine. Astra and her were not close. Close friends were discouraged through systematic separation. In another few weeks she might be randomly assigned another bed, another roommate. Most girls were so conditioned to sexual violence that they might watch another raped by a group with a casual indifference, discussing it at the catina with the same severity as the weather. For most girls, the sounds above her might be seen as comfort, a signal another man was unable to rape her.

Despite her thoughts, Gwendolyn never was able to think that way.

"Please..." She heard the woman whisper. "Finish..."

Gwendolyn cared. She couldn't shake it. The woman above her was more than just a redhead with breasts that destined her for milking. From the few words she had shared, Gwendolyn knew that Astra had dreams of avoiding becoming a hucow by sleeping with a member of the Overseer's Council, a small, wiry gentleman responsible for crunching the numbers responsible for the massive machine.

Powerful men of the ruling caste did often select favorites, sheltering them from becoming milkers or common breeders until they tired of them and selected another subject. Though technically forbidden, like the rape occurring on the bunk above her, it was overlooked so long as the female property wasn't permanently damaged.

"What are you yelping about? I just started."

"It's too much..."

"You've been used already today..."

"Yes!" She begged. "Gentle, please!"

"You've been fucking that pencil dick again, haven't you?"

It wasn't a question.

"I can feel his cum, you used up little jizz rag."

Astra gave out a loud moan.

"Please, you're so much bigger..."

"And you're going to take every centimeter in that tight cunt!"

"Please, please just cum, I'll do anything you want, I'll suck you, I'll-"

The rest came out muffled, as if the man had placed his hand over Atra's mouth.

She gave up on sleep, trying to distract herself with the her studies. Gwendolyn pulled out her v-screen, attempting to study as the laborer slammed his cock into the poor girl again and again. She went over milk-yields, production increases, best methods, anything to distract herself from the wailing girl above her being taken so roughly.

She could tell by the sounds of skin against skin, the wild, ceaseless, muffled screaming of the girl that things had only gotten worse. And though she hadn't known Astra for more than a month, she had always been kind. A little ignorant, eager to please, but well-meaning. Despite years of conditioning, Gwendolyn knew in her soul that no one deserved this.. And yet part of her, a shame filled little voice, knew how lucky she was...

This had been as much a matter of birth as training and tenacity. Though all the years of research into genetic modification had been squandered due to the simplicity of their resources, genes still dominated the role of selection. Large, full breasts or wide birthing hips predestined woman to be treated as livestock or birthers. After generations of selective breeding, most women found themselves into either category.

Only an unlucky few, or those who caused too many problems, were selected as common service units. At even given time, there were a number of women stored near one of the work hubs. They spent their short lives latched in a pillory, a plastisteel trap holding their head and hands in place, positioning their bodies to be used over and over by men taking out their frustrations on the nearest piece of flesh. These women not only reinforced submission - they allowed men an avenue for more violent sex acts that would damage livestock or birthers.

The life of a service unit was short. Many were simply spaced as men tended to grow tired of these woman easily. Even so - there were worse rumors, spread from gossiping girls over hushed meals. Tall tales of monsters inhabiting the planet. Of workers feeding defiant servicers to nightmarish monsters, forcing them to experiment with alien life forms - and worse.

Even given these grim realities, few women ever believed themselves destined for a life making milk or babies. Each believe themselves capable of something special, even if it was just sexually servicing a particular male. That these men encouraged these fantasies allowed them to continue a special type of abuse, a cruel pastiche of consensual sex, all in the hopes of survival. In reality, fate, more than anything else, determined the role of females in the colony.

Gwendolyn was always made painfully aware of the possibility, always grateful that whatever god existed in this great beyond spared her a larger bust. Her platinum blonde hair had been cropped into a short pixie cut, her breasts barely formed cups, and her behind protruded out like a heart shaped bubble - not designed to provide milk or babies for Epsilon Seven. But these advantages only allowed her an opportunity.

Gwendolyn knew she would probably avoid selection again, though possibility of a scarcity always tortured her most horrible imaginings. She reminded herself that her measurements were just shy of desirable. Because of her slender frame, her small stature, and narrow hips, she had not been culled immediately at adulthood. Such gifts signaled her limited potential to produce on this desolate rock and gave her a chance at life hidden from the stars. These features, created and cultivated, allowed her to avoid such rough treatment.

