Wild Space Pt. 01

Arela had ordered that Lulu be relieved of duty to recuperate. Dekker had cursed himself for not thinking of it first. Lulu protested, but not in any grand sense of the word. A short talk between the three of them, off duty, had sufficed:

"Master, mistress, I fulfilled my function and did my duty. That is all." Lulu had told them both.

"You always do, honey." Arela told her quickly.

"I even enjoyed it." The fuckbot admitted.

"Nothing wrong with that. I made you to enjoy things like that, so can the guilt." Dekker said.

His wife gave him a look, one of those that shoot between husband and wife. Wordless, but devastating and instantly understood. Dekker blinked.

"You've gone through a lot these past few weeks. You should rest. We're three days away from Mtrak. We can take over until then." Dekker told her, and that was that.

Lulu retired to their bed, curled up in their blanket that was always rich with the smells of the man and the woman she loved. It was her refuge. The fuckbot required no recreation, but after being functional for so long, she had picked up a passion for reading, a hobby that Arela also enjoyed. She had done her best to nurture it Lulu. So the fuckbot passed the time with a simple, silly book on fairy tales, almost a children's novel. But it was her favorite.

Dekker and Arela had offered to sleep elsewhere, but Lulu wouldn't have it. She laid between them every night and always seemed to need contact, to touch them. No loveplay took place. They all were simply present for one another. It was enough.

***

It was in one of these awkward but blissful states that they were captured.

Alarm klaxons blared them out of a deep sleep, staining the bulkheads blood red. Dekker was up first, already shaking out his uniform pants. Lulu was also kicking away blankets. Only Arela was slightly slower to rise.

"What is it?!" His wife wanted to know, raising her voice to be heard over the harsh sirens.

"Proxmity!" Dekker yelled back.

"Another inspection?" Arela wanted to know.

"Negative, they'd've used their beacon like last time." He shouted.

"Captain, I will be in the cockpit." Lulu was already off. She didn't wear clothes and she really didn't sleep, only dozed and defragged her system.

"Bless that girl," Arela said as she was finally dressed. "Orders, captain?"

"Get the gun," Was all Dekker said, his voice grim. They kept a small self defense firearm in their most secret of smuggling compartments, having never had to use it. Now was a good a time as any.

Arela's brown eyes widened, locking onto his and freezing, despite the chaos around them. She closed her mouth and nodded.

"I'll be up," She said, referring to the cockpit.

Dekker was still pulling on a t-shirt as he sat in the captain's chair. Lulu had forsaken her usual spot and station and was in the first officer's chair herself.

"It's an old patrol torpedo vessel," The fuckbot said, keeping her voice under control. "Heavily armed. No communications yet."

"Distance?"

"7 thousand kilometers off the starboard bow. Intercept course."

"Try to raise them." Dekker said. His fingers were tapping, pushing, and rolling the marbles on the console.

"Weapons status? Excuse me, honey," Arela said as she tapped Lulu on her bare shoulder, who vacated her seat. Dekker looked over to see that his wife was armed with the bulky, old fashioned scattergun they maintained over the years. The weapon was primed.

"The turret is still booting up," Dekker said. "We've kept the system itself live and updated, but it hasn't been used in months."

"Never had a reason before now," Arela replied grimly. "What are we facing?"

"Old PT boat. Damn things pack a lot of firepower in a small frame. Raising shields." Dekker said. On the console, a tiny bright readout of the Barnabas was engulfed in a green glow. Their defenses were ready. "Lulu, any response to that hail?"

"None. The unidentified vessel is at 3500 kilometers. They're entering weapons rang-" Lulu began to report.

The Barnabas was rocked by a full salvo of weapons fire. Despite the shields, the shower of sparks from consoles and the sound of something metallic rattling deep within the ship behind them indicated they'd taken damage. Dekker cursed lustily.

"Return fire!" He yelled.

"Returning fire, aye," Arela looked up from the console to peer into the tiny periscope that fell from the cockpit ceiling. She twisted a knob on its side. "Linked to turret."

The Barnabas shuddered slightly as its antique laser cannon fired off a few rounds of fire. Arela's gunnery was second to none, but the old weapon simply didn't have stopping power. Another blast from the enemy vessel caused Arela to scream and push the periscope up. She blinked rapidly.

"Mistress!" Lulu cried out.

"I'm alright, they just thrashed the turret. The blasts hurt my eyes." His wife was blinking rapidly.

