28. Chapter 28 - The Handmaiden's Training, Part 1

29. Chapter 29 - The Handmaiden's Training, Part 2

Warning

WARNING TO READERS

This novel explores themes and scenes of extreme violence, including torture, non-consensual sexual acts, and psychologically very disturbing situations. It is therefore naturally and formally prohibited for minors under eighteen years of age.

The universe you are about to discover is a science-fiction dystopia whose logic rests on a technology of regeneration and resurrection without limits. This postulate, central to the plot, allows the antagonists of this story to commit acts of unimaginable barbarity, reducing life and the body to simple disposable and infinitely repairable tools. It is precisely this technology and the perverse use they have made of it over time that has led them to become monsters.

It is crucial to understand that the practices described in these pages, even the most extreme, have no relation to BDSM or any other form of healthy and fulfilling sexuality. BDSM, in its fundamental principles, rests on informed consent, communication, trust, and respect for limits, always framed by ‘safewords’ and very strict rules for the safety and well-being of persons, both physical and psychological. BDSM can be something beautiful and wonderful. What is depicted here is the exact opposite: it is the total abolition of consent, a pure and simple violation of the human being.

This book is a fiction, an exploration of a terrifying ‘what if’. The question posed is the following: if death and pain were no longer limits, how far could a perversion lead us? The characters who inflict this suffering are not models, but monsters, misled by the illegitimate use of a technology that gave them power over life and death.

I condemn without the slightest reservation any non-consensual sexual or violent act in the real world, regardless of the context. Torture, rape, and any form of coercion are abominable crimes. The fictional nature of this narrative must never be interpreted as a justification or banalization of these abject acts.

If, in a distant future, technologies were to change our relationship to pain and mortality, the principle of consent and the integrity of each individual should imperatively endure. Because without that, we would all become monsters. Respect for life, for consciences, and for the relationship to the body and acts that revolve around sexuality must always remain the unbreakable foundation of any human relationship. What follows is the nightmare of what would happen if this foundation were annihilated.

By continuing your reading, you accept to enter this dark fictional space, keeping in mind this fundamental distinction: the literary exploration of unspeakable horror is and must never be the approval of this horror. This should also make us question an essential question: why is all this so exciting for many, when any sane person would rise up and find themselves broken to witness, in real life, even a single one of the acts described in this book?

I think that every human being is and will forever be attracted to power, notably for the sensations it provides. This leads some to always want more, to seek this sensation of the absolute until they lose themselves totally and destroy everything around them. It is this power over reality and over others, when it reaches a certain threshold, that transforms us into monsters. One only has to see the Epstein affair or the acts of Vlad Țepeș, nicknamed Vlad the Impaler. The lack of humanity and the accumulation of power, including simply economic power to the detriment of others, tends to change us into monsters, gradually.

Let us explore this concept safely and always keep precious this spark that is our humanity. It is much more fragile and has much more value than one thinks.

* * *

Prologue - The Order

The Nemesis slipped into the sidereal void like a shadow, a gigantic mass of dark, angular metal that seemed to absorb the light of distant stars. For several decades now, it had been the nightmare of trade routes, the phantom that corporate convoys dreaded seeing appear on their scanners. The method of the Great Nebula Pirates was almost always the same: send a message indicating whether they were only interested in the cargo, or whether they intended to take prisoners as well. In the majority of cases, if the pirates were only after the merchandise, targets allowed themselves to be boarded, unwilling to risk an escalation with such a ruthless adversary.

On the other hand, if the pirates also wanted the passengers, the prey fought back with the energy of desperation, because the Nemesis’s reputation needed no introduction: they were slavers, sadistic torturers … some even whispered that they were cannibals.

On the bridge of the Nemesis, at the heart of this fortress, two figures stood facing the panorama of distant stars. They did not touch, but an invisible space, charged with a sinister complicity, bound them together.

He, Captain Dorrian Saxe, was a man of action, a pirate with countless victories. He was the embodiment of order and terror on board, which nevertheless contrasted with the half-smile that almost never left his face. In his severe, carefully designed uniform, Dorrian was rather impressive. But he became downright intimidating when he donned his dress uniform, an authentic 18th-century Terran pirate outfit purchased at great expense, bristling with pirate symbols and enhanced by a remarkable tricorne adorned with a human skull, a relic he was particularly fond of. For now, however, Dorrian wore his standard uniform, modern tactical clothing of a deep black. As usual, his long silver-gray hair was tied back in an elegant ponytail, the only anachronistic touch about him at that moment.

At his side stood a woman whose very beauty was a weapon. Mirabella Saxe was a venomous wife, with a proud bearing, eyes of cold green like two emeralds, and hair of a red shading toward carmine, as if her mane had been bathed in blood – which, at times, it had. Her figure was as slender as it was voluptuous, especially in the red dress she wore, incorporating a corset with a devastating neckline that put her feminine assets very much on display … let us say, considerable.

— Dorrian, my dear, I want a new toy, murmured Mirabella, her voice like a caress of silk. I desire something … delicate, sexy and vulnerable, but able to last … she added with a mock pout.

Dorrian did not turn his head, but a smile stretched across his lips.

— I assume you’ve already broken the last one? he asked, a note of perverse amusement in his voice.

— It wore out, she replied with a shrug. And weakness bores me. I want a real companion slave. A human from Veridia, an S8 Series, Mirabella said, discreetly checking her watch.

A few seconds later, an alert flashed on the main screen. She rushed over and tapped the command with the tip of her sharply cut red nail.

— Oh, look! What a happy coincidence! The local police on Xalax have just picked up a sculptural blonde of striking beauty. And her profile strangely matches my desires. I want her, Dorrian!

Dorrian turned, rolling his eyes, enjoying the staged theatrics of his demonic half.

— Well, now, what a fabulous coincidence! The odds were infinitesimal! Dorrian exclaimed with as much irony as possible. Mirabella, if the gods existed, they would clearly favor you in the most scandalous way. I might even be jealous… How long have you been planning this, my nebula? he then probed casually.

— For three months already! Mirabella burst out immediately. No, but just look at this bombshell! she added, gesturing for him to see.

Dorrian set about reviewing the file of… Claudia LorenVale, the young woman in Xalaxian custody.

— Ah yes, she’s completely off the charts! And what a pair of tits – and natural, at that! She defies gravity on a daily basis, this one, Dorrian observed as he watched the video recorded during her intake, completely naked. You’ve found your blonde equivalent, in a way, he conceded.

— Yes, in a sense, although she has none of what makes me the most dangerously sexy woman in this part of the galaxy, she said with amusement. But don’t worry, you’ll be able to enjoy her properly – but let’s be clear, she’s mine! Mirabella clarified with a fierce look.

— We’ll see about that… As usual, I’ll take whoever I want. However I want – including you, Mirabella. And I know you love that, so there’s no point denying it.

— Mmm, promises, always promises… I’m soaking, I’m soaking, but you don’t use me enough, Captain Saxe, Mirabella taunted with a teasing smile, arching herself exaggeratedly against a control console.

— It’s true I’ve been very busy with preparations for the last boarding, Dorrian conceded. Go put on something more appropriate and join me in my cabin – I’m going to fuck your ass like my life depends on it, Dorrian said, stepping closer with a threatening air, ready to strike her for her impudence.

Mirabella brought her hands to her mouth, pretending to be frightened. But she did not have the patience to hold the act for more than a few seconds and finally shrugged.

— Very well. Don’t be late, Dorrian, or you’ll regret it bitterly! Mirabella promised, leaving the bridge with the grace of a queen.

— Well, I avoided the worst… Let’s see if there’s something to satisfy Curtis. He was so efficient during the last boarding that he’s deserved a proper reward for some time…

He scrolled through the prestigious and available acquisitions from Xalax on his own screen. He stopped on the face of a brunette with dark eyes, a generous chest, and a mouth that seemed ready to bite, to beg, or to suck endlessly.

— That one, he said. Érika Duval … she’s got some bite, and certainly everything needed to ensure Curtis some very pleasant evenings.

Dorrian sent the profile to Curtis via an internal message. The reply was almost instantaneous. “Oh, thank you, Captain. I would be very honored. She’s absolutely stunning.”

— Ah, women truly are the most dangerous and magnificent creatures there are, Dorrian mused to himself. Set a course for Xalax, he said in a loud voice that echoed across the bridge. Prepare two cells for our guests, and a discreet transport to take charge of two new acquisitions!

The Nemesis pivoted on its axis, its engines flaring back to life to accelerate far beyond cruising speed. This time, it would not return with mere loot, but with souls to shape, toys to wear down, and the spectacle of their suffering for the greatest pleasure of the couple who ruled over this kingdom of iron and pain.

* * *

Chapter 01 - The Fall, Part 1

Somewhere in the capital of Xalax, in the deathly pallid chill of the penal court’s audience corridor, the black marble threw back an infinite reflection, a bottomless pit into which Claudia’s gaze sank, head bowed. She waited. Normally cheerful, quick to smile, she knew with the unerring certainty of intuition that this day would be the worst of her life. The prisoner’s uniform, a gray jumpsuit of coarse fabric, burned against her chest. Prisoners were forbidden underwear. The air itself seemed sterile, icy, saturated with a harsh smell of disinfectant.

‘Claudia LorenVale!’ When her name rang out, she flinched. The courtroom held only a handful of anonymous figures, apart from the guards and the magistrate. Claudia limped slightly as she advanced, shackled. The dry clatter of chains at her feet and wrists punctuated each step. She had no difficulty detecting the eager smiles, the interested stares that a few spectators cast her way.

— Check her out, damn pretty, the bitch! murmured a middle-aged man to his neighbor, a sour-looking woman who nodded, her disdain barely concealed.

— Another whore who’ll vanish into the system’s pipes … though, too rich for our pockets, she added with a tinge of bitterness.

Dazed and shocked, Claudia continued to her court-appointed lawyer, a man in his sixties with a pale face and a suit that had seen better days. He gave her a weary nod.

— Stay in the circle and wait to be judged, he said in a monotone.

— But you’re going to defend me, right? You’re my lawyer, aren’t you? Everyone has a right to a lawyer … she managed to articulate before falling silent under his expression.

— I’m here to make sure your sentence falls within the prescribed range. In my view, you’ll get two years. If they sentence you to more, I’ll appeal. Otherwise, you’ll serve your time, like everyone else. Above all, avoid opening your mouth in front of the judge; don’t make things worse for yourself; I have no desire to do overtime, he concluded, straightening his tie, somehow managing to look even more wretched.

Claudia was stunned. This was her first contact with Justice, and the one who should have been in the dock was the man who’d tried to rape her, not her! Rage boiled inside her as she tried to adjust the jumpsuit that was chafing her crotch, the loose fabric rubbing her skin with every movement.

— Fuck, this damn suit’s getting me wet, I don’t believe it! Let’s hope it doesn’t show. I must have a screw loose … it’s not possible to be turned on while facing prison…

A gavel strike announced the opening of the session. A synthetic voice recited her name, her identity number, and the injunction to remain silent. Then the judge spoke.

She floated, absent, already resigned. The magistrate’s words, that grave and monotonous litany, made her shiver, but she remained prostrate, seeing only the impassive faces of the jury, masks of flesh and indifference.

‘ … for solicitation and illegal practice of prostitution in a classified sector…’

The charge hit her like a punch to the face: ‘Solicitation.’ She had smiled at a man in a leather coat with an intense gaze that seemed lost in this megalopolis of concrete and light. She had asked if he needed a guide, placing her hand on his sleeve in a natural gesture. Not a word about payment. Only an implicit transaction, a murmur in the city’s noise. But the cameras had seen everything. And the police drones had arrived, silent and swift as falcons.

The sentence fell, heavy, final. Two years of detention at the Neo-Strasbourg Correctional Center, followed by a period of supervised societal reintegration.

Two years. Claudia’s world collapsed. It wasn’t so much prison that terrified her. It was erasure. Two years in which she would cease to exist, reduced to a number, a body in a cell. Burning tears rose, but she refused them through sheer force of will. She would not give them that spectacle. She lifted her head, chin proudly raised, and met the judge’s gaze. He saw only a stunning young woman, a goddess’s face with hazel eyes, a blond beauty that seemed an insult in this place of ugliness, this parody of justice.

— You, I’d be very surprised if you spend a single day in prison, the judge told himself, approving the detention, while he studied the bids on the augmented channel of his glasses; they still took almost three months to indict her, they dragged their feet, he thought again, glancing at the photos taken of her, naked at her arrest; such beauty with such an arrogant chest, a shame she’s out of my reach… Ah, there it is, the bid is over… Oh, the poor girl! The Great Nebula Pirates, things couldn’t be worse for her…

Claudia was already being led away by two guards. One of them ordered her to speed up, sparking his electric baton against her back – not enough for a shock, but enough to make her obey. After a short corridor, she was installed in a cellular van with smooth white walls.

The journey was a deafening silence, jolted by bumps on the dilapidated suburban roads. When the doors opened, it was not onto the massive walls of a correctional center, but onto a private landing strip, bathed in twilight glow. A transport ship, matte black and certainly armed, was positioned facing the van, about fifty meters away, its ramp lowered like a gaping maw.

One of the guards pointed to the craft.

— Your carriage awaits, doll.

— No, there’s a mistake, I’m going to Neo-Strasbourg prison! she cried, between indignation and panic.

— Change of plans. You’ve been bought by pirates. You’ll serve aboard their ship, the more massive one replied.

— What? But that’s illegal, it’s … but she didn’t have time to finish before a hard slap made her stagger and turn her head.

— Easy, that’s not how you say goodbye, the second, calmer one, admonished her. Sorry for my colleague’s zeal, he continued, grabbing her by the handcuffs. I’m afraid we’ll have to take your jumpsuit back. Where you’re going, you won’t need it, he exclaimed with a broad smile.

Claudia stood frozen, panic adding to the fire on her cheek.

— Come on, we don’t have all day, the other pressed, raising his hand for a second slap.

— No, no! What pigs! It’s … it’s degrading! she protested, her voice broken by sobs.

— Oh, you find that embarrassing? You’ll have to get used to it, and fast, if you want to survive what awaits you. These pirates are probably the worst scumbags in the galaxy. I advise you not to make them wait, the colossus concluded, removing her shackles…

Claudia inhaled one last gulp of air, then resigned herself. With a trembling gesture, she removed her jumpsuit, blushing like a peony under the icy wind. She tried to cover herself with her arms, but an electric shock struck her thigh, forcing her to scream, a sound where pain mingled with pure terror.

— Don’t hide! And you’re going to lick my fingers. Lubricate them well, ordered the slighter of the two guards, a man with a weasel face wagging his index and middle finger under her nose. And if you think about biting me, my buddy Rascal will be delighted to shove his baton up your little ass and send you the maximum volts.

The mere thought froze her to the bone. Claudia closed her eyes to avoid seeing his face and licked the outstretched fingers. When he withdrew them, he ordered her to bend forward and spread her buttocks.

— Oh no, not this … she thought, unable even to imagine what came next.