And gave her an infinite sense of pity for girls like Astra.

"Please stop! Use my ass if you have to... just let it be over..."

"Shut up!"

The animalistic rutting moved back, shaking the bed as Gwendolyn tried to shut herself off the violence occurring above her.

She heard the slight ringing of the alert.

"Is that me?"

"Please... just finish... just be done..."

"No, we're good..."

"NO!"

"Yes, spread your legs for me..."

"No... no more... no more..."

"You're just going to make it worse on yourself..."

Gwendolyn looked and saw the flashing alert on wrist, a summon to room 101. She tried to slink off, hearing the screams from Astra as the man ploughed back inside of her.

"That's it, that's it bitch, take it. That's what you wanted isn't it? Your hole filled with cum?"

"Yes.. oh god yes I wanted it. Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

At least it was over for Astra...

And with that Gwendolyn's thoughts turned to her own fate.

Selection.

*****

Gwendolyn shuddered as she remembered her first selection day. It occurred shortly after her 18th rotation, but randomly, both to be convenient for the selectors and to prevent a panic. Her mind had been in such a panic, only to have her body stay perfectly still as she was passed over by the thin, weadling overseer. Without a selection, a female returned to the prospective pool. allowed to study as a milkmaid in the short interval between the next selection.

Though such an opportunity provided hope, in reality this brief respite encouraged compliance while granting the overseers time to finishing exhausting their previous flock of females. But given the segregation of the society, no one ever knew for sure, and each chose to believe they would be spared.

This pause allowed Gwen time to take her various examinations, another overseer design to control rebellion. The results had been hidden from her. There was no passing, only a comparison against every other woman with the same desire. Now standing next to her in her second selection, there were perhaps a hundred girls, most for the first time.

Their tight fitting clothes had been removed. Each had been standing nude at attention for hours, her smaller breasts exposed along with everyone else. The wiry, thin-faced scientist took his time as he cupped each of her mammaries, letting his thumbs freely play with her nipples as she fought back her nerves. Everything inch of her wanted to scream out in protest, to do something to have control of what was happening to her. But she couldn't, didn't dare make a word of protest.

There were always worse things than being selected as breedstock.

She could be spaced.

But before that happened, as many laborers as they wanted would take their turn with her, secure in the knowledge that any act of degradation and violence would be encouraged by the overseer as a warning to others.

So she watched in stony silence, trying to keep herself as collected as possible as the man made a few marks with his stylus. He said nothing to her, not even acknowledging her as a person. He made a bored wave with his hand as the guards pushed her on down the line, bringing the next woman, an unfortunate girl who could have been selected as livestock or as a breeder due to her wide, birthing hips and her large breasts, swinging back and forth with every step. Gwendolyn remembered looking away, unable to meet the other girl's gaze.

Because she knew. Beneath that long blonde hair, those beautiful blue eyes knew that her life was about to taken by a stroke of that stylus. To scream, to fight, to show any type of resistance only meant she would be taken away to be used and broken as a plaything of the countless male workers who toiled on the surface every day, breaking their backs trying to raise enough food to eat on this barren rock.

And then behind her, she saw Astra, her face dour, beaten, defeated. Her wristband had also give the same alert, but she had been too preoccupied to notice immediately. She had been ushered into the hucow area immediately, struggling for only a second until a corrective slap across face brought the girl back into line. Her fiery red hair clung to her face through beads of sweat and tears. She and perhaps a dozen girls had been plucked prematurely, a show Gwendolyn knew to convince the girls with breasts on the bubble that they might not be chosen as human cows or breeders. That they too might be given a reprieve, allowed a few more weeks or even months to study and stave off the inevitable.

But girls with bodies like Astra were only fooling themselves.

Maybe they all were. And in a moment of panic, Gwendolyn considered the possibility that the milk maids only existed as a propaganda campaign, a tool to prevent massive uprising from the women the colony depended heavily on for survival.

She waited... and waited, until every other girl was led off. She stood, her body on display, shivering in the cold, controlled climate, and yet not daring to say a word until told what her life would be.

And then she saw her.