"I think its time we leave, Mtrak or no Mtrak," Dekker told them both. "Plot a course!"

They never had the chance. Another handful of laser fire from the enemy vessel silenced their engines. A few seconds of silence, and then another surgical strike. Their power was out. The cockpit was plunged into darkness. A handful of seconds later a few emergency lights blinked weakly into place.

"Sensors?" Dekker asked quietly.

"Nothing, captain. We're dead in the water." Arela said. All around them, the Barnabas shook, and a guttural, mechanical sound began to echo throughout the freighter. Metal grinded into unwilling metal.

"They're docking," Dekker told them both. His voice was husky and pinched. "Arela, give me the gun, my love. You can't see."

Wordlessly, she handed it to him. He touched her hand a few seconds longer than necessary, made sure the weapon's safety was off.

"Lulu, get your jumpstarter and hide in the engine core." He said. The jumpstarter was one of the fuckbot's tools, designed to deliver a high jolt of electricity to shock her artificial body back into operation, should it be needed. It would make a devastating close quarters weapon, and Lulu would certainly be in close quarters, squeezed into the engine core.

Arela knew what he meant and what was about to happen. Her vision was rapidly clearing, but she still blinked as a few tears filled them. She turned away.

"Master, no!" Lulu nearly wailed. "I am not leaving you! Either of you! I can fight!"

"Lulu...do as I say." Dekker's eyes were closed as the metal grindings ceased.

"Mistress, don't make me-"

"GET IN THE FUCKING ENGINE CORE!" Arela yelled at the top of her voice, anger and frustration and sadness ripping through the cockpit. Both Lulu and Dekker winced.

With a blubbering sob, the fuckbot left them, covering her nudity with her hands as she cried and ran. Dekker nearly found himself breaking down. None of them had ever been ashamed of their bodies. He had programmed the fuckbot too well, to do that in response to stress.

Far off, there was a rapid tapping as the enemy crew found their hatch's most battered stretch of metal. A hissing was soon heard as they sliced into the Barnabas.

"...orders, captain?" His wife asked him softly.

"Torque spanner." He told her. "It's big and heavy enough. I'll use the gun."

"Right," Arela said shakily. She stood and found the meter long wrench, hefted it in her hands. "We should have hired that soldier woman Sandra as muscle, if not for any other reason."

Dekker couldn't laugh, but he appreciated it.

"I love you." He told her simply, clearly. Though he was more afraid than he had been in a long time, there was no fear in saying that. He had never felt any fear of loving her, as long as he'd known her.

"I love you." She said, not merely agreeing with his statement but declaring it herself. They had always been partners on equal footing that way.

The hatch, a few turns down the corridor from them, exploded inward. He reluctantly tore his eyes from those of his wife, and stood himself.

The first pirate through the cockpit caught the energy blast from the scattergun full in the chest. It lifted him off his feet and left his torso a smoking, cauterized ruin. Dekker worked the scattergun's electronic slide. The weapon, old but well maintained, chirped softly as it reloaded.

Arela was already swinging the giant wrench at the next body trying to enter the cockpit. The man yelped and stumbled, and she swung again, harder, bringing him down. Unlike the pirate before him his body simply crumpled in the doorway.

Another pirate, a woman, tried to shoot from afar, but Dekker was already watching for that. He cradled the scattergun to his shoulder, cheek to stock, and fired another blast of rapidly spreading energy that impacted into the pirate's arm and shoulder, spinning her around as she screamed.

"Enough!" Came an alien voice, yelling down the corridor of the Barnabas. "One more shot, and we're throwing in a grenade."

"Fuck you!" Arela exploded at him. "You're going to kill us anyway!"

"Not you, if you're a good a fuck as you are a killer." The alien replied in a gravely baritone. "Valuable commodity. A stun grenade will do nicely for you. But your boyfriend there will meet his end, I can promise you that. And it won't be something as quick as a gunshot."

The seconds of silence ticked by. The power loss had also robbed them of their life support, and environmental controls. The entire cockpit was sweltering, heating up with breath and energy blasts. Dekker was sweating profusely.

"Throw out the gun. We'll take the woman and leave." The alien promised them. "If you don't we'll take her anyway, and kill whoever we can't sell. That means you, my friend. Make the smart decision."

They couldn't risk being overheard, and any discussion was pointless, anyway. Dekker went to throw the scattergun into the corridor. Arela made an angry noise, low in her throat. He caught her eye, his expression hopeless.