Yet she obeyed, shaking with tremors. She felt the weasel-faced guard’s fingers brush her anus, then penetrate it, without the brutality she feared. First one, in humiliating thrusts, then a second that drew a grimace of pain and shame. He probed her like this for a few seconds, then shoved his fingers in as deep as possible. Then he withdrew them and presented them under her nose.

— Lick again. Clean! he commanded, a sick glint shining in his eyes, his erection tenting the fabric of his pants.

Claudia obeyed, her heart pounding as if it would burst. Fortunately, the smell and taste were far less disgusting than she could have feared. The weasel then took out a small bottle of lubricant, slicked his fingers, and returned to the assault on her anus. This time, the penetration was almost gentle, despite the disgust and fear overwhelming her. He continued his work until she relaxed against her will, complimenting her in a falsely cheerful voice as Claudia’s nipples hardened visibly.

— That’s it, good girl. At least you’re not one of those tight assholes we usually get. I’m going to put a very pretty plug in your ass, a gift from the judge. And geisha balls in your cunt. Rascal, lubricate them!

— Why … why are you doing this to me? I did nothing to you, she begged, trying to turn to glimpse what they were about to force into her.

— We’re bored, and you’re so pretty, the weasel teased again, while the brute, Rascal, laughed, calling him a poet.

Claudia did everything she could to relax her muscles and accept the intrusion of the plug and balls, striving to escape in her mind, to imagine elsewhere rather than the ignominy unfolding in the cellular van.

Tears rose when the ‘gifts’ were finally in place. She was soiled, humiliated, terrified, and above all, she felt the full weight of the metal implanted inside her. Rising, she saw the weasel-faced guard present a small metal clamp with fine teeth, attached to a chain.

— Could you tell me what this is? Or what it’s for? he teased.

— I … no … but I imagine it must hurt. Please, that’s enough. I can be nice if you stop and take me to prison.

— No, that won’t happen, unfortunately, the weasel cut in, quickly interrupted by his colossal comrade.

— Whatever, screw it, I’m doing her right now, Rascal decided, undoing his fly.

— Are you sick? You want to end up in the same boat as her or what? the weasel choked at such stupidity. Come on, Barbie, this is for your clitoris. Spread your legs so I can fix the clamp properly. It’s going to hurt, but it’s better that it’s well secured. If the balls or the plug fell out while you run to your transport, I’m afraid you’d say goodbye to a part of your most sensitive anatomy! he concluded in an almost compassionate manner.

Claudia barely had time to pale before the clamp was already closing over the hood of her clitoris. The pain made her scream and hop in place. In the same instant, she felt the geisha balls stir inside her and her anus contract painfully around the plug, which moved and which she nearly expelled.

— Keep all that nice and warm, pretty thing, the brute advised, reapplying shackles to her wrists and ankles, connected by a chain. And now, get out. There’s another prisoner, you see her over there? Rascal indicated with a sausage-thick index. She has the same gear as you. You’re at the same distance. The first one to reach the ship’s gangway boards. For the other, it’s a lottery. Last time, they welcomed her with a flamethrower. They burned her and took her corpse. The time before, what was it? Ah yes, they amputated her legs with a burst from an energy rifle…

Claudia was agape, eyes wide with a fear so vivid it paralyzed her thoughts. Never would she have thought she’d prefer to stay with her jailers, already so cruel.

— You’d like to stay with us, wouldn’t you, Barbie? the weasel guffawed, as if reading her mind. Me too if I were in your place! But that’s how it is. Come on, I’m giving the signal. You leave in three seconds. The other girl too, believe me … 3, 2, 1… Go!

And Claudia launched forward. Fear in her gut, she ran as fast as her chains and the infernal gear she carried inside her allowed. Each movement tugged at her clitoris; each stride made the geisha balls and plug dance inside her.

— Oh no, they’re so heavy… How is this possible given their size? she despaired, grimacing, her anus and perineum subjected to a formidable ordeal.

The other girl, as terrified as she, had the same hurried and absurd gait, her chest swaying with an almost tragic grace. Claudia had to slow down when she felt the plug move in an alarming way, threatening to expel itself. She arched with all her strength, despite the irons, and pushed it back into place before continuing her frantic run.

Her competitor had taken the lead. She was faster. But a few meters further, Claudia saw her collapse in a shrill scream, a pure note of agony. The young woman writhed on the ground, rolling in pain; she had lost her ‘cargo.’

Claudia restrained herself from going to her. Pity tightened her chest, but she had to arrive first if she didn’t want to suffer the same fate. She had to be careful, she knew. Her suffering must be absolutely atrocious.

The pretty brunette got up as best she could, screaming, burning tears streaming down her face distorted by pain and despair.

Pirates were now advancing toward them, descending from the gangway. There were six of them, all armed to the teeth with a heterogeneous, deadly, and intimidating arsenal. They took their time, savoring the spectacle. One of them played with a knife, testing its edge on his tongue, eager to see fresh new flesh join the brotherhood.

Claudia arrived far ahead. Her relief at being first nearly made her trip. The other young woman continued to advance, blood flowing between her thighs, staining her sex.

— The poor thing … it’s truly horrible, she whispered, trembling far more from fear than from cold, despite the icy wind sweeping the landing strip.

The pirates played rock-paper-scissors to decide the loser’s fate. After a few quick rounds, the most nervous of the group took a few steps toward the wounded one, without a glance at Claudia. He approached her, smiling.

— My name is Curtis, and I think I’m one of the few on board who can help you. I like you, with your doe eyes, your model’s face, and your tits that could wake the dead. So, I’m going to help you board. No, forget it, the tip of your clitoris is too far, useless trying to pick it up. We’ll regrow it, we have the tech for that. And sometimes, it’d be better if it were permanent, he asserted, approaching her slowly, while she wept in utter despair, clutching her crotch.

— Help me, please! I … I’ll do anything you want, she begged.

— Agreed, he approved. Your name?

— Érika… Érika Duval… Save me and I’m yours, she ventured, attempting a smile through her pain.

— Érika. That’s pretty. My buddies’ plan is to break all your limbs with a hammer, then drag you by the hair to the ship. But I can spare you that, he reassured her with another smile.

Érika flinched, feeling a warm wetness flood her thighs. Her own urine mixed with her blood, making her even more wretched and feeble.

— It’s okay, it’s normal, Curtis said, seeing this. Here, take this knife. It’s very sharp, be careful. You’re going to cut off your nipples. You have small areolas, so you won’t have too much flesh to remove. Do this, and you’ll have my protection. I’ll bring you on board and heal your injuries via cellular regeneration. No physical aftereffects, I guarantee it. But if you don’t comply, I’ll be forced to let my comrades play with you, and it will be much worse.

— No! How horrific … this guy wants to see me mutilate myself for his pleasure? Bastard! But no sound crossed her lips, which moved without managing to articulate a word.

She was incapable. But she was certain the pirates behind Curtis were waiting for only one thing: her refusal. Érika removed her hands from her sex, soaked in blood and urine. Trembling, she seized the knife. It was heavy, and she nearly dropped it. Curtis took a few steps back, encouraged her with a nod, while signaling his comrades to step back.

Claudia had arrived first and, despite the wind and fear, she watched the scene, petrified. What she saw burned her retinas; it was impossible to look away. Chin trembling, she saw the brunette take the blade in one hand, while with the other, trembling like a leaf, she pinched her left nipple.

She screamed even before mutilating herself, horrified by what she was about to inflict. Curtis hadn’t lied: his weapon was a razor, and in a disordered but iron-willed movement, she executed, cutting away the flesh of her areola. She collapsed, screaming like a damned soul. Yet, despite unbearable pain, she hadn’t let go of her knife. She brought it to her throat, but checked her gesture, meeting Curtis’s gaze, who shook his head no.

— You’re almost there. Don’t give up, you’ve done the hardest part. Quick, before you pass out, otherwise I won’t be able to do anything for you!

Érika was lying on her back, in a puddle where her blood mixed with her urine. She screamed again, but this time in defiance … before cutting off her other nipple, cutting away in panic a much larger piece than requested, the eager blade slicing through her entire areola and part of her right breast.

Immediately, Curtis bent down, took back the knife, tucked it into his belt, then hoisted her onto his shoulder and ran toward the ship and its infirmary. If Érika died before being treated and equipped with a backup device, he could say goodbye to his trophy.

Claudia trembled with fear but obeyed immediately when signaled to board. Contrary to what she feared, no remarks were made. A pirate simply led her through the craft to a small, immaculate white room. He ordered her to wait and left her alone.

She thought about removing the clamp lacerating her intimacy, but preferred to clench her teeth and buttocks. A minute later, a nurse entered. She was tall, charming, but her severe expression and short brown hair gave her a ruthless aspect. Her perceptive hazel eyes fixed on her with a cruel smile stretching her thin lips, enhanced by poppy-red lipstick.

— Welcome aboard… Wow, you’re super hot, pretty thing! she said in a falsely sweet voice, impressed. What genetic program are you from? she inquired, detailing her physique.

Claudia was tall and ideally proportioned, long slender legs, a flawless tanned complexion, hips of optimal width. Francesca walked around her to admire her: muscular, bouncy buttocks of perfect shape. A flat stomach with delicately sculpted abs, a navel adorned with a refined piercing, and a chest as impressive as it was reasonable to equip a woman with, but of exemplary firmness, with pretty areolas and bite-worthy nipples. Slim, elegant arms, and an angelic face, hazel eyes, slightly hollowed cheeks, a straight nose, beautifully arched eyebrows, a sensual mouth, long hair, blond as wheat. From any angle, Claudia was breathtaking.

— I’m from Veridia. I’m an S-series, 8th category, she said, blushing, suspecting her interlocutor would know what that implied, but contrary to her expectations, the nurse tapped on her tablet before reacting.

— Ah yes, I understand better. The fantasy of any dominant man or woman, women with cutting-edge genetics designed to seek approval and belonging at all costs, even if it means enduring the most painful or degrading acts. And the 8th generation is the most accomplished; the 9th and 10th weren’t stable enough and became suicidal. You are the embodiment of the perfect little slut, in short. Congratulations!

Francesca waited for a reaction, staring at her insistently.

— Thank you, ma’am. Yes, I am the embodiment of the perfect little slut, Claudia agreed, blushing slightly, sure this was what was expected of her.

— Mirabella will adore you… Well, we’ll do a health check. A little inspection. To make sure you’re in shape. And I see they spoiled you, she added, pointing to the clamp. I’m going to remove that. Don’t move and do only what I tell you, otherwise you’ll regret it, she intimidated, her voice remaining as soft as a whisper.

Claudia recoiled but stopped short. She knew well she’d only make things worse. Suppressing a shiver, she spread her legs as far as her chains allowed.

The nurse approached, examined her pupils for a moment with a device she placed back on the metal table, then opened the crocodile clamp with a sharp gesture. Claudia grimaced, then cried out and wanted to massage herself to ease her torment, but was dissuaded with a hand tap.

— It’s just your circulation restoring, it’s always painful. The other girl lost a nice chunk of clitoris, it seems. You’re lucky. I’m going to remove what you have inside, she said, putting on surgical gloves, the sound of latex snapping in the silence. Push!

Humiliated, trembling from cold and fear, Claudia obeyed. The geisha balls fell out first, then the anal plug, which the nurse placed on a small metal tray, itself fixed to a trolley.

— Good. Now, don’t move anymore, it’s a brain scan. It doesn’t hurt, she indicated with a marble smile. Breathe and stop trembling, she then admonished.

— I’m cold and… I’m terrified, she pleaded, eyes shining, at the end.

— At least you’re lucid, that’s good. You have reason to be terrified. Your life is going to be a real hell, believe me. My job is to keep you healthy; I don’t care about your feelings. So, stay still, or I’ll have to order additional procedures, and you have no idea what I’m capable of…

Claudia swallowed hard at this coldness, this determination. She could expect nothing good from this woman, she was certain. So she did her best not to move anymore.

The nurse placed a white helmet on her head, a half-sphere bristling with technology that adapted to her morphology, then emitted a very slight hum. A screen on the left wall showed progress in percentages. The procedure wasn’t painful, so Claudia strove to keep her calm.

Once the scan was finished, the nurse moved her to another device to evaluate her health. This one spun rapidly around her, the servomotors breaking the silence, punctuated by a few beeps. The whole thing lasted several minutes, then the machine stopped.

— That’s it. Get out of there and get into position, feet in the stirrups. I’m going to examine your intimacy, and I advise you not to whine.

Claudia eyed the gynecological table, entirely metal and equipped with four robotic arms. The whole thing was intimidating, cold, without the slightest comfort.

— What are you going to do to me? she dared to ask, though mounting it with apprehension.

— The Brotherhood tolerates no disease or dysfunction in slaves. Because that’s what you are, from now on: a sex slave. And if you want advice, do everything to obey, no matter what they do or order you, she added as Claudia installed herself. So, let’s see, she concluded, pressing a remote, which animated the robotic arms. These seized her by the ankles and legs, placing them in the stirrups, then the restraint systems locked.

A second later, Claudia was completely immobilized: neck, arms, pelvis, legs, feet, prisoner of a metal straitjacket. It was at this moment that the ship took off, almost without jolts.

— Why are you tying me up? Claudia trembled, already imagining the worst, knowing full well they were taking off and she would disappear, carried away to an unknown destination from which one probably never returned.

— This part is not without pain. This machine ensures you don’t move, that you don’t injure yourself, and it allows me to monitor your vitals. Good. Let’s start with your nape. All slaves have a memory backup device, she explained as the gynecological table reoriented Claudia, tipping her onto her stomach, head down, drawing a cry of surprise.

The nurse tied her hair to clear her nape, then placed another metal device there. This one adjusted and connected to the support of the collar around her neck. She crouched beside Claudia, staring at her with a sadistic smile.

— This is going to hurt like a dog, pretty thing. But you can scream and struggle as much as you want, it won’t affect the implantation, her torturer indicated.

Claudia tried to protest, but a cry was already torn from her as the machine seemed to cut her nape. The pain was sharp, but nothing compared to what followed. The device drilled two holes at the base of her skull, slid fine optical conduits along her cervical spine to her brain, then a multitude of microscopic electrodes connected there. It was unbearable, like an explosion in her consciousness, every nerve contracting into a single cramp.

Claudia lost consciousness before cellular regeneration guns activated, the nanites reconstructing what had been destroyed. Then the nurse cleaned the blood on her nape while the machine confirmed the connection was established and stable.

When her patient was awakened by a few targeted electrical impulses, the nurse smiled. Claudia was on her back again, legs spread, her intimacy offered.

— So, sleep well? she asked in a mocking tone. Yes, I know, it hurts a lot, but it’s necessary. Anesthesia makes the connection less reliable. It’s for your own good, she added with a carnal smile. I inform you that you are now almost immortal. Well, so to speak. Each time you die, your consciousness will be preserved and your body repaired. You will only die definitively if they grow tired of you. Which means your ordeal will have no end, even if they kill you. And they will do it often, especially at the beginning.

Claudia remained speechless, eyes wide, unable to utter a word, so violent was the shock. She shook her head frantically.

