Chapter 1: Jean

My name is Jean Wolfe, and I’m trying to come.

I’ve been trying for hours, first with my fingers and then, when that didn’t work, with my pillow. I’ve been humping the damn thing for so long now, the satin case is completely soaked through, and the lips of my sex are sore from the friction.

Back on Earth, it never would have taken me this long, but now, no matter how hard I try, no matter how deeply I rub and rock and grind, my climax remains just out of reach--elusive, unattainable, taunting.

I need it though. Oh God, I need it so bad.

I try harder.

I’m not alone in the perfumed darkness of the bedchamber. Gerber is always somewhere nearby, perched atop one of the massive armoires perhaps, or quietly circling the ridiculous chandelier that droops from the ceiling like a big crystalline jellyfish. I’m sure he can hear what I’m doing on the bed. He can probably see it too, despite the darkness.

I don’t care. Gerber’s not alive. Not really. He’s nothing more than an expensive toy. A gift I never asked for.

Besides, my need is too great. I can’t stop now. I have to come.

I have to.

I never used to be like this back on Earth. Sure, I’ve always had my urges, same as any woman. But those urges were always of an ordinary intensity, and I was always able to dispatch them with relative ease.

It was only after the Znthians loaded me onto this stupid spaceship that everything started to change. It’s because of all the medicine they’ve been giving me. The injections. The pills. They tell me that stuff is supposed to make me “compatible” for breeding, but obviously there’s more to it than that. Every curfew, the automatic lights in my bed chamber fade out. That’s when the urges come. It always starts as a tickle deep within my core, but it soon spreads through my body like a disease, weaving itself around my nerves until every fiber of my being is enslaved to an all-consuming lust.

The first few curfews weren’t so bad, but each successive night has gotten worse and worse--and the urges have gotten harder and harder to satisfy.

Last night took me two hours.

Tonight’s taking even longer.

Hot tears of frustration well in my eyes as I continue riding my pillow, trembling with a need that now verges upon pain. I grit my teeth, choking back sobs of desperation.

Why are you torturing yourself like this? a little voice chides from the dark places in my mind. You know what you have to do. You’re only prolonging the inevitable.

True... but I’m nothing if not stubborn. I keep trying with the pillow. I keep trying until I can’t take it anymore.

Then, at last, I give in.

I always do.

With a groan, I pull the drenched cushion from between my legs and toss it away in disgust. Then I crawl to the edge of the bed and push through the gossamer canopy that surrounds it. My heart is racing. My body is dripping sweat.

Off to one side, a sort of shrine has been set up. It’s the only source of light in the whole room. It consists of a glowing portrait on the wall, and below that, an object in a glass case. The portrait is of my husband-to-be. The one I will soon share with thousands of other concubines like myself. The Emperor. His azure eyes seem to follow me as I approach.

I try not to look. It’s not the portrait I’m after, or the eyes. What I need right now is the thing in the glass case, and that’s a different kind of portrait.

I open the case and lift it out.

It is, so I’ve been told, an exact replica. The whole thing is carved from a solid piece of fire-orange jade, and it’s been polished until it is slippery smooth. The shaft is long and thick, its surface etched with a snakeskin texture and lined with plump, winding veins. The tip is different from a human male’s, less blunt, more tapered, and the sculpted sac attached to the base seems to contain not two large testicles, but three.

When I was first taken aboard this ship, I promised myself I would never use this inhuman thing. Six days in, I broke that promise, and I’ve broken it every night since.

Tonight, I’m going to break it again.

It’s obvious what the aliens are doing--they’re conditioning me. The drugs. The urges. The replica phallus. All of it’s meant to turn me into a submissive little sex toy for their leader.

I’m worried it’s starting to work.

Sweating, trembling, I rush back across the room and climb onto the bed. I flop on my back in the middle of the mattress and spread my legs. I don’t care if Gerber can see me. I don’t even care if that little electric brain of his is beaming everything to a screen in a lab somewhere for living eyes to observe. Right now, none of that matters. All I care about is getting my release.

The only thing that can provide it is the long, thick sculpture in my hands.

I move it down, between my open thighs, and I press the tip against my weeping sex. The smooth stone feels slightly cool against my hypersensitive lips. I hiss softly, but I don’t pull away. I keep going, pushing the tip inside my body, followed by the shaft. The girth of it stretches me, and I feel every detail sliding against my soft inner walls.

“Oh God,” I murmur. “Oh my God...”

The stone phallus reaches my back wall with inches to spare. I hold it there, giving my pelvic muscles a chance to adjust. Then I start to move it in and out of my body, mimicking the rhythm of slow, gentle sex. The change is immediate. Already, I can feel my release pooling deep within my core. My head falls to one side, and my eyes land on the portrait on the wall. The face is hazy through the diaphanous curtain, but I can still make out the bright orange scales and strange, solid blue eyes.

This is what you need, those eyes seem to tell me. I am what you need.

I turn my face away.

An idea starts taking shape within my mind. A small and secret rebellion. Yes, the sculpture is a replica of my new master, but that doesn’t mean he has to be the object of my fantasy. I’ll think of someone else. A lookalike. A soldier perhaps, or a prisoner like me. Someone to ruin me, before the Emperor can have his turn.

It’s just a stupid fantasy, I know, but it helps to take the edge off my shame.

I spread myself wider and thrust the replica inside as far as it will go. I work it in and out with a faster rhythm than before. Slick, wet sounds issue from between my quivering thighs.

“Fuck me,” I whisper to my imaginary lover. “Come inside me. Make a baby in me before he can...”

Did Gerber hear me say that? Probably.

Will I get in trouble for it? Who knows?

All I know is that the jade cock no longer feels like it’s made of stone, but of living flesh. I let go of it, but it keeps moving on its own, thrusting in and out of my pussy. Thrusting and thrusting and thrusting.

And... growling?

I’m not in the bedchamber anymore; I’m someplace else. Someplace dark and wild. A hot wind licks my bare skin. There is a male on top of me. A big one. Big in every sense of the word. He is thrusting into me hard and deep, growling as he breeds me, speaking to me in a language I cannot understand.

I open my mouth to scream.

What comes out instead is a moan of wanton pleasure.

There are hands on my body. Too many hands. On my breasts, on my hips, around my throat. Somebody is touching my clit.

No... not touching.

Licking.

Someone is licking me while the big male fucks me with his hard cock. And someone else is beneath me too, thrusting into me from below, claiming my other hole in a series of slow, deep penetrations lubricated by my own leaking arousal.

The males begin to come. Their muscles clench as they ejaculate deep inside me. The hot rush of their semen fills my body from both sides. Then I’m coming with them. Coming harder than I’ve ever come in my life. Coming so hard it fucking hurts. I scream as it happens. I scream and scream and scream.

And I beg for more.

But it’s already over. I’m back on the bed again, alone and sprawled amidst an ocean of sweaty satin. My fingers and toes are numb from my climax. My muscles are wet rags.

“Are you well, Madam?” an uncanny, childlike voice queries from the darkness. “Do you require medical attention?”

“I’m fine,” I murmur, too tired to feel ashamed, already half asleep.

“Are you certain, Madam? You cried out.”

“Gerber?”

“Yes, Madam?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, Madam.”

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