"No other choice," He said.

"That's right, no other choice. Now let's get this over with. The gun."

The moment the scattergun clattered on the deck the cockpit was rushed. Arela shrieked in rage, but was quickly overwhelmed before she could swing her wrench. Two figures, barely lit in the emergency lighting, were pulling her weapon from her and yelling at her in angry voices as they wrestled her.

Dekker launched himself at the pair, but was grabbed himself by a strong pair of arms, and squeezed against a huge, barrel chest. An alien scent, foreign to human nostrils, filled the tiny cockpit. He struggled mightily against whoever it was, to no avail.

"Trusting fool," The alien said softly. Looking up, Dekker saw he was Vimoran, a green one, and big. Arela was still screaming bloody murder.

He was turned and almost lifted in midair, slammed face first down onto the deck hard enough to rattle his teeth. The alien sat on his back, pinned the freighter captain's arms behind his back in a double hammerlock.

"Shut her up," The alien said casually, and a sharp trio of blows to the mouth finally silenced Arela. She struggled for a bit more, still fighting them, until one slammed his knee repeatedly into her side. Arela's anger turned into pain.

"She fought more than you," The Vimoran said, and there were some coarse laughs. "You won't have to live with the shame of being so unmanned, though. You killed two of my crew and injured another. For that, you'll die, little man. But not before we claim our prize. Samson, Bekki, take her."

The man and woman holding Arela needed no further prompting. The male pirate grabbed a double handful of Arela's hair and yanked her bodily to the deck, dragging her out of the cockpit as she screamed.

Dekker found himself also being hauled into the corridor. He resumed his struggle and screamed himself. The alien captain paid him no mind, merely clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds.

"Now watch," The Vimoran whispered in Dekker's ear.

They already had torn her clothes off. The man was stronger, and so he held her down. Bekki bent to kiss his wife's full, bloodied lips, but was answered by a headbutt. It was an off balance strike and not very powerful, but it was enough to deter her. The female pirate cursed and responded by rubbing her forearm roughly against her captive's face, grinding it until bone met bone beneath their skin. Samson laughed at the sight, and kneeled at Arela's head, pinning her arms down with his knees.

"Not too rough," The alien cautioned. "We aren't keeping her."

Bekki cursed her captain, too, but in a distracted fashion. Beneath her pants the female pirate had a strap on ready to go, already worn around her hips. Her stomach was flat and rippled with muscles, and her legs and pubic region was thick with hair.

"Juice up your stick, Bek," The captain ordered. To Dekker, he said, "Bekki here is a man, born into the wrong body. We can't afford her surgery, but when we can she'll be a he. I've promised her. For now she makes do, but sometimes she forgets the unwilling don't always get wet."

Lube glistened along the length of the strap on. It was an eggplant color, clean. It's owner clearly took pride in it. Bekki aimed it as if it was a real cock, and forcefully plunged it into Arela's unwilling pussy.

His wife screamed at the intrusion but could only ineffectually kick her legs. Dekker resumed his struggle against the Vimoran holding him captive, to no avail.

Bekki was leaning down into Arela's face, spit dripping from her lips as she thrusted. The woman couldn't have felt anything and so was drawing her enjoyment from the scared, angry, surrendered look on his wife's face.

"Hurry it up," Samson told his crew mate. "Take what you need and leave some for me."

The female pirate didn't hear him, so busy were her hips as she thrusted and breathed harder and harder.

Arela had been held still, forced to feel the sensation of the other woman fucking her for minutes on end. Her screaming subsided into a whimper of shame, and then some hard breathing of her own. Unbidden, her hips began to raise off the deck to meet the other woman's strokes.

"She likes it. Good thing we came," The alien said to them all, eliciting a few laughs from Samson and a grunt of amusement from the pumping, raping Bekki.

"No, no, no!" Arela said. She kicked with her legs, so fiercely that the strap on was thrown out of her. Bekki cursed her softly and reinserted.

Dekker soon realized why his wife had started fighting again. He'd made her cum often enough to know the signs. His wife was close.

The female pirate was thrusting quickly into her as if her buttocks were being burned. Her hands were flat on the deck, her face an inch away from Arela's, both of them contorted.

"Cum for me!" Bekki hissed. "Do it, bitch!"

Dekker tried to turn his head as his wife began to moan, but the captain held him hard and tight, forcing him to at least listen.

Arela's resigned, nearly sobbing orgasm echoed throughout the corridor.