— Oh, you don’t have to believe me. Reality will convince you. Do you think an organization like the Great Nebula Brotherhood would spend so much on slaves as pretty as you without protecting its investments? They’re going to turn you into a pleasure machine, a doll capable of withstanding the worst treatments, the most ignoble executions. They’ll break you until you’re useful and fully acquired to their cause. Just like me. I was destined to be a surgeon, but I’m as much a prisoner as you. After much suffering, I found my place. And now I take care of keeping little sluts like you healthy. So you’d better not hold it against me, agreed? she probed in an almost cheerful tone.

Claudia began to cry hot tears. Her life was ruined. She would have preferred prison a hundred times, even ten years, twenty years, compared to what awaited her. The nurse left her like that, leaving the room, her dismay as her only company.

* * *

Chapter 02 - The Fall, Part 2

Meanwhile, in another room of the small transport bringing the brotherhood’s latest acquisitions back to its mother ship in orbit, Érika regained consciousness. She was still naked, strapped to a robotic gynecological table. Curtis was beside her, smiling.

— Calm down. I’ve bandaged your injuries. You’re stable. That’s all I can do for now; the ship’s nurse won’t be long.

— What’s going to happen to me? Érika asked, trembling like a leaf.

— I told you: you’re mine. You’re my loot. You’ll be whatever I want: a confidante, a lover, a spy, a whore…

Each word was a new slap, another layer of paint on the canvas of her despair. ‘Whore.’ The word hit her like a punch to the stomach. She felt an acidic taste rise in her throat.

— You will obey all my orders, because you are my slave, until your death, or until I resell you or lose you at dice. But I like you, and you could have fallen much worse within the brotherhood, Curtis added, placing a blanket over her body to warm her. Of course, I suspect you’ll test the limits at first, but the sooner you adjust, the better it will be for you. Any questions? he inquired with a certain charisma.

— I … why me? I did nothing, I’m innocent, I…

— You’re just pretty. Very pretty. You have doe eyes, a perfect nose, and the body of a goddess, but that’s normal, you’re a 246 series, you were designed that way. The judicial system expects only one thing: for girls like you to make a misstep. And if that’s not enough, the police set traps for you. I’ve long desired to have a woman as beautiful as you at my side, Curtis added gently.

— You mean I was set up? That I was designed to become a slave? Érika choked, voice trembling.

— I don’t know if you’ve seen pre-23rd century archives, but back then there was everything: tall, short, ugly, beautiful. Today, everything’s changed. There are only stunning women, and some, like you, are real anatomical bombshells.

— ‘Anatomical bombshells,’ that’s so cold, so crude! That’s how he sees me: not as a person, but as a fine specimen. Everything I am boils down to my body; my personality, my degrees, all that is dust to him…

— In less civilized systems, most girls haven’t optimized genetics; they have little value. But you, you’re top of the line. You’re a sought-after commodity, a mark of prestige. I now have sufficient rank to be entitled to a slave of your caliber. So yes, I will enjoy you, but you are also important to me.

— Important? Not just useful! That means I’m not just a valuable toy. Maybe that can protect me. It’s a crazy thought, but it’s the only one I have.

— Then listen carefully to everything I say or command. For your fate would be even worse if you were to disappoint me. And you must respect the hierarchy. You belong to me, but I answer to the captain and his better half. He is obsessed with loyalty. And she…

He broke off to laugh, a dry, joyless sound.

— … she is the most sadistic woman I’ve ever seen, he assured her, emphasizing the point. She’s the one who will approve your assignment to my service. And she will hurt you, very badly, because that’s all that interests her.

— Oh no… There’s always worse! He’s not threatening me directly; he’s showing me the abyss. There’s a chain of command, and I’m at the very bottom. This woman … he fears and respects her. And if I disappoint her, even indirectly, he’ll hand me over. That’s it, rule number one: don’t disappoint him, that’s survival.

— But you will endure it without flinching, because that’s the condition for you to be mine. I’ll offer you a few days of rest once your wounds are healed. Then I’ll help you acclimate. I’m the only person you can cling to now.

— He presents himself as a savior. It’s monstrous. But he’s right. He’s the only devil I know, and all the others may be worse. He’s my anchor in this hell. I must understand him. Learn what he wants, what he fears. That’s the only thing I have left.

Érika swallowed. She knew she would probably never escape. But for reasons she didn’t understand, Curtis was likely to assure her a certain level of protection. Of course, she would have to crawl and forget all decency or self-esteem to submit to him in every circumstance, but she was far too terrified by the alternatives not to cling to him like a lifeline.

— I… I understand. I will obey you. I will do whatever you want, but please, do not violate me. I will love you and make you happy and proud, she surprised herself promising, though bound to that robotic table, her flesh wounded.

Curtis nodded, with a hint of empathy, before pressing a button. Moments later, the ship’s nurse entered in a cheerful step.

— So, Curtis, you finally got a new slave, congratulations! Let’s see that, she declared, pulling off the blanket covering Érika.

— Thank you, Francesca. Yes, I took big risks during the last boarding and the captain acknowledged I deserved a reward.

— Hmm, she’s pretty, but damaged. Let me guess … a 245 series? she enthused, turning to Curtis.

— A first-choice 246. So please, take good care of her, Curtis asked, walking on eggshells. Although he outranked her, he knew she only needed to render his prize unusable for him to lose his entire investment.

— But of course, don’t worry… These are superficial injuries? she inquired, pointing to the bandages covering her patient’s chest.

— Yes, I’ve already disinfected her wounds…

— Good, then let’s start with the scans.

Érika was still feverish, but it wasn’t painful, so she relaxed a little. Once the scans were finished, she was placed in the same position as Claudia a few moments earlier; she immediately alarmed.

— It’s standard procedure, Érika. Be strong, it will be better afterward, Curtis guaranteed as the nurse initiated the brain connection implantation.

Érika screamed, arched, struggling against her restraints, clenching her teeth before passing out, her vitals remaining stable.

— So, are you reassured? the nurse asked Curtis with a smile.

— Yes. Now, no matter what happens, she won’t die. Can you heal her injuries? the pirate inquired, his appreciative gaze settling on the firmness of his new prize’s chest, just under the bandage.

— No, you know well that Mistress Mirabella will want to play with her before she’s regenerated, finally! she exclaimed with malicious joy. But you can go out and wait outside; it won’t be pretty to see. You can blame me for all of it, if that helps. She’ll hate me, but think you were busy elsewhere.

— Thank you. Notify me when it’s done. But do it well, without unnecessary cruelty. I don’t want to make a zombie slave of her.

— You’re a sentimental; it will ruin you. But as you wish, the nurse accepted, watching Curtis leave the room.

Francesca woke Érika using special salts she waved under her nose. Immediately, she came to, alone and frightened.

— Well, now that you’re back among us, we still need to take care of your little pussy, she said, patting her pubis gently, which drew a grimace from her.

— Where is Curtis? I belong to him, you have no right! Érika revolted, indignant and above all terrified.

— He went to fill out forms. And not only do I have the right, but it’s my duty to sterilize you permanently and implant a security device. We all went through this. I went through it myself, Francesca indicated, her jaw involuntarily tightening at the memory. I’ll never forget that moment, she recalled with a shiver. But the one who did it to me was kind enough to give me pleasure throughout the procedure, she lied shamelessly. I really juggled, but with a bit of enjoyment, it’s less unbearable, she repeated.

— You’re going to … oh no, please. Not that! Érika begged, sobbing.

— Well, it won’t take long, she said, grabbing a leather gag. Let me do it, or it will be worse, she advised again.

Érika trembled and cried hot tears, but only feebly resisted when she was silenced. Then Francesca programmed the sequence, pausing it long enough to move closer to Érika. She positioned herself on her right, caressing her hips, her groin, then descending to her thighs. She avoided touching her clitoris, unfortunately mutilated. She looked her in the eyes with a sudden gentleness, showing her a set of electrodes connected to fine needles.

— Given the state of your clitoris, I can’t offer you the slightest pleasure through external stimulation. So these little needles will help. I’m going to insert them into your clitoris, away from your wound, one on each branch of your organ. They’re so fine you’ll barely feel them, I think. But once your clitoris is connected to this marvel you see, she said, showing a cylindrical device about ten centimeters high, I’ll be able to make you orgasm.

Érika shook her head, but it was despair speaking for her.

— The robotic arms are very slender; their penetration into your vagina won’t be painful. However, they’ll have to pass through your uterus, which isn’t pleasant, but not so terrible either. I’ll stimulate you throughout the operation. And when you orgasm, the arms will cut your ovaries and extract them. It will be unbearable, but your brain will struggle to identify the more intense of the two sensations: pleasure or pain. It’s a favor I’m doing you, because you’ve already suffered a lot today. But if you prefer, I can treat you like all the others. You have the luxury of choice, so what do you decide? Francesca probed, caressing her hair, then her cheek. Pleasure? she insisted on confirming, knowing Érika was unable to speak.

The latter approved with a trembling nod, before letting her head fall back onto the table as it positioned her for a gynecological exam.

Francesca ran her fingers along Érika’s sex, seeking the right spot, then instructed her to exhale as, with an expert hand, she inserted the first needle. The young woman stiffened feeling the metal penetrate her skin, but this invasion remained very bearable. Another push and Érika began to tremble as the needle found the left branch of her clitoris. But her torturer had told the truth; the pain wasn’t sharp. Francesca let her fingers sensually caress her patient’s thighs, as if to make her forget the passage of the needles, all while smiling at her.

— Very good. Now, try to relax, she said, putting on surgical gloves in a mechanical way. I’ll lubricate you first. It will be a bit cold, but it won’t hurt, Francesca indicated, coating her right hand with a transparent gel.

Contrary to her fears, Francesca avoided her bandaged clitoris and gently parted her lips before inserting a finger into her vagina. Slowly, calmly, she let her patient get used to her presence inside her, then began to very slowly stimulate her clitoris using the device, which sent short pulses, small waves of heat alternating with weak electric shocks.

Érika was surprised by the sensation, at once strange, awkward, but also very pleasant, appreciating the warmth spreading throughout the hidden part of her clitoris.

— Good. Now, the robotic arms. They’ll just penetrate you. I won’t activate the painful sequence until you orgasm, not before, Francesca reassured as she caressed her thighs and the areas around her pubis, letting technology do its work.

Érika breathed as best she could, trying to focus on pleasure rather than fear. Francesca took a Glern shaker from her blouse and shook it near Érika’s nostrils, indicating it would help. Érika inhaled the drug avidly. Her pupils dilated, her breathing accelerated, artificially increasing her arousal and reinforcing the stimulation of her wounded clitoris. Francesca continued her caresses, mainly on her patient’s groin, while the robotic arms simulated standard vaginal penetration.

After a good two minutes of this treatment, Érika was beginning to tremble with pleasure, but also with fear. She felt she would orgasm soon, and she knew what would happen at that moment.

— Yes, you’re almost there. Let go; there’s nothing you can do to prevent it now, Francesca whispered in her ear, herself aroused by the imminence of the coming drama, as the robotic arms penetrated her uterus, forcing Érika to struggle.

And Érika orgasmed in a long slow climax. Her legs trembled, her body stiffened, and she screamed like a damned soul in her gag as the robotic arms severed her ovaries before cauterizing the wound. The arms remained in place a few seconds more, time to destroy both ovaries by crushing them, which caused her no additional pain since they were already separated from her anatomy. When Érika stopped moving, nearly fainting, she felt the stimulation strengthen again in her clitoris. Stronger and stronger.

— You’ve done the hardest part, it’s almost over, Francesca reassured, wiping her patient’s tears.

The arms withdrew, aspirating organic waste at the very moment Érika orgasmed a second time, not understanding how her body could endure such suffering and experience an orgasm simultaneously.

— Now, the security device. This hurts less, Francesca announced as another arm penetrated Érika.

Once inside her vagina, it crossed her cervix to deposit a small oblong object that grafted onto her uterine wall, which made Érika scream. But again, caresses and surgical stimulation overcame her pain. Francesca could have stopped the procedure, but she preferred to remove her gag. The device was operational, ready to send more or less violent and incapacitating electric arcs, its battery recharging either remotely or with the movements of its human host.

— It’s done, pretty thing. You were very strong, that’s good. I can leave you connected to the machine a while longer. How many orgasms do you want after this? Francesca inquired in a syrupy voice, while Érika continued to cry.

— It’s over … no more suffering? Érika verified, groggy, as if in another state.

— Yes, it’s finished. But within a few hours, you’ll deal with Mistress Mirabella. She’s the one who will regenerate your chest and your clitoris. Follow my advice: be submissive, deferential, and never make the mistake of defying her; you would pay dearly for it, Francesca assured, placing the remains of Érika’s crushed ovaries in a plastic bag, which she sealed with a mechanical gesture.

— Make me come one more time, please, Érika let out, nodding, closing her eyes, exhausted.

The highly effective device made her orgasm again. Then Francesca removed the needles and covered Érika so she wouldn’t catch cold. She fell asleep a few seconds later. Francesca let Curtis into the room; the latter was relieved to see Érika breathing regularly.

— There you go, Romeo, she’s equipped. She juggled, but I mixed her pain with quite a bit of pleasure. She’s exhausted, but everything went well. Now, I’m off; I’m going to spend some time with the other one, the blonde. There, at least, I’ll be able to have some fun. See you later, Francesca said, leaving the room with an exaggeratedly sexy gait, all stirred up at the idea of being alone again with the very charming Claudia.

When Francesca entered the room, Claudia was still crying, unable to calm down.

— Well, luckily I have something to cheer you up! When patients please me, I take a bit of advantage of the situation, but I’m in a good mood, so I’ll be gentle, Francesca said, pulling a strap-on dildo from a drawer, devouring Claudia with her eyes.

— Oh fuck … no, not that, please, I beg you, Claudia pleaded, though perfectly aware she could do nothing.

— You’re connected to the system, so I could just as well ravage your cunt with a drill, or worse, kill you, rape your little corpse, then regenerate you. Or you let me do it and try to enjoy my attentions. You’ll learn I’m rather skilled with my tongue and my fingers, Francesca concluded, undressing.

— I… I’ve never done this with a woman… Claudia simply admitted, as a form of acceptance, while she looked at the naked nurse facing her who was donning a standard-sized strap-on dildo.

She had no choice. So she forced herself, despite her fear, shame, and vulnerability, to consider her torturer for the moment as a partner. But she couldn’t; she saw only a beautiful, athletic woman, tanned complexion and firm chest, slightly pear-shaped and with pierced nipples. Her pussy was perfectly shaved and already glistened under the room’s light.

Francesca advanced and first cleaned Claudia’s vulva and anus with a mild antiseptic product, then applied a raspberry-flavored lubricant before beginning to explore Claudia’s vulva with her tongue. Francesca noted with satisfaction that her patient was forcing herself to breathe calmly, but the tension in her legs indicated she didn’t appreciate her attentions. But she didn’t care; she even preferred it: forcing her patient to endure the pleasure she gave her in an act she disapproved of.

Francesca therefore took her time, using her tongue and fingers relentlessly, alternating vigor and delicacy, until she managed to tear a timid orgasm from Claudia, who tried to suppress it.