Violet Nall walked into the selection room, towering over the men inside, her presence almost intoxicating. Her purple hair meticulously positioned to hang down over one shoulder. Her brow furrowed as she looked up and down Gwendolyn's breasts. Then in a mimic of the selection officer, she took out her index finger and thumb to gently tweak the tiny, dot sized nipple.

"I see you have my selection ready..."

*****

"Do we really need a reminder why we are here..."

It had been seven rotations since her selection, barely enough time for a crash course at the computers while the other dozen milk maids did their rounds.With their numbers so few, Gwendolyn immediately recognized her good fortune. So she listened with rapt, desperate attention to her idol, the only woman claiming any sort of authority over another in the biodome as she addressed her staff for the second time this morning. Violet Nall paced around the room, her presence almost as intoxicating as it was inspiring. A word from the mistress could earn an execution on Epsilon Seven.

Or worse...

Her hair flowed down past her shoulders, lush with dark purple streaks that signified not only her name but her family's enormous prestige. Unlike the rest of the girls, Violet stood head and shoulders over the rest, measuring a little over 2 meters, with a presence uncharacteristic for any female on the colony. The only thing about her even somewhat similar to Gwendolyn was her outfit; a tight-fitting shimmering synthetic material standard issue to every woman not culled at the first selection. The bottoms fit snugly on her full buttocks as she deliberately walked around the room, making every eye meet the motions of her body.

The fabric fit so tightly that little was left to the imagination, even though any sense of modesty had been condition out of the population generations ago. Every eye could see even the part in Violet's ample ass, which stretched out the material beyond what would have been possible for any of the other petite women. Higher up on her body, the V-shaped part that started near the shoulders barely contained her bosom, and Violet could rightly claim to be the last woman on this desolate rock to sport ample cleavage and wide hips for no other use than being aesthetically pleasing.

And as the mistress stopped in front of Gwendolyn, she did her best not to stare at the chest almost level with her eyes. She tried not to notice the darker outline of nipples pushed out against the silver fabric. She found herself alternating gazes between her breasts and eyes, trying not to assert herself too much by making prolonged eye-contact, while also avoiding staring at the barely clad body only inches away.

"You are here to make milk!"

She said it softly and sharply, enough for Gwendolyn to perk up, afraid that she would be cast out like so many of her friends, selected for the thankless but necessary task of becoming bovine specimens for the survival of the colony. Her heart threatened to choke off her windpipe. Gwen remembered how she and the other girls used to dread the appearance of their utters, some girls going as far as try various methods to push down their tits so that no inspector could ever classify them as a grade C or D milk producer.

Not that these attempts actualized in avoiding becoming livestock. Being selected as a milkmaid was a privilege, an occupation pioneered by Violet Nall as essential not only in providing hope, even if it was largely false, but also for improving the most essential job.

"What is the appropriate yield for a properly motivated subject?"

Gwendolyn and the others rattled off their response.

"Nearly 2.4 liters of milk per day-"

"Anyone care to take a guess at what the yield was before I started the milkmaids?"

No one dared answer the rhetorical question. Gwendolyn looked around, her hand creeping up in spite of her better instincts.

"You..." Violet said. "The new girl, the one with the hair that's gone supernova..."

The other girls laughed.

"About fifty percent Ma'am," Gwendolyn started. "1.5 liters per day."

"Closer to 1.6 liters per 24-hour cycle...which is where several of you are dropping towards now..." Violet moved on, clasping her hands behind her back as she lectured. "I want you to think on that liter. Think of that liter as the reason why you are not being abused as some cum vacuum. To be a breeder, you need wide hips, the perfect genetic makeup. To be milk stock, you need larger breasts that what I see in front of me. Something like these..."

Violet grabbed both of the voluptuous orbs suspended up in front of her by her tight-fitting outfit.

"I know exactly what you think," Violet said. "Who is this woman to tell us anything? She belongs in the barn with all the cows, producing milk for men who work all day breaking their backs trying to pull a potato or two out of the ground...

Gwendolyn took a deep breath along with the other dozen or so maids in attendance. No one in the crowd thought anything similar. To them, Violet Nall was an idol, an impossible, unattainable dream. The one woman who managed to raise herself up beyond her station, to work as something more than just another slave necessary for the survival of the colony. Not only that, for the past twenty years she had brought dozens of woman with her, elevating them to a new, special class of people.