"Enough. Enough. Please." She panted.

"Not nearly enough, you bitch," Samson told her. "We're all going to have a go. You're in for a very bad day."

"She's right. We've been here too long. Capitals could come by at anytime." The big alien said.

"Aw, come on, Cap!" Samson cried out.

"Don't whine at me, Samson. Get your gear, this slave, and move out." The alien told him in a hard voice.

"Aye, Captain Pash." Samson said. Bekki was already pulling on her pants carefully.

Both of them helped pull the now drained and defeated woman to her feet.

"Dekker..." Arela said softly.

"Take her away," Pash ordered.

The pirate captain was paying attention to his crew, not to his captive. And so he was unprepared for Dekker's fury. With an inarticulate cry of rage, he managed to escape the Vimoran's grasp and take a half step towards his beloved wife.

He had barely broken free when something hard cracked into the back of his skull, sending him crashing to the deck. Blackness clogged his senses and his ears were ringing, but he could see Pash's boots and hear the whine of a weapon being charged before the darkness took him.

***

Arela fought them. They had stripped her naked, raped her, and she had enjoyed it. They'd torn her away from her family. She didn't care what they did with her, all that mattered was that they pay.

They didn't seem to care. The hairy female pirate who had violated her, Bekki, simply clapped a pair of manacled onto her wrists. Between her and the two men, Samson and Pash, they could handle anything she could dish out. Except for her raging voice and cursing.

"I'd shut up if I were you, honey," Samson said, gripping her upper arm so hard she winced. "We'll cut your tongue out if you don't. You don't want that."

"Less resale value, too." Bekki commented.

"On that we'll see." Pash rumbled at them. "May keep this one for myself. She's old and maybe not pretty enough for the auction block. Shitty attitude, too."

"She's pretty, and sweet between her legs as she is feisty." Bekki said as she cupped Arela's naked ass. She slapped it reassuringly. "I'll take her, Cap."

"Negative, sailor. If we're keeping her she's mine. Share her with you, maybe."

"Not on your life."

The pirate vessel was a renovated PT boat. It had minimal comforts for its crew and even less for its slaves. Arela was herded into a communal pen containing a handful of other naked women.

"You play nice, now." Samson was removing the metal around her wrists. Arela raised her hands to strike him.

Pash stepped forward and pushed her by her throat into the pen. The forcefield blinked into place when Arela fell on her butt onto the deck.

"Don't push your luck, sweet thing." The captain said. "And behave. This lot doesn't like cheeky nonconformists like you. The rest of you! Any lip from this one, beat it out of her."

They were left alone. Arela glanced around her at about a dozen pairs of afraid and downcast eyes. The women didn't meet her glare. They were all naked, young, and none of them bore the bruises and bloodied lips that she did. None of them looked as if they had any fight in them.

Except for the cold, hard eyes coming from the bench against the wall. It was the only place in the entire pen to sit; the rest of the women were slumped against the bulkhead or on the floor. The woman on the bench stood. She was overweight and not in a curvaceous way. Her hair was frizzy and curly. She looked mean, narrowing her brown eyes. Her lips were downturned into a sneer and not at all sexy.

"On your knees, bitch," The woman said in a high pitched, commanding voice.

"Fuck you, you fucking cunt." Arela shot back.

A sharp intake of breath from the women around them. The words hovered in the small space, a challenge. Clearly no one spoke that way to the standing woman. Arela braced herself for a fight.

"You'll learn. If you're lucky. You want to mouth off, bitch?" The big naked woman readied herself, raising her dangerous looking fists. They were covered in scars, some of which looked fresh. "Then you're mine."

"We'll see," Arela said with a bravado she didn't feel. But more importantly, she didn't care. She almost wanted to die, to have this strange slave woman strangle the life out of her. But more than that she wanted revenge. This one would have to do.

*************

Lulu crept out of the engine core, a tight space of wires, serves, and electronics. Her jumpstarter was in her hands. She would have used it to fight off any attackers, anyone who threatened her master or mistress. Her own life was a minor concern. She was not programmed this way, she knew. It was only the love she felt for Arela and Dekker. The fuckbot would fight to the death for them.

She let the tool fall as she emerged, bare feet on the deck. The Barnabas had been quiet for many minutes, after the pirate ship had left. From what Lulu could tell, they'd brought Arela onto their own vessel and poked around for a few minutes, looking for something to steal. They hadn't found much and had left, cursing the freighter and it's crew.