— No, slut! You’re going to let go and orgasm as you should. Otherwise, I’ll smash your ass with a giant model and without lubricant, clear? Francesca threatened, visibly delighted by this terrifying idea.

— Sorry, no, please! Yes, continue, I … yes, like that, when your fingers turn and hit my G-spot … it’s too good! Claudia decided to admit, who vastly preferred this kind of attention to an certainly unbearable anal rape.

— That’s better… What’s your name? Francesca inquired for the first time, as she redoubled her efforts to bring her prisoner to orgasm, furiously titillating her clitoris while making her patient squirt, pounding her G-spot without any restraint.

The young woman felt an incredible wave of pleasure rise in her. Shame, delight, vulnerability, everything mixed as her heart rate raced. Claudia!!!!! I … am… Claudia, she finally managed to blurt out, as her body was racked with spasms. Never in her life had she orgasmed so hard.

— Good, very good. Let’s see if you’ll appreciate my touch here now, Francesca whispered, beginning to titillate her anus with her tongue.

— Oh, I … yes, of course… And you, may I know your name? Claudia asked, showing docility, smiling timidly at her as she straightened up as best she could, despite her restraints.

Francesca returned her smile and revealed her first name while gently forcing Claudia’s anus with her tongue, all while continuing to stimulate the young woman’s clitoris. As soon as she felt Claudia’s anus relax, her other hand began to dilate the orifice offered to her care further. The first finger entered very easily, as if slipping onto a pink, pulsating ring. The second entered a bit more difficultly, but Claudia’s sphincter adapted without trouble as well.

Claudia focused on her breathing, surrendering completely. The perverse nurse stimulated her like this for a while, before sodomizing her with her strap-on dildo, first with short slow thrusts, then along the full length of the dildo, but always lazily, while she resumed pounding her patient’s G-spot. It was a veritable torture made of pleasure, and Claudia moaned louder and louder, finally finding a use for her restraints. About thirty seconds later, Claudia orgasmed again, in an even more pronounced climax than the previous one, already incredible by her own experience.

Once the most violent spasms had passed, Francesca hesitated to continue with the next part of her program, which proved very painful. She preferred to offer her a choice.

— Claudia, I really want to make you orgasm even harder. But I’ll have to finish my work, and the rest will be painful. So I leave you the choice. Pleasure before pain? Or pain before pleasure? I advise pain first; it could even strengthen your orgasm, you can believe me, Francesca announced with an almost complicit smile.

— Oh … fuck … so it will never end … she despaired for an instant, before another idea crossed her mind. She’s softened; she likes me, and I should perhaps try to return the favor, thus ensuring myself preferential treatment. I … had never done this with a woman, but despite the circumstances, I must admit it was prodigious … divine. I’ll follow your advice, pain before pleasure. But before that, I’d like to try satisfying you too with my tongue, Claudia added, running hers over her lips in the most erotic way possible.

— You want to savor my pussy and show me what you can do? Very well. Taste this first, Francesca replied, inserting two fingers into herself languorously, before bringing them to Claudia’s nose.

The latter inhaled her torturer’s vaginal wetness and sought to lick her fingers. Seeing Claudia seemed receptive, Francesca let her. Claudia sucked her fingers avidly until she felt only the smell of latex. Francesca pivoted the table so she could crouch and benefit from her patient’s attention, who didn’t close her eyes, but opened her mouth to embrace her intimacy. Claudia began to lick the offered vulva, first softly, timidly, then more willingly, playing with the piercing on her tongue to stimulate the nurse’s clitoris, who fingered her in return.

Francesca had never been licked by a tongue thus equipped and knew immediately it was a mistake as she felt her intimacy caressed and slowly maltreated in rhythm by the piercing. She stopped fingering her patient to guide her by holding her firmly by the hair. Claudia redoubled her efforts. Her plan was working. Even if it was her first time, she understood she would manage to make the authoritative young woman orgasm, who squeezed her thighs around her face, pushing out moans and sighs under her applied tongue strokes.

— Damn, you’re good, oh … yes!!! Yes!!! Aaah!! Francesca blurted, trembling like a leaf, unable to keep her position.

After withdrawing for a short respite, Francesca readjusted the table to remain standing, looming over Claudia’s face, while offering her anus as an offering to the expert tongue that had treated her so well.

— That was extra! Now my ass; I want to feel your piercing enter and exit my hole, and go at it hard while I touch myself, Francesca ordered with satisfaction.

— It’s not appetizing, but I must admit it’s super pleasant to be licked in depth, Claudia admitted to herself before complying.

She made a few circles around the sphincter to moisten it properly, adding her saliva to her ‘partner’s’ vaginal wetness, then she stiffened her tongue and began penetration. Her posture wasn’t ideal, and Claudia really struggled to push her tongue far enough for her piercing to stimulate the nurse’s anus.

But she succeeded, and Francesca readjusted her position to simplify things, crouching over her. This position was much easier, and Claudia took the opportunity to increase depth and speed, changing angles as often as possible, rotating her pierced tongue over the entire circumference of the cavernous interior offered to her.

Francesca felt she was going to orgasm. And quickly. Her patient’s tongue was incredible, longer than average, truly expert and muscular, and the piercing tirelessly titillating her anus was a delicious torment. She rose hastily to avoid risking defecating, so relaxed and stimulated was she. She orgasmed two seconds later, fingers in her pussy.

— So, you’re seriously skilled! I think if it had lasted a few moments more, I would have shat on you, Francesca admitted in good humor. But I don’t like that; I find it degrading. For me, she specified. On the other hand, seeing you choke on shit wouldn’t have bothered me overly, as long as it wasn’t mine. So you’re lucky. So now, let’s move on…

— Oh… What are you going to do to me? Claudia stiffened, trembling. I was thinking you might perhaps…

— Offer you an anesthetic? Francesca cut harshly. Technically, I could, of course. I’ve done it before, but I’ve always paid the price. You’re destined for the captain’s wife, Mistress Mirabella, and quite frankly, she … terrifies me. She freaks everyone out and loves to torture at every turn. She’s the one who will break you in upon your exit from the infirmary. It cost me so much to get her to lose interest in me that I don’t want to undergo her outrages or be in her sights again. But I’ll do my best to lighten your suffering, without leaving traces in the inventory. So, no anesthetic.

Claudia began to tremble again. Her plan hadn’t worked; she had dirtied herself for nothing, or almost, and the worst was yet to come, she was certain. If a woman already as cruel as the one facing her feared this Mirabella, then Claudia understood she would live a real hell.

— Please, at least tell me what you’re going to do to me. I have the right to know, she dared to formulate, imploring, eyes teary.

— If knowing what awaits you can help, I see no inconvenience, Francesca replied with a casual gesture. Some prefer to know in advance; others prefer to ignore what will happen. As you wish, pretty thing… I must … remove your ovaries by surgery. But it’s automated, safe; we use cutting-edge equipment, she specified immediately.

— My God, no! It’s atrocious, how can you … it’s … and Claudia began to tremble and cry again, devastated by the news.

— We all undergo this here. Me included; I went through it. And I committed the folly of rebelling against Mistress Mirabella, Francesca confessed, teeth clenched, haunted by the memory of that day. You know, the procedure is already very painful in itself, but for me, it was even worse. Much worse…

— I dare not imagine, Claudia countered, who had no desire to learn more, even if a part of her thought it might bring her closer to this Francesca, which might perhaps serve her later.

— Oh, but I’m going to tell you anyway! During the normal procedure, we cut what connects the ovaries to our dear anatomy, and only afterward do we crush them before aspirating what remains so the robotic arms can withdraw. But for me, she first crushed my ovaries before severing them. My ordeal was undoubtedly one of the worst there are, and she loved it. I died on that table, because the pain was so unbearable and… Francesca stopped short, tears in her eyes.

— I’m sorry, it’s absolutely atrocious and unjust… Claudia sympathized, swallowing. I know you have no choice. And I don’t hold it against you, for what you’ve done to me and what you still must make me endure, she added with obvious sincerity. And… I even greatly appreciated some of your attentions; I’d be lying if I said otherwise…

Francesca nodded with a bitter smile and a deep sigh, doing everything not to break down. She recovered after wiping her eyes with the back of her white blouse sleeve.

— Then let’s go… Try to relax. I’ll tell you to inhale and exhale deeply before each painful part of the process. And smell this; I’ll only have to indicate it was because you were too tight, Francesca explained, bringing a small diffuser to her nostrils.

Quickly, Claudia felt a certain euphoria take hold. Francesca immediately set to work, initiating the procedure. The two robotic arms penetrated Claudia gently. Francesca began to stimulate her patient’s clitoris and anus, all while maintaining eye contact with her, encouraging her to let go.

As Francesca had promised, she asked her to inhale deeply. Claudia tensed and obeyed, nonetheless pushing out a moan as the two small robotic arms crossed her cervix to find themselves in her uterus. Francesca nodded, eyes locked on Claudia’s, while reinforcing her stimulation movements.

— Very good, the arms are in your uterus, pretty thing. Continue, let go. Do you like it when my fingers titillate your pretty little asshole? How my folded fingers play with your sphincters? Will you want me to withdraw before I sever your ovaries? Francesca probed, continuing her stimulation with her expert hands.

Claudia was in another state, aroused like never before. Vulnerable, offered, facing a horrible ordeal, she was astonished to feel at the same time a wave of pleasure rising in her. And for a strange reason, she trusted the one who would mutilate her, annihilating in her any possibility of becoming pregnant.

— Stay in me… Make me orgasm again… Do what you have to do… Claudia replied in a daze, before one of the robotic arms immobilized her tongue for safety.

Francesca continued on her momentum for a good while, also using her tongue on her patient’s clitoris. A few moments later, Claudia came again, her anus contracting rapidly around the fingers penetrating her.

It was at that precise moment that Francesca instructed her to exhale, launching the second part of the procedure. Claudia screamed fit to split stone, struggling in a disordered way against her restraints, her gag hardly muffling any sound. Then her abrupt movements slowed, the sharpest pain passing, leaving only a throbbing horror, strong, nauseating, but manageable.

Francesca continued to provide stimulation and encouragement. The robotic arms destroyed Claudia’s ovaries, before aspirating everything, cauterizing the wounds, and finally withdrawing.

Claudia cried hot tears, but her anus continued its contractions, her clitoris pulsing under Francesca’s voluptuous caresses. Her brain was saturated with pain and pleasure. Francesca sought to give her an additional orgasm for the final stage. But Claudia was beginning to decline; she was in another state, as if her body and mind were floating adrift, tossed between suffering and enjoyment.

Francesca judged that waiting longer would serve no purpose. Acting now would be salutary, so she triggered the end of the procedure. A robotic arm again penetrated Claudia’s uterus to deposit the electrocution device. This lodged firmly against the internal wall of her uterus, tearing a moan from her that quickly died. Two seconds later, the robotic arm returned to its housing. Francesca continued her stimulation for about thirty seconds, but Claudia didn’t even react. Her mind had recoiled; her brain registered nothing. Claudia had fainted.

— It’s over, pretty thing… Francesca concluded, withdrawing her fingers before tossing her latex gloves in the trash.

She tidied her patient’s hair, caressed her cheek, then protected her from the cold with a warm blanket before loosening the gynecological table’s embrace so she’d be a bit more at ease, without, however, risking her falling.

Claudia was no longer really Claudia. She was no longer a woman; she was a thing, a magnificent commodity that had just been inspected and marked, just as Francesca had been a few years earlier. And, somewhere in the darkness of space, now within a gigantic pirate cruiser that their transport had joined, Captain Dorrian Saxe and his wife Mirabella waited impatiently to be able to play with their new acquisition…

* * *

Chapter 03 - The Property

The medical cargo’s airlock opened in an oppressive silence. Curtis pulled Érika by a magnetic leash attached to her collar. She followed, unsteady, gaze lost, still in shock from the implantation. They crossed a corridor with polished steel walls that echoed their footsteps until a massive door of black metal opened, almost without a sound.

The room was a sanctuary of luxury and cruelty. Dark, heavy tapestries absorbed sound, and the air was scented with leather and a sweet, almost suffocating incense. Seated in a carved chair resembling a throne, Mirabella watched them arrive. She wore a tight latex suit that left her shoulders and part of her back bare. Her deep red hair, utterly unnatural, was pulled into an immaculate bun, and her green eyes, of icy intensity, fixed on Érika with pitiless curiosity.

— Curtis. You’ve done very good work, she said in a calm voice, but sharp as glass. She looks … damaged. But I like that. She’s a blank canvas for me.

— Mistress Mirabella, Curtis replied, bowing slightly. She is yours. The procedure has been completed.

— Not quite, Curtis. Not yet, she corrected, rising in a fluid, predatory movement. She belongs to you for now. And that’s precisely where things become interesting.

She approached Érika, seized her by the chin to force her gaze. Érika shivered, feeling the icy cold of Mirabella’s fingers on her skin.

— Here’s what’s going to happen, my little thing, Mirabella murmured close to her ear. Curtis has invested in you. He expects a return on investment. If you disappoint him, if you’re slow, if you whine, if you’re not perfect in everything you do for him … then you will become mine. And I promise you, I will make you live a real hell. I will turn your days into a long symphony of suffering. Understood? she insisted on verifying with a demented smile, her eyes betraying her excitement.

Érika could only tremble and nod, tears rising to her cheeks.

— But for now, I will be … generous. I will help you. Curtis brought you back with a damaged chest and a mutilated clitoris. That’s not worthy of him. I will heal you. I will make you perfect… But in my own way.

A cruel smile stretched her lips. With a gesture, she made a control tablet appear, on which she typed rapidly. A section of the wall opened, revealing a sparkling surgical instrumentarium. She seized a long, thin knife, its blade seeming to dance under the artificial light.

— Curtis, tie her well, here. I don’t want her to move.

Curtis’s heart tightened. He obeyed, installing Érika on a cold metal bench and locking her wrists and ankles into retractable loops. Érika began to cry silently, pleading with her eyes.

— Don’t worry, Mirabella told her, running the knife’s blade along her cheek, leaving an icy trail. This ship’s regeneration technology is miraculous. I will remove everything, and rebuild you identically. But the pain … the pain, that will be very real. It’s the price of perfection.

Without further preamble, she placed the tip of her blade at the base of Érika’s left breast. The latter screamed, a shrill, desperate sound that echoed in the silent room. Mirabella, with inhuman precision, began to incise, tracing a clean, deep line. Blood welled, bright red on her pale skin. Érika twisted against her bonds, her body arched, every nerve on fire, as Mirabella methodically removed her breasts by surgery. Curtis turned away, fist clenched, powerless.

Then, with the same implacable method, she did the same with the second breast. Érika no longer had the strength to scream; she only moaned, an animal, broken sound. Mirabella tossed the two pieces of flesh onto a metal table with total indifference.

— Now, the delicate part, she murmured, more to herself. She bent between Érika’s thighs. With calculated slowness, she used the knife blade to excise with surgical precision the entire damaged clitoral area. Érika’s body convulsed one last time, an ultimate spasm of pure agony, before collapsing, unconscious.

Mirabella straightened, her face slightly flushed, her eye bright with a gleam of satisfaction. She wiped the knife on a cloth before putting it back.

— It’s done, she said to Curtis. Now, regeneration, as promised, she concluded in a cheerful tone.

She activated an energy force field that enveloped Érika’s torso and pelvis in a soothing blue light. Under their eyes, the flesh closed, scars vanished, and a new pair of breasts along with an intact, brand-new clitoris began to form, conforming to her DNA, smooth and without the slightest imperfection. The glow faded and went out.

Érika lay on the bench, her entire body trembling, but physically perfectly restored.

— There, Mirabella said, turning to Curtis. She’s ready. Your turn. And above all, let her not disappoint and learn our rules to perfection.

With a final look of disdain for the unconscious slave, she left the room, leaving Curtis alone with the fruit of his investment, both magnificent and broken.

Mirabella rejoined her husband in excellent spirits; nothing in the world pleased her more than making others suffer. Dorrian was also a sadist, but Mirabella had no limits, and he knew it. That’s why Dorrian was order and decision, Mirabella the threat, fear, pain, and despair.

Meanwhile, Francesca entrusted Claudia to a robot that made her wander the ship’s corridors, naked and on a leash, like an animal. Claudia knew from Francesca that the worst was yet to come for her. And that if Claudia had a choice, she should always prefer dealing with Dorrian, but never with Mirabella, because the latter had the gift of systematically choosing the most atrocious path for all who crossed her way.

When she entered the room where the robot made her enter, a silhouette detached itself from the shadow of a metal pillar. It was a man who intimidated her as soon as she saw him. He wore a dark, severe captain’s uniform that hugged his shoulders, torso, and powerful arms; it seemed to have been made exactly for the weight of his power. His face was carved from stone: a heavy jaw, fine cheekbones, thin lips curled in a barely sketched, almost lazy smile, that of someone who already knew how everything would end. His eyes were a deep black, incredibly fixed, as if Dorrian had seen every possible fear and decided they didn’t interest him. His hair, a cold silver-gray, was slicked back, disciplined, pulled into a tight bun at the base of his neck. He simply stood there, motionless, and the ship seemed to obey his silence better than anyone else’s orders. It was him: Dorrian Saxe, she was certain.

At his side stood a woman of icy, perfect beauty, very likely Mirabella… Claudia shivered with fear just seeing her. She wore a blood-red silk dress that clung to her form like a second skin, highlighting her slender, long, precise silhouette, like a blade dressed in fabric. Her chest was voluptuous, firm, emphasized by the fitted cut of her plunging bustier. The woman facing her had a presence at least as intimidating as her husband’s.

Her hair, a red shading toward carmine, was of an identical hue to her dress. They cascaded over her shoulders, which accentuated the sharpness of her cheekbones and the hardness of her jawline.

Her eyes, a vivid green, shone like emeralds, cold, calculating, scanning Claudia with detached curiosity, that of an entomologist observing an unknown species before deciding whether it deserved to be studied … or simply crushed.

— Welcome, Claudia, Dorrian said, his voice a murmur of velvet and steel. Be welcome aboard the Nemesis. And into your new life.

Claudia was as if paralyzed. She looked at the robot, then the couple, saying nothing, fearing to draw their wrath. Dorrian could sense her fear, but preferred to ensure Claudia understood her situation, so he explained it to her in his own way.

— I am Dorrian Saxe, captain and head of the Great Nebula Brotherhood. And this is my wife, Mirabella Saxe, he said with an elegant gesture toward his better half. Is she not splendid? And does she not deserve to make you endure a thousand torments if such is her desire? he inquired, scrutinizing his new acquisition.

Claudia’s chin began to tremble, as she did everything not to meet her jailers’ gaze.

— I… The beauty of a goddess, assuredly, Claudia replied, quickly swept by a second shiver.

Dorrian smiled. Even without her observing him directly, Claudia perceived it in the sound of his voice. Amused, he pressed an interface integrated into his forearm. The change was instantaneous. A searing, sharp, electric pain exploded in Claudia’s lower abdomen. It wasn’t external pain, but internal, an agony that seemed to weave her nerves into a web of fire. She cried out, falling to her knees, her hands clutching her abdomen. She writhed on the floor, breathless, as spasms shook her.

— You didn’t answer, slave. Does your mistress not deserve to make you endure a thousand torments if she desires it? It’s a simple question, it seems to me, Dorrian added with a certain charisma.

Mirabella was boiling to move on, but she knew it was better not to cross her husband when he indulged in his own vice: control. She contented herself with devouring Claudia with her eyes.

— I am … a slave. My masters can do … what they want with me, I understand. So, yes … your wife can … make me suffer at will if such is her desire, Claudia finished, a bitter taste in her mouth.

She had just acknowledged her condition as a slave and what that implied. Dorrian was delighted, as was Mirabella, who nodded in satisfaction. Dorrian approached, his hand caressing her cheek, her neck, descending slowly between her voluptuous, almost unrealistically firm breasts. He played with her body like a luthier tunes his instrument, testing her reactivity, savoring every shiver of terror and every involuntary contraction. He turned her, examining her from every angle, a connoisseur before a masterpiece.

— You’re perfect, your enhanced genetics make you a being apart, he murmured. Now, ride me, he ordered before sitting in a black leather chair.

Claudia, obedient but dead inside, advanced to position herself above him, but she received a new shock that sent her to the ground. She screamed, rolling on the floor in pain, imploring their mercy. Then her suffering finally ceased and Mirabella spoke, imperious.

— You are our slave, you are not a brainless pleasure android. Your master asked you to ride him, which implies you must undress him, little idiot. You must learn to think, not only to obey. So, get up and get to work, Mirabella concluded with a hint of sweetness that rang false.

— Right away, mistress, Claudia replied, swallowing.

She did her best to undress Dorrian, with precise gestures, but her hands trembled. She expected a new shock at any moment, but she succeeded and freed the man’s erect penis she was to serve, then hesitated for a second. Should she prepare the ground with her mouth or ride him immediately, thus forcing herself to perform a painful penetration? She went for it, pushed two fingers into her mouth, moistened them as much as possible, then seized her torturer’s penis to guide it inside her in a resigned attitude.

She strained to impale herself on Dorrian’s cock, grimacing in pain, then began to ride him gently, but a movement behind her made her flinch. Mirabella had undressed, revealing her entire body. Her chest was as voluptuous as Claudia’s, perfectly supported, and wildly arrogant with its silver piercings. Her stomach was flat and slightly chiseled. Her curvy hips had as their center a perfectly trimmed red thatch and a smooth, magnificent vulva. Her legs were long and superb, her skin white and soft, like silk.

Mirabella seized a specially shaped dildo of dark metal, polished like a mirror. She pushed the shorter curved end into her own vagina with a visible shiver of pleasure as she arched in a lascivious movement. Claudia knew what would come, but resigned herself, preferring to stare at the one she rode, who was removing his shirt, revealing a body carved with a hatchet, all dry muscle.

Mirabella positioned herself behind Claudia, who felt fingers roaming over her buttocks, a generous amount of cold lubricant being applied to her anus. She closed her eyes, clenching her teeth.

— So, what do you think of my husband’s cock, delicious, isn’t it? Mirabella taunted, entering her, gently forcing her rectum.

— Ouch! Ohhh yes, it fills me wonderfully, she admitted without lying, despite her humiliation and pain.

Her double penetration was torment. Dorrian lifted her and slammed her down on him, pitiless, while Mirabella, the dildo planted in her, ravaged her from behind with increasing force. Every movement was an invasion, every thrust new proof of her powerlessness. They were two, acting in concert to break her, fill her, possess her. Claudia endured, short of breath, seeking somewhere within herself a way to find her pleasure.

She had barely begun to relax when Dorrian opened an ivory box left on a small nearby coffee table. Inside, a dozen long silver needles gleamed under the dim light. Claudia saw them and her eyes widened in pure terror.

— Keep the pace, pretty thing, it will be even better like this, Dorrian whispered in her ear.

A robotic hand emerged from the wall and seized her wrists, firmly tying them behind her back. The cold metal against her skin was the last external contact that wasn’t an invasion. She was a powerless prisoner, a body offered in sacrifice, impaled on them. Her submission was no longer a choice, but a state, a resignation so profound she felt her mind detaching from herself.

Dorrian took the first needle. He placed it against the taut skin of her right breast, just beside the nipple. Claudia closed her eyes, holding her breath, praying for a miracle that would never come. He pushed; the flesh yielded with frightening ease. A cry strangled in her throat, hoarse, pure product of her surprise and pain. It wasn’t just the prick; it was the violation, the icy intrusion of steel into her warmth.

Dorrian laughed, a low, vibrant sound that propagated through her body, mingling with the aggression. He began to fuck her harder; with each thrust he pushed the needle in a bit more, making it dance in her flesh. Then he took another, and another, until ten needles dotted her chest, planted like pins on a velvet cushion. She was no longer but a puppet, an instrument of torture on which they played a symphony of suffering.

Then, he changed his rhythm. With each powerful assault, he pushed on one of the needles, forcing it through her flesh, to sink deeper. Claudia felt the tips pierce her muscles, then approach her thorax. The pain was so intense it became abstract, a burning white that erased the rest of the world. She no longer existed. There was only suffering, her screams, and them enjoying her.

When Dorrian and Mirabella orgasmed, almost in unison, Claudia felt the metal pierce her lung on one side, then the other. The taste of iron invaded her mouth, a taste of defeat. Her body began to convulse, no longer from pleasure, but from agony. Bubbles of blood welled at her lips. The last memory before darkness engulfed her was Dorrian’s laugh and Mirabella’s ecstatic breath as a needle finally pierced her heart, ending her ordeal.

* * *

Chapter 04 - The Training Of Érika

The first day in Curtis’s quarters was silence. Érika, healed of her wounds by regenerative technology – a procedure that had itself been an ordeal – stood in the middle of her new cage. It was a luxury, compared to a cell. A bed, a small washroom, a view of the void through a narrow viewport. But the walls were there, and the door had no handle on her side. She was naked, as he had ordered, and waited. He had given her no other orders, and this inactivity was torture in itself. She spent her time reliving Curtis’s words, her anchor in the chaos that was now her life. He was her lifeline, her tyrant, her only hope.

When he returned that evening, he was accompanied by two pirates, gruff wolves with greedy eyes. They laughed seeing her, their crude comments filling the small room.

— So, Curtis, this is your new acquisition? She looks docile. Let us admire her a bit from every angle.

Curtis’s face hardened. Érika perceived the conflict in his eyes, but he suppressed it. To them, he had to be the pitiless buccaneer, the absolute master.

— Down, he said to Érika, his voice cold and emotionless.

She obeyed without hesitation, getting on all fours, head bowed. She felt the gaze of the three men on her, a heat of shame that burned her. Curtis forced her to turn, to expose herself. The other pirates’ laughter redoubled. He treated her like an object, making her move, forcing her into humiliating postures, all while recounting his ‘exploits’ during the boarding. Each word was a blade for Érika, but she knew it was the price to pay. She saw the tension in Curtis’s shoulders, the way he avoided her gaze. He was playing a role, and she was his stage. When they finished laughing and drinking, they left Curtis alone with her, not without a final outrage.

— Give her a few good wild fucks for us tonight, Curtis.

— Enjoy this slut, you bastard; you’ve got the devil’s own luck!

He remained motionless a long moment after their departure, staring into space through the narrow viewport. Érika had not failed; she had submitted, but as the seconds passed, she feared the moment Curtis would turn his attention to her.

— You measured up, Érika. Your shame and fear did not overcome your obedience or your judgment. But know that you’re lucky to have me as your master, because many others than me would have let them take you without a second thought, just to reinforce their status. But that’s not my style; you are mine and mine alone.

Érika rose slowly. She approached, timidly, and knelt before him. She had no right to touch him without permission, but she wanted him to see she was not broken.

— Thank you … and I think I understand what’s at stake, she said in a small voice. You’re an admired pirate, so I must not do anything that could harm your status, because that would put me in danger myself.

Curtis turned slowly toward her, lowering his eyes to probe her gaze. There was no animosity in her. Simply respect.

— You understood perfectly. That’s exactly it. Your condition depends on mine. But it’s not an exchange, not yet. At the beginning, you will have to give me everything of yourself. And I will take everything from you. But, when you have accepted all that, I will reward you, because in the end, I don’t just want a slave. I want more, much more… I want at once a loving woman, submissive beyond all reason, an unfailing ally. A partner who shrinks from no sacrifice for her man, her master. A woman who is no longer a slave, but the companion of a pirate.

Érika understood that Curtis expected her to change to the depths of her soul for him, and it froze her blood. But she saw in his eyes and words that there was not only hunger, a dark impulse; there was also a kind of promise, a process that would allow her to rise to a better condition. Curtis took her by the arm and pulled her onto the bed. He did not rape her. Not yet. He touched her, his hands exploring her regenerated body, as if to ensure she was real, truly his. And then he began to give her pleasure.

It wasn’t Francesca’s tenderness. It was an invasion. His fingers were expert, implacable, stimulating her relentlessly, forcing her to climb, higher and higher. She moaned, writhed, no longer knowing whether to reject this or throw herself into this brutal caress.

— No … please … it’s too much, she begged, tears in her eyes.

— Orgasm, he imposed, his voice a low growl. It’s an order.

And a few moments later, she orgasmed. A violent, wrenching climax that left her gasping, exhausted. But he didn’t stop. He continued, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue probing her, forcing a second service, then a third. It was painful pleasure, an exquisite torture that broke her from within. She was no more than a point of consciousness in a body on fire, incapable of resisting, incapable of thinking. She could only endure. When he finally released her, she was a soaked, trembling thing, drowned in a sea of sensations.

Then he took her in his arms, covering her with caresses, consoling her like a child.

— Your life will be difficult at my side, but I will always seek to balance the scale in my own way. Yes, you will be submissive, humiliated, you will know pain and fear, but since you are mine, I will also give you pleasure, as much as necessary. For your loyalty and your enslavement have value to me. It’s an exchange.

She clung to him, crying silently. In his arms, she felt strangely safe. The pain and public humiliation were the price of this tortured intimacy. It was an infernal pact. He broke her to better rebuild her, wounded her to be able to heal her. And gradually, she began to surrender. She had no hope elsewhere. Here, in the arms of her torturer, she had found a form of reason for being. Suffering and dishonor would give way to pleasure, even if that pleasure was too strong, even if it destroyed her a little more each time. It was her only truth.

The following days, a strange rhythm set in. The day was dedicated to public humiliations. Curtis took her to common areas; she danced naked on tables, served drinks to pirates. And every gaze, every comment, was a sting on Érika’s skin. But she learned to smile, to play the game, to find in public submission an armor. For she knew what awaited her afterward. At night, in their room, Curtis destroyed her with either pleasure or pain, or a mix of both, then rebuilt her with caresses and murmurs. She became dependent on this perverse cycle.

One evening, as she was cleaning assault rifle parts for him at his feet, he spoke in a different voice, serious, almost businesslike.

— There’s a party, in a few days. A competition. A contest.

Érika stopped, heart pounding. She raised her eyes to him.

— A contest of what?

— Endurance and submission. Eight slaves are participating, those of the pirates in my unit. It starts with degradation using wet T-shirts, for the audience. But afterward, it’s more … serious.

He leaned in, his face so close she felt his warm breath.

— It’s what’s called ‘bondage predicament.’ You’ll be tied in positions designed to be humiliating and to make you suffer. For example, a rope or chain is passed between the lips of your sex, while remaining on tiptoe; it’s a classic. You try to relax the pressure on your feet and calves, then the rope digs into your vulva, it irritates and painfully heats your cunt. You endure and choose which part of your body suffers most. Another classic is a position that either hurts your back or martyrs your breasts. It’s a decision. One pain or another suffering; no choice is ideal…

He looked her straight in the eyes. Érika trembled slightly. She knew she would suffer, be humiliated, and that the notion of competition would imply having to win. And certainly endure other outrages if she were to lose.

— I … it must be very hard to endure, she imagined. But you spoke of a contest? What happens if I win or if I lose? Érika inquired, using ‘you’ as he had ordered.

— Those who quit receive a punishment from their owner, in public. And the latter loses a non-negligible sum. Third, second, and first place win money and prestige. A lot of money. A lot of prestige. First is the last to resist.

He straightened, letting his words sink into her.

— We can win a nice loot, Érika. Or we can lose a lot. If you quit, I will make you suffer in a way you can’t even imagine yet. But if you place at least 3rd, I will reward you with new freedoms. The right to wear clothes in our room, to read, to choose your meal. It may seem like nothing, but here, it’s everything.

Érika felt a shiver run down her spine. It was an exit. A small window of humanity in this hell.

— I… I want to win, she said, her voice trembling with determination.

— I know, Curtis said confidently. You’re not one of those who back down or wallow in mediocrity; I saw that immediately. So, I will train you to help you.

The next two days were a different ordeal. Curtis turned her into an athlete of pain. There was no more pleasure, no reconciliation. It was brutal, clinical training.

He tied her in his room, reproducing the positions he had described. The first time, he used a simple hemp rope, rough. He made her stand on tiptoe, hands tied behind her back, the rope tight against her sex.

— Breathe, he ordered. Focus. Don’t think about the pain. Think of your reward.

She held bravely on her toes for several minutes, but quickly she had to relieve her limbs and she lowered herself onto the rope. The pressure, heat, burning, irritation was unbearable. She screamed, feeling the rope continue to sink into her. Curtis called her to order; she had to go back up, or accept even more pain. For in this posture, her clitoris and inner lips would lose sensitivity, but would cause irreparable damage if she remained more than 8 minutes in this position. It would then be necessary to remove everything by surgery and regenerate her, a hell. Érika quickly hoisted herself up, grimacing, back on tiptoe.

— You can’t avoid pain; that’s the point of this type of constraint. So you must accept suffering permanently, but by alternating the two positions imposed on you, in order to maximize your endurance.

— I understand, but it’s too hard! And the rope burns me; it’s horrible! Érika begged.

— Oh, that’s nothing… Often it’s coated with an irritant product, knots are made in it, so that every change of posture is even more painful. Here, you’re only at the beginning.

— My God, how horrific that must be!

Curtis left her for a while to struggle, count the seconds, then alternate the area she chose to expose to pain. Érika was sweating, but she wanted to succeed, to progress. And Curtis encouraged her.

Then, after 30 minutes, he released her. She collapsed into his arms; her legs could no longer support her effectively and her crotch was on fire.

— That’s good, for a first time, you did very well. Now, I’m going to apply a cream that will soothe your irritation, Curtis indicated.

He moved away and returned with a new tube. Érika spread her legs, nestling her back against him. Curtis didn’t skimp on the amount. He massaged her gently. At first, Érika moaned in pain, the ointment adding a new heat to her wounded intimacy.

— Oh, it burns even more! Érika complained, fidgeting.

— It’s normal; it will pass quickly; have faith, Curtis countered.

And indeed, she soon felt an obvious benefit and relaxed, blowing out, tears in her eyes.

Then, Curtis made her stand up and stretch for about twenty minutes. Then he imposed another position. He bound her fists behind her back and attached them to a rope, itself fixed to a metal beam on the ceiling. Then he placed solid clamps on her nipples, which made her moan in pain, then Curtis tied other ropes to the clamps, connected to her ankles. Thus positioned, Érika was forced to keep her arms straight behind her, her back arched in a posture as uncomfortable as incredibly sexy, but which spared her nipples. Or Érika sought to rise and relieve the pressure on her back and arms, but which put her breasts to a severe test.

— Oh, this one is even worse! Érika noted, trying both positions.

— Indeed, he said coldly. There is no solution to the problem. There is only the least bad at any given moment. Hold on, Érika. We’ll see how far you go…

Curtis left her in the pain and humiliation of her position. He watched her struggle from time to time, moan, tremble, then continued his reading. But at one point, she screamed, begged to be released; she was seized by a cramp as sudden as it was atrocious. Contrary to what she feared, Curtis rushed over and released her immediately with his dagger, then supported her so she wouldn’t fall to the floor. He smiled at her and vigorously massaged her legs to relieve her effectively.

Érika was exhausted and screamed again when Curtis removed the clamps, circulation returning to her very wounded nipples. She cried hot tears. Curtis applied the same cream to her nipples, then made her lie on her back and he massaged her back, her buttocks, and her arms, to ease her suffering.

— It’s too hard; I’ll never manage, Érika complained.

— No, you will succeed. For a beginner, you’re doing really well. I thought you wouldn’t last more than 10 minutes, 15 at most, in this position. But you lasted almost half an hour. That’s truly excellent, Érika!

— I felt like I was locked in this hell for at least an hour.

— Yes, that’s normal; time always passes more slowly for those who suffer; it’s a matter of perception.

After her session, Curtis helped Érika wash, then let her rest. Finally, he offered her pleasure with his fingers in her anus, to spare her vulva, before taking her on the bed. Érika lay on her stomach, so as not to tire her legs while Curtis sodomized her with infinite tenderness. Érika didn’t orgasm this time, but still took pleasure in it after a while. After ejaculating in her mouth, he tucked her in and Érika fell asleep, exhausted.

* * *

Chapter 05 - The First Death

Consciousness returned in fragments. First, the cold of metal against her back. Then the sensation of straps tightened over her wrists, her ankles, and her forehead. Claudia opened her eyes. She was no longer in her white cell. She was in another room, larger, with matte black walls. And she was strapped to an inclined board. She was clean, and her chest was intact.

She tried to scream, but a gag shoved into her mouth muffled the sound into a dull moan. Panic seized her, cold and sharp. She moved, but the bonds were immovable. It was then that she saw it.

Before her, a sort of guillotine. But it wasn’t a normal guillotine. It was smaller, more delicate, designed with sadistic precision. The channel where the condemned’s head was meant to pass was strangely narrow and double. At the bottom, in the hole of the lunette, she saw something that froze her blood: two rounded molds in transparent plastic, as if the device was intended not for a neck, but for something else.

Dorrian and Mirabella entered, moving with the satisfied slowness of predators who no longer need to hurry. They were impeccable, as if coming from a society party and not a torture session.

— Ah, you’re awake, Dorrian said in a kindly tone. I hope you slept well. Regeneration can be a bit tiring the first time.

Claudia’s eyes were wide with horror. She looked at the guillotine, then at them, imploring. Tears of pure terror flowed along her temples, soaking her gag.

— Oh, I see you’ve noticed our little toy, Mirabella continued, her right hand caressing the polished wood of the machine. It’s a collector’s piece. A unique model, custom-designed. We call it the Widow’s Bra, she specified with malicious joy.

Claudia shook her head frantically, panicked sounds escaping her throat. She understood the use of the molds.

— Don’t worry, we’re not going to behead you, Dorrian said, approaching her. That would be far too quick. No, no… We’re just going to … rid you of this magnificent burden. This pride so arrogant that makes you believe you’re still someone.

He untied the gag. The first thing Claudia did was beg.

— No, I beg you! she cried, her voice hoarse, full of fear and tears. Do whatever you want with me! I swear, I’ll do whatever you want! Everything! I’ll be your slave, your bitch, anything! But not that, not that, please!

Her torment seemed to delight them. Mirabella burst into crystalline laughter.

— But my dear, that’s precisely why we’re going to do it. So you understand that your promises, your torments, all that, doesn’t interest us. You’ll do whatever we want because you’ll have no choice. Because your body, your life, your death … all that already belongs to us.

Dorrian smiled.

— She’s right and you know it. So stop whining. It’s becoming tedious, he concluded, pulling a lever.

The board on which Claudia was strapped straightened, setting her upright. Mechanical arms emerged from the walls. They seized her, lifted her slightly, while the second part of the guillotine inclined, approaching her chest inexorably. Other mechanisms adjusted her position, forcing her breasts to seat perfectly in the two plastic molds.

— NOOO!! Mercy! she sobbed again, as the cold of the molds only added to her terror.

Then there was a hiss and Claudia felt her chest pulled from all sides. Her breasts, trapped, were stretched, subjected to vacuum, burning and offered, ready to be sacrificed.

Claudia screamed, a litany of promises and prayers that broke against the total indifference of her torturers. They reveled in her fear, drinking it like a rare wine.

— The position is ideal; look how her chest fills the mold perfectly! I told you size 7 would fit her like a glove… Mirabella declared with a connoisseur’s smile toward her spouse.

— Yes, very pretty. The blade will pass just below the pectorals. A clean cut. Almost surgical, Dorrian replied with an amused grimace.

Then the latter positioned himself beside the rope holding the heavy triangular blade. He stared at her, penetrating her with his inquisitorial eyes, savoring every particle of terror.

— Don’t be afraid, Claudia. It won’t last long, but it will be more painful than the various implantations you received. And your exsanguination will bring you closer and closer to death, he jubilated.

— But before we mutilate you for our pleasure, we’re going to play a bit. I’m going to ask you very intimate questions and you’ll answer. If we find you sincere, we’ll use the guillotine, then let you succumb, before bringing you back to life. But if we’re not convinced, then we’ll have to punish you, Mirabella enthused with an icy smile…

Dorrian continued, taking his wife by the shoulders in an obvious mark of complicity.

— Good, the game begins, my little Claudia… Let’s talk about you. About the real you. The one you hid from the world. What is your greatest sexual shame? That secret you’ve never confided to anyone, he probed.

Claudia felt her heart stop. She swallowed, throat dry. The vacuum in the molds became more oppressive on her chest, like a mouth ready to devour her.

— I … once, on a train. There was a guy opposite staring at me insistently. Instead of being uncomfortable, it turned me on. I spread my legs under my skirt, just enough for him to see my panties. I didn’t look at him, but I felt his perverted eyes on me. Is that what you want? she stammered, in panic.

Dorrian stepped forward, his hand brushing the guillotine’s rope.

— Liar, that’s certainly not your most shameful secret. I can perceive your heartbeat, the blood rushing to your cheeks. The question is simple. Do you want me to help you remember? I can drop the blade just enough to nick your skin. A little taste, to refresh your memory…

— No! Claudia cried, panic overwhelming her. Alright! I… I must have been 15, it was before I ran away… My mother had spanked me severely because of my associations, which she judged bad. She really beat me, but at the same time, it turned me on. I was wet and I was afraid she’d notice. And … when she saw I was dripping on her lap, she hit me, then she left. I was shocked and lost… I took the brush handle and I … rubbed against it, then I shoved it … in my pussy, then I tried it in my ass too … and if it hurt at first, I quickly realized I loved it…

Mirabella burst into crystalline laughter, a sound that made the room vibrate.

— Oh, that’s delicious. A little masochist who likes anal. That’s far more exciting than I imagined. Dorrian, she’s sincere this time. Continue, my love. Ask her something else. Something deeper.

— It’s not true … they’re going to take everything from me, my secrets, expose all my shame and kill me … why am I obeying them?

— Very well, Dorrian said, his gaze becoming sharper. Describe your darkest fantasy to me. The one that scares you when you’re alone at night. The one that would make you blush if someone discovered it.

Tears flowed again down Claudia’s cheeks. She felt her soul being bared, stripped of her intimate thoughts under their greedy eyes.

— I sold my body a few times, to survive, when I got kicked out of the strip club. I had a client who was rich. And my darkest fantasy was that it be permanent. That one person decides to buy me. Not for a night, but forever. That he takes me home and my body no longer belongs to me. That I am nothing but a hole at his disposal, that he lends to his friends, that he uses like furniture. The darkest part is that in my fantasy, after a while, I no longer want to leave. I’ve forgotten who I was before. And I’m grateful, she blurted in one breath, without thinking, amazed at unpacking her most secret and shameful thoughts like this, and of which she was certain her torturers would turn against her… My God, what have I done? How could I say or think of such a thing! That’s not me! she inwardly indignated.

— Fascinating! Mirabella murmured, running her nail along the blade. You want to be what we’re making of you! You desired it before even meeting us. What luck for you, because we’re going to grant your wish, Mirabella jubilated.

— Exactly, Dorrian added, before Claudia managed to protest, her mouth opening without a single sound coming out. Last question, Claudia. The most important. Of all the people you’ve known, who in your life would you most like to see suffer? Not a quick death. A long and humiliating ordeal. And tell us why, above all, he insisted with curiosity.

Silence settled, heavy. Claudia closed her eyes, face contorted. She knew this answer would seal her fate, that she would offer them the last fragment of herself they hadn’t yet taken.

— My younger sister. She always spoke to me with that soft voice, full of pity. She who said ‘We still love you’ while my parents looked at me like shit. One day, she came to see me, in the club where I stripped. She stayed on the terrace, watched me from afar, then left without a word. She never came back. I wish she were in my place. That she grasps what it is to have to sell her body to survive. And my parents too. That they feel that shame. Not to suffer from it, but so they understand they were beneath everything with me.

Dorrian and Mirabella exchanged a look of pure satisfaction.

— Excellent, Dorrian said, his voice full of sinister approval. You’ve been perfectly honest. You’ve given us your soul on a platter, nothing less.

— And for that, you’ll have your reward, Mirabella concluded, a gleam of excitement in her emerald eyes. You’ll have your cut. And you’ll feel every second, she decided with desire, Mirabella licking her lips with a vulgarity mixed with extreme sensuality.

Claudia stiffened and began to sob; she knew what was about to happen. Mirabella planted herself before her, devouring her with her gaze, drinking her despair and fear. Then, before Claudia could say anything more, she pulled the rope.

There wasn’t the single, dry sound she imagined. First, a click, then the grimacing hiss of the blade falling, sliding on its oiled guides. Claudia felt in a flash a cold contact against her skin, on her bust, a light shock then incredible pressure, followed by suffering beyond comprehension. It wasn’t a cut, but an implacable icy annihilation.

The blade passed through flesh and muscle, leaving only a few millimeters of skin before the ribs. The cry that escaped her throat began with pure terror, then immediately transformed into a scream of pain so intense it became inhuman. Despite her tears, she saw her chest, her breasts, detach from her, as the molds inclined to carry away what had been part of her only seconds before.

Then the blood, her blood began to flow. Stronger and stronger, dousing the surroundings, falling back on her, spurting onto her face. Claudia continued to scream as she emptied in torrents. She felt her life leave her, the cold settle in her, her legs go soft. Their laughter resonated, distant and distorted, as if reaching her from underwater. The world faded gradually, then finally she sank into darkness with a taste of iron in her mouth.

— They killed me…

But Claudia woke with a start, a cry stuck in her throat. She was in her cell. Lying on her hard bed. Her heart was pounding in her chest… She frantically brought her hands to her breasts. They were there. Smooth, firm, without the slightest scar. Her skin was soft and clean. And she had no pain.

She sat up, body sweating, trembling in all her limbs. She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t banish the image: the blade falling, the sound of her flesh detaching, her breasts falling, the sensation of her blood spurting and flowing.

She touched her chest again, massaging her skin, as if to ensure all this was real. Yes, it was real. She was alive, unharmed, and changed forever.

For at that same instant, a realization even colder than her death itself struck her on the spot. She recalled the nurse’s words that she hadn’t believed. Her death no longer belonged to her. They could kill her and bring her back. Again and again. She was their toy for the rest of her days. And this time, there were no more tears. Just absolute void and the terrifying certainty that her eternal ordeal had only just begun.

* * *

Chapter 06 - The Rules Of The Game

The following days dissolved into a haze of silence and waiting. No one came to see her. Food, a tasteless nutritious paste, was deposited through a hatch in the wall. Her cell was her universe, and the memory of her own execution was her only company. She relived it – the hiss of the blade, the sound of her flesh detaching, the sensation of her body emptying – dozens of times a day.

She had tried to bang her head against the walls, to strangle herself with her blanket, but each time, a searing pain in her lower abdomen paralyzed her, folding her in two. The device monitored her even in her despair. On the third day, the door of her cell opened.

Dorrian and Mirabella entered, stopping on the threshold like two deities come to inspect their creation. Claudia was huddled on her bed, gaze empty. She did not rise.

— I see you’ve had time to think, Dorrian said, in his calm, measured voice.

Claudia did not answer. What could she say?

— You understand, don’t you? Mirabella continued. You know all this is real. That you belong to us and you cannot escape us, even in death.

Claudia slowly nodded, without looking at them. Defeat was a heavy stone in her stomach, a weight anchoring her to the ground.

— Good. Then let’s be clear. We have the technology to regenerate you from the slightest of your cells. We can kill you in a hundred different ways and bring you back, fresh and ready, in a few hours. And you will remember everything. You cannot escape us. You cannot commit suicide. Every attempt at flight or self-harm will be punished by unbearable pain. You are immortal, Claudia. And your hell is just as much so.

The words fell, heavy and final, sealing her fate. It was the confirmation of her worst nightmare, a truth so absolute it was numbing, too enormous for a sane mind to integrate.

— But… Mirabella continued, a playful smile on her lips. Immortality can be boring. One must have fun. And you are our favorite entertainment. Tonight, there will be a party. Our men, the pirates most loyal to us, will be there with their own slaves. And you will be the star of the reception.

Claudia’s heart began to pound, a frantic bird in a glass cage.

— You will entertain us, Claudia, Dorrian said calmly. You will perform for us. In front of everyone.

— If you behave well, Mirabella specified, if you satisfy the audience, if you scream and orgasm when we want, if you show how much of a perfect little slut you are … then perhaps you will earn a few days of rest. Just being fucked, from time to time, in private. A well-deserved respite.

She paused, letting the silence settle, heavy with threats.

— But if you disappoint us… Dorrian murmured, his face hardening. If you resist, if you cry too much, if you don’t measure up to their expectations … then the show will take a very different turn. You will be tortured. Then executed. And we will bring you back to life. And we will start again for three days. Three days of slow tortures and agony. Each death will be more creative than the previous one. You will be a living sculpture of pain, my little Claudia.

She felt an icy cold run through her, a terror so profound it burned. She was no longer just a sex slave. They wanted her to become an artist of suffering, and her career had just begun.

But Claudia didn’t have time to answer before her bedroom door opened again. Another woman entered. She was young, perhaps Claudia’s age, but her eyes were empty, glassy. She was naked, except for a metal collar around her neck. Her body was slender, but marked with fine white scars, almost decorative. She moved with a graceful slowness, a submission becoming second nature.

— Claudia, let me introduce Liala, Mirabella said gently. She has been with us for a year. She is one of our many favorites. Isn’t that right, Liala?

— Yes, mistress, the slave replied, bowing her head deferentially.

— Liala will show you around your quarters. She will explain the customs. Listen to her well. Your survival and your comfort depend on it, Dorrian assured her severely.

Mirabella made a hand gesture and Liala approached Claudia. Her eyes were empty, but not inhuman. It was the gaze of someone who had suffered so much they had learned to detach from their life, to endure without any more feeling. She extended a graceful hand to Claudia.

— Come, she said in a soft, monotone voice.

Claudia, trembling, hesitated, then took her hand. It was the first time in days that human contact wasn’t an aggression. Liala guided her out of the cell.

They walked through dark, luxurious corridors. Liala showed her the slave quarters, a series of small dungeons identical to hers, but also common rooms where some slaves, the oldest, seemed to live in a sort of resigned torpor. Then, they passed near the guest chambers, from which laughter and music drifted.

— We are objects, here, Liala explained softly, as if reciting a learned lesson. Our value depends on our obedience and our ability to please. There are service slaves, like me. We are well treated, as long as we are perfect. Then there are the toys. That’s what you are, for now. A toy. Toys are made to entertain, to ward off boredom, and for shows. They don’t last long.

They arrived in a large marble bathroom. Liala pointed to a shower.

— Wash. There are lotions. The mistress wants your skin soft. You must be perfect for tonight.

Claudia stepped under the hot water, body shaken by silent sobs. She looked at Liala, who watched her with a sort of distant pity.

— Why … why are you helping me? Claudia murmured.

Liala gave an imperceptible shrug.

— I’m not helping you. I obey. But … the faster you understand, the less you’ll suffer. The show … it’s worse when you don’t grasp the rules. Tonight, you must satisfy them, all of them. You must give them what they want: a submissive slave. Otherwise … the three days await you. And I’ve already seen them. No one truly survives them. Not in their mind, at least.

Claudia closed her eyes, letting the water wash away her tears and the imaginary blood that still clung to her skin. Tonight, she would step onto the stage. She would dance, scream, and perhaps orgasm on command. She would do everything to avoid the three days. She would become the perfect actress in their theater of horror. Because for the first time, she understood. Death was not an exit. It was just an act in the play. And she was condemned to perform for eternity.

* * *

Chapter 07 - The Theater Of Pain

The air in the great hall of the Nemesis was heavy, charged with the smell of sweat, strong alcohol, and the heady perfume of exotic flowers imported from distant worlds. Dozens of men, hard and muscular – Dorrian’s lieutenants and officers – were sprawled on dark velvet divans, crystal glasses in hand. A few pirates were women, just as dangerous as their male counterparts.

At their feet, their own slaves, men or women, clad in transparent silks that hid nothing; they served them, massaged them, offered their mouths in submissive silence. It was a spectacle of decadence and brutal power.

In the center of the room, on a slightly elevated circular stage bathed in harsh light, stood a single piece of furniture: a rack of dark wood and red leather, equipped with black, shining leather straps. It was the altar.

Claudia was brought onto the stage by two robots. She was naked. Liala had followed orders to the letter: her skin was smooth, pearly, her hair cascading over her shoulders. She walked with a mechanical gait, eyes fixed on the rack. She had not cried. She had promised herself not to sob. She was an actress, and the show was about to begin.

— At least I’m not ashamed to show my body in public; that’s something… Claudia thought, feeling all the audience’s eyes on her, detailing her magnificent nude body.

Dorrian and Mirabella stood on a small mezzanine overlooking the stage, like impresarios in their box. Dorrian observed the crowd with paternal satisfaction, but Mirabella’s eyes shone with a more intense, fiercer gleam. It was her moment, her latest masterpiece.

A silence fell as Claudia positioned herself before the rack. All eyes turned to her. Dorrian took a microphone.

— My brothers! Tonight, I offer you a new toy. A recent acquisition, proud and rebellious. But as you know, pride is a disease. And we are here to cure it. Tonight, Claudia will show us what she has learned. She will show us her gratitude.

A murmur of anticipation ran through the assembly.

— The rules are simple, Dorrian continued. She entertains us, she satisfies us, and she earns our clemency. She disappoints us… He left the sentence hanging, a cruel smile on his lips … and she teaches us what true endurance in suffering means.

Claudia mounted the rack, surrendering without resistance. The straps tightened around her wrists, ankles, waist. She was thus offered, motionless. She closed her eyes, concentrating. I am an actress. I must convince. For that, I must believe it myself … she thought, facing the digital mirror that displayed her anguished face.

Mirabella spoke, her voice resonating with icy clarity.

— Show us, Claudia. Show us that you are no longer that little suffocating slut who was arrested on Veridia, your home planet. Reveal to us the slave you have become.

The first man stepped forward. He was a bearded giant, whose codename ‘Butcher’ was inscribed on his uniform. He took her without ceremony, in a single, violent penetration, a powerful rape. Claudia screamed. But it wasn’t just a cry of pain. It was a high-pitched, piercing roar she had learned to modulate to sound like a moan of ecstatic pleasure. She forced herself to arch her back, tense her muscles, give the illusion of total jouissance.

The butcher took her bestially from behind, then another, then another. A dozen men succeeded one another, using her like an elegant set of pleasant, well-arranged holes, an object to pour their seed into. Claudia played her role, offering her cunt and her ass.

— Luckily, I’m not one of those tight-assed ones, Claudia recalled, having learned over the years to abandon herself to men’s lubricity, even somewhat brutal ones.

She moaned, begged, cried out fake orgasms. She felt the tearing, the blows, the burning, but she buried them under a layer of pure performance. She saw the pirates watching her, some with desire, others with a gleam of cruel respect. For now, she was succeeding.

It was then that Mirabella descended from the mezzanine, a predator’s smile on her lips. She held a small silver box in her hand.

— That’s good, Claudia. Very convincing, she said in a soft voice that froze Claudia’s blood, as the latter flowed from her wounded orifices, mixed with the semen of her rapists. But I find you’re acting a bit too much. It looks like you … are trying. That’s annoying.

She opened the box. Inside, a dozen tiny scintillating creatures, like metal beetles, writhed. ‘Neural biters.’ Beasts designed to cling to the skin and send electric shocks directly into the nerve endings.

— We’re going to help you be more … sincere, Mirabella amused herself.

She seized one and placed it on the nape of Claudia’s neck. The creature locked there. Atrocious pain exploded in her spine, like a burning electric wire. The scream that escaped Claudia’s mouth was real this time. A pure cry of pain.

The man inside her climaxed from that single scream, taking her with even more force. Mirabella placed another on her back, then one on her thigh. With each beast, a new wave of pain. Claudia could no longer control her screams. She could no longer suppress the torment of her rape; her shame, her fear, her suffering mingled into unbearable chaos. Her performance collapsed, replaced by very real torture. The pirates laughed. The show was much more to their taste now.

— That’s more honest! Dorrian exclaimed from his box, applauding.

But it wasn’t enough for Mirabella. She wanted to break her completely. She made a sign. Two robots brought a tray. On it, shining instruments were spread out in a luxurious display: pliers, hooks, scalpels, spreaders, and even a small surgeon’s hammer.

— You see, Claudia, Mirabella whispered in the slave’s ear, while another pirate took her from behind. This evening isn’t just for you. It’s a lesson. A warning to our men. They see what happens to those who disappoint us. They observe once again what becomes of those who think they can resist us. They know that if they betray us … they will end up in your place. And I… I love giving corrections…

She took a pair of pliers and approached Claudia’s breast, who flinched in terror. With sadistic slowness, she grabbed one of Claudia’s nipples with the pliers and twisted it. A scream of pure agony tore the air. Mirabella smiled, then seized the small hammer. She tapped lightly, then harder, on Claudia’s index finger. The bone broke. The sound was barely audible, but the pain was a supernova in the young woman’s brain.

She lost footing, plunging into her despair. The show, the performance, all faded. There remained only her suffering, infinite, absolute. She no longer really felt the men ravaging her. She no longer heard their laughter. She saw only Mirabella’s smile, which seemed to drink her cries. She understood. They had never wanted her to succeed. They had planned her failure from the start.

Tonight wasn’t a test. It was a sentence… Finally, she fainted, not in relief, but in an agony so complete that her body chose to shut down.

When she came to, she was no longer on stage. She was in a small cold room, chained to another rack. Dorrian and Mirabella were beside her.

— Pity, Claudia, Dorrian said with false regret. You disappointed the audience. The show was … uneven.

Claudia cried silently, body broken, the nail of her finger throbbing with pain.

— You know what that means, Mirabella continued, her face illuminated with pure joy. The three days begin now. We’ll start with something simple. Poetic. I’m going to skin you alive, very slowly; it’s my specialty. And when you’re ready to die … we’ll let you heal. Just enough so you can feel everything again. And we’ll start over.

* * *

Chapter 08 - The Flayed Alive

Mirabella’s words resonated in the room, not as a threat, but as a simple description of protocol. A routine. Claudia, trembling against the rack, felt a wet warmth flow between her legs. Terror had done its work. She had lost control of her body.

Dorrian and Mirabella watched her with the satisfaction of artists before their blank canvas. Dorrian made a sign. Two robots entered, not to untie her, but to carry her. They seized her, one on each arm, and dragged her out of the room. She did not struggle. What was the point?

They entered a room Claudia had never seen. It was a theater of horror. The walls were white-tiled, like a sterile butcher shop. In the center, a tiltable steel table equipped with straps thicker than those used during her rape. Beneath this table, sinister retention basins were arranged all around, to collect blood and viscera. On trolleys, dozens of instruments were aligned, the tools sparkling under the harsh, pitiless light: scalpels, pliers of various sizes, hooks, and something that resembled a metal vegetable peeler, but with a larger crank and a finer blade.

They forcibly installed her on the cold table and strapped her down solidly. The metal against her skin made her shiver. She was completely immobilized, exposed.

— Please, don’t do this to me; I’ll improve; I’ll be your best slave, Claudia begged.

But Mirabella did not answer her immediately. She smiled at her, as she removed her silk dress with sensual slowness, folding it carefully before placing it on a chair. She wore a simple black leather corset that cinched her waist and highlighted her bare breasts, pierced nipples, and the red thatch of her immaculately designed pubis. She seemed in her element, a priestess of evil preparing a ritual.

— You look so fragile, Claudia, she said, passing a finger over the trembling shoulder of the young captive. That’s what I love. That moment just before. When you understand that the pain will have no limit.

She chose an instrument. Not a scalpel. A small, short, pointed boning knife. She twirled it between her fingers expertly, savoring the weight of the steel.

— We’ll start with the back, she decided. It’s an immense canvas. Lots of space to create and a large number of nerves, she said, pushing back her blood-red hair with elegance.

Dorrian sat on a stool, a glass in hand, like a spectator attending a premiere. Mirabella leaned over Claudia’s back. She placed the tip of her knife just beside her spine, at kidney level. She did not cut immediately. She traced a fine line with the tip, a barely perceptible scratch. Claudia flinched, holding her breath. Then, Mirabella pressed.

The pain was sharp, precise, an axis of fire that ignited on her skin. But it was nothing compared to what followed. Slowly, with infinite concentration, Mirabella began to incise. She did not tear the flesh. She separated it, peeled it like a fruit. Delicately, she slid the blade between skin and muscle and lifted it with strength and virtuosity.

Claudia screamed. It was not a roar of surprise, but a prolonged, guttural, animal cry that came from the deepest part of her soul. It was a pain of a new nature, a violation of her own envelope, of her flesh. She felt every fiber tear, every nerve exposed to the cold air.

Mirabella worked with methodical, almost loving application. She pulled slowly on the flap of flesh, using it as a handle to guide her blade. Blood flowed in a multitude of red rivulets that became a stream, filling the retention basins below with a soft, regular sound, as Claudia screamed herself hoarse, trembling.

— I CURSE YOU! I HATE YOU! MERCY!! Claudia shouted at the top of her lungs.

— See how beautiful she is, Dorrian, Mirabella said, her breathlessness betraying her excitement, unaffected by her slave’s invectives. Look at her muscles contracting when they’re raw. It’s living art.

Dorrian approved with a slow, almost lazy nod. He took a sip of his wine, the ruby liquid contrasting with the room’s dazzling whiteness. Then, with a clinical gesture devoid of any haste, he leaned over Claudia. He didn’t even look at her, only her neck, like a surgeon choosing the perfect insertion point. He plunged a large needle into her carotid, connected to a complex infusion system that began to hum softly.

— What is… Claudia murmured, fear freezing her blood faster than the product being injected into her.

— Just a little precaution, my dear, Dorrian said, straightening up. Exsanguination must not kill you before Mirabella has finished her work. It’s a matter of artistic respect.

Time lost all meaning. Minutes, hours? Claudia no longer knew. Her world had reduced to this cold table, to the reflection of light on Mirabella’s blade, to the pain devouring her entirely. To her mad screams, to her body trembling without her being able to control anything.

Mirabella did not hurry, mocking the supplications completely, the tearing cries, the flowing blood; she was concentrated and worked as if painting a picture.

Claudia felt Mirabella flay her back, peeling her skin over large areas. She was no more than a gaping wound, an open thing. The air on her raw muscles and nerves was a torture in itself. Claudia’s screams changed, became hoarser, more desperate.

— AAAHHHH! MERCY! ENOUGH! YOU ARE MONSTERS! MERCY!!! she bellowed, distraught.

— I haven’t finished; let me work in peace, she had the audacity to reply, as if nothing were wrong.

Claudia broke her voice from screaming and struggling; the pain was unbearable, everywhere, immutable, endless. Then it was the turn of her buttocks, then the back of her thighs. Mirabella worked with a goldsmith’s concentration, detaching the skin, lifting it, spreading it like a blank page. Finally, her suffering became so intense, so total, that Claudia’s mind cracked. It ceased to be a sensation to metamorphose into a presence, an entity that inhabited her body and consumed it from within. Her screams changed to ragged hiccups, then muffled moans.

— Look, Dorrian, Mirabella said with a triumphant smile. She no longer screams. She understands.

— She is ready, Dorrian replied.

Claudia had indeed fallen silent, spent; only a hoarse, whistling breath still broke the silence. She was resolved to die. She begged for it in her head.

— Kill me. Kill me now! Kill me … please…

But she knew they would not do it. Not yet. They would leave her on the edge, in this state of modified consciousness where pain had transformed into a kind of music. And perhaps that was hell. Not suffering, but the moment when it becomes so total that one ends up getting used to it. Drawing from it a form of … peace.

Mirabella stopped. She stepped back to admire her work. Claudia’s back and lower body were a mass of bright red muscle and whitish fatty tissue, stained with blood. It was a spectacle of horror that she found sublime.

Dorrian stood up and approached. He looked at Claudia, whose eyes were rolled back, unconscious but alive, shaken by involuntary spasms. He placed a hand on Mirabella’s cheek.

— Magnificent. You are an artist, my love, he said, kissing her.

He then leaned toward Claudia and spoke to her calmly, knowing part of her mind could still hear him.

— We are not going to let you die, Claudia. Not yet. It’s the most delicious moment. The one where death is so close, so sweet … and we take it away from you.

He signaled a robot. A mechanical arm descended from the ceiling. At its end, there was no instrument, but a sort of spray that projected a sparkling golden mist over Claudia’s martyred body.

Upon contact with the chemical, a new and horrible sensation superimposed itself on her pain. An unbearable itching, a tingling of millions of needles acting as a healing accelerator. Claudia reopened her eyes, a last scream of pure agony escaping her throat. She saw, in the reflection on the metal ceiling, her own flesh reconstructing. The muscles covered over, the nerves reconnected, the skin grew back in seconds, smooth and intact, over the back that had been flayed.

The healing was a torture almost worse than the injury. When it was over, she was again virgin of all pain. Physically, her body was perfect. But her mind … her mind was broken into a thousand pieces, each fragment bearing the indelible imprint of what she had endured. Mirabella leaned toward her ear, her warm breath against her skin now cold again.

— There. That was your first day. You suffered well; you were very courageous and you prayed well for your death. Now, you will rest. And tomorrow, we will start again. But with another idea. I thought we could open your belly, and let you watch your own entrails for a while. What do you say? she asked in good humor.

Claudia did not answer. She contented herself with crying, silent tears flowing over an intact, smooth face, not knowing that this was only the first night of a hell that would last far longer than three days. The first three were only there to ensure nothing would remain of the woman who had been arrested on Veridia.

* * *

Chapter 09 - The Shared Lesson

Sleep was not a refuge. It was a continuation of the torture, a nightmare where she relived in a loop the sensation of her own skin peeling away under Mirabella’s methodical blade. Each time she sank down, she felt the tingling of the regenerator, the inverted agony of her flesh reconstructing, and she woke with a start, throat tight with a silent scream.

When the robots pulled her from her cell the next day, she did not struggle. She was a puppet with stiff joints, eyes ringed with a terrifying void. She knew, with absolute certainty, that the worst was yet to come.

But it was not to the butcher shop they led her. They brought her to the great show hall, unoccupied and silent, bathed in the icy penumbra of space night. The stellar void, visible through the central viewport, seemed to absorb all light and sound. Dorrian and Mirabella were on their mezzanine. But this time, they were not alone. A man was kneeling before them, hands handcuffed behind his back. He was a massive pirate, one of Dorrian’s lieutenants, by the name of Kael.

His face was covered with old scars, witnesses of bloody battles, but his eyes, usually full of arrogant ferocity, were now filled with a primal fear. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and his body trembled despite his build.

Claudia was forced to kneel beside him, a mere spectator. She felt the terror emanating from him in almost palpable waves, a nauseating heat that contrasted with the room’s pleasant temperature. A robot held her in place with metallic pressure on her nape, a constant reminder of her own status.

— My brothers! Dorrian’s voice resonated in the silence, amplified by the ship’s system, awakening the echoes of the previous night’s laughter.

Doors opened in the walls with a discreet hiss, revealing screens. On each, the face of another pirate, one of the Nemesis’s senior officers. They were watching from their own posts, illuminated by the bluish glow of their consoles. It was a mandatory audience. A live spectacle.

— We are gathered today for a lesson. A lesson on loyalty, Dorrian announced, gesturing toward the prisoner. This is Kael, whom you all know. He thought he could hide a portion of his loot. He imagined my authority had limits. He believed his actions would go unnoticed. Of course, he was gravely mistaken.

Mirabella rose, a radiant smile on her face. She descended the mezzanine steps, a spectacle of grace and cruelty. Each step resonated in the oppressive silence.

— Treason is a disease, just like pride, she said, her voice soft and deadly. And like any disease, it has a remedy, as painful as it is exemplary.

She turned toward Claudia, her gaze undressing her more surely than any hand.

— And you, Claudia, you are our antidote. You are living proof of what happens to those who disappoint us. You will observe. You will understand that your suffering is not personal. It is pedagogical. It is a tool. And you are our most effective instrument.

Robots seized Kael and dragged him toward the central table, which was illuminated by a sterile white light. He struggled, a desperate force surging within him, a growl of a hunted beast, but it was useless against mechanical power. They brutally undressed him, the fabric of his uniform tearing under the traction of robotic pincers, then strapped him to the steel table, exactly as Claudia had been the day before. The restraints closed with dry, definitive clicks.

Claudia closed her eyes, unable to bear it, her mind already fleeing toward the memory of her own exposed flesh. She felt vertigo overtake her, the taste of blood and fear in her mouth.

— Look! Mirabella ordered, her voice sharp as a whip. The woman’s hand landed on Claudia’s temple, icy fingers forcing her to turn toward the scene. It’s your future that’s on that table. Every time we are disappointed. Every time you think you’ve reached your limit, remember this man.

Pain exploded in Claudia’s lower abdomen, an electric, pure discharge from the implanted device. She screamed and reopened her eyes, vision blurry and full of tears. Mirabella held the same small boning knife as the day before, the steel shining under the harsh light. She showed it to Kael, then to Claudia.

— Kael will learn what Claudia endured yesterday. He will learn that his skin does not belong to him. That his body is only a tool at our disposal.

She began. Without haste, with her eternal artistic precision. Kael’s first cry was a roar of rage and pain, a vibration that made the table’s metal tremble. It was the scream of a man who knew himself strong, who had always dominated, and who was now reduced to the most total impotence.

Claudia was forced to watch Mirabella’s blade penetrate the pirate’s skin, with the same slow, deliberate movement that had flayed her yesterday. She saw the first strip of dermis lift, a red edge against pale flesh. And she relived everything. Every millimeter. Every second. Kael’s pain was hers, a perfect echo, a resonance in every fiber of her being. Her memory was a sponge, and the scene before her pressed it, drawing out the horror of the day before.

— You see, Claudia? Dorrian murmured into a microphone that addressed only her, his words a poison in her ear. This is nothing personal. It’s just management. Order must be maintained. And pain is the best management tool there is.

Mirabella worked, her face imbued with ecstatic concentration. She spoke to Kael while she flayed him, her soft, sing-song voice contrasting with the horror of her actions.

— You should have been smarter, Kael. You should have known that everything you have belongs to us. Your strength. Your ship. Your skin. Everything. Well, at least it gives me a chance to have a little fun; that’s something, she joked before tearing off a larger piece of flesh, Kael screaming even louder, while she laughed.

Blood flowed, a scarlet ribbon making its way toward the retention basins. Mirabella stuck a blood infusion into his carotid, laughing; she could take all her time. Kael’s cries quickly became supplications, then incoherent moans. He was like a felled bull, his power reduced to miserable suffering, a pile of muscle and fear.

Claudia felt something break inside her, a last inner barrier. It was no longer her own pain destroying her. It was being a spectator, an instrument in another’s torment. Being the mirror where they reflected their power, the obligatory witness of their cruelty. Complicity, even forced, was a venom poisoning what remained of her soul.

When Mirabella finished, Kael’s body was a work of horror identical to Claudia’s the day before. The pirate was unconscious, in agony, shaken by involuntary spasms, all the skin of his back, buttocks, and upper thighs missing, spread on the floor.

— He is ready, Mirabella announced, wiping her knife on a cloth with the satisfaction of a job well done.

— Regenerate him, Dorrian ordered.

The same mechanical arm descended, projecting the golden mist over Kael’s body. And, like Claudia, he woke screaming, his flesh reconstructing in a symphony of reconstructive pain. His eyes were wide, fixed on the ceiling’s reflection, where he saw his own martyrdom reversing.

When it was over, he was intact, trembling, face marked by a terror that would never fade. Dorrian stood and addressed the screens, to his crew who had watched everything, frozen in an embarrassed, fearful silence.

— Let no one forget this spectacle. Loyalty is rewarded. Treason … is a work of art. And we are the artists.

The monitors went out at once, plunging the hall into deeper penumbra. Then, the robots untied Kael and dragged him out of the hall, a broken man whose steps left only a wet, red trail. Then, they turned toward Claudia.

— And now, the second day, Mirabella said, her face lighting up with new inspiration. I have an idea. We’re going to open your belly. Just enough so you can watch. So you can see how all this works inside. We could ask you to point out your organs for us. ‘Claudia, show me your liver.’ That would be a fun game, wouldn’t it? she enthused again.

Claudia no longer cried; she no longer even had the strength. She let herself be led away, an empty, docile body. The second day was beginning. And she knew that, whatever they did to her, it would never be as terrible as becoming a silent witness to the infinite cruelty of her masters.

* * *

Chapter 10 - The Intimate Vivisection

Returning to the torture room was like returning to the tomb. The air was even colder, charged with antiseptic and the metallic smell of blood. The silence was heavier, a weight that crushed the lungs. Claudia no longer felt the ground beneath her feet; she floated in a state of terror so profound she had become detached, as if this were happening to someone else, to another woman in another life.

This time, the table was not inclined. It was flat, a perfectly horizontal altar. Robots deposited her on it and immobilized her, but differently. Her arms were stretched above her head, her legs slightly apart in a forced offering. Additional straps passed over her forehead and chin, preventing her from turning her head. She could only look upward, toward the white ceiling and its large circular mirror, from which she would see everything.

Mirabella entered, followed by Dorrian. They did not even address her. She was an object, a preparation on a table, a mass of flesh awaiting treatment.

— Begin with a longitudinal median incision, Dorrian said as if dictating instructions to a surgeon. Clean and precise. From the base of the sternum to the navel.

— With pleasure, Mirabella replied, this time choosing a longer, finer scalpel, which shone like a diamond in the light.

She leaned over Claudia, her face so close she could smell her perfume, a mix of flowers and heady scent.

— Don’t worry, my dear. We’re not going to remove anything. It’s just a guided tour…

— She’s really going to open my belly! She’s completely insane!

The cold tip of the scalpel settled under her sternum. Claudia closed her eyes, clenching her teeth until her jaws cracked.

— I told you to look, Mirabella hissed, implacable.

An electric shock struck her, less strong than the day before, but sufficiently sharp to force her to conform to her torturer’s expectations. She reopened her eyes and fixed her reflection in the mirror, the face of that unknown, terrified blonde.

— That’s much better. And don’t start again, otherwise I’ll be obliged to remove your eyelids, and given how pretty your eyes are, that would be a real shame…

Mirabella pressed. The blade was so sharp pain took a second to arrive. First, a sensation of separation, like a cut on paper. Then, the burning spread, a line of fire descending delicately along her belly. She bit her tongue until it bled so as not to scream, body stretched to the extreme, every muscle crying out under the straps’ constraint.

Mirabella worked with calculated, almost voluptuous slowness. She separated the skin, then the fat, progressively exposing the pinkish-white muscular wall of her abdomen. Blood began to accumulate in the wound, a crimson lake that Mirabella distractedly sponged with a compress, like a painter wiping excess color from her canvas.

— Here’s the rectus abdominis, she said like an ...