As Time Goes By Ch. 03
Keywords: By, Ch., Time, Goes, As, 03,
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Ilsa ran for her life through the alien jungle, feet pounding on the uneven, moss-covered floor, passing like a ghost through rafters of white light filtering down from the high, interwoven branches of the tall, thin trees around her. Her unkempt mane of raven hair fluttered behind her, her mouth felt dry as dust, and her heart pounded inside her chest, begging for a rest.
But she couldn't rest, not now; they were close, and getting closer. Occasionally she disturbed some ground nest and had found herself also pursued by clouds of angry, tiny biting insects up to bounce against her nude, sweat-matted body. But she was moving too fast for them to do more than protest. She didn't look behind her, didn't have to; the sounds of the hunters were loud and close enough to tell her what she need to know.
Once or twice she saw men and women, also running in the same direction, no one wasting time speaking or pleading for help, for there was nothing to say now, and no help to be found. There was only thoughts of escape, escape from those who would be their Masters and Mistresses. And despite the odds, escape was still a possibility, another day of freedom-
The smell of salt in the air, and the gradual sounds of breaking waves, lifted her heart and quickened her pace. She moved deftly through the jungle as if born here, thoughts of her old identity, her old life, long since submerged. She sensed that those closest to her, her fellow prey, had also grasped that escape may be at hand.
She emerged onto a long, thin stretch of white sand that reflected light from the small strong suns hanging high in the stark lavender sky. The beach seemed like a buffer of cream between the dark olive and emerald of the jungle, and the indigo-blue of the boundless ocean, as waves rose and fell onto the sand, lapping at it relentlessly.
Ilsa found herself with perhaps a dozen other men and women, all glancing about, trying to catch their breath. Like her they were naked, but thoughts of modesty had been set aside for the greater priority of survival. Perhaps if they ventured out into the water, hid themselves-
Someone cried out as they saw two of the hunters emerge from the jungle, ten metres down the beach. They were young, eager to prove themselves, but fumbled with the wide net they carried between them.
Ilsa and the others automatically bolted the other way down the beach, even as her mind screamed: No! This is what they want! They're leading us into-
A trap. Two more of them appeared ahead, more experienced ones, also stretching a length of net between them, and kicking sand behind them as they quickly and efficiently cut rounded up their prey. Someone slammed into Ilsa in their panic, bringing them both down. Ilsa spat sand from her mouth and kicked out to free herself, to escape from the others and run back into the jungle. She had to get away, couldn't let herself-
When the nets entangled her with the others, dragging all of them along like so many fish, hopes of escape vanished. She felt herself pressed up against three other people, moans and wails of despair filling her ears.
The hunters dragged them a further distance down the beach, the rough treatment pummelling the resistance from the captured prey, before stopping at what was obviously the hunting party's encampment, with supplies and - oh God, small individual metal cages on the back of a truck, each cage just large enough to contain an adult human.
Ilsa peered through the thick strands of the net as their captors congratulated each other, toasted their victory with some wine, then methodically began removing humans from the snare, one at a time, and inspecting them like cattle. Then the aliens fitted thick leather collars with ID tags around their throats, before shoving them into the cages for transport back to the local settlement, for sale at auction.
This, then, was their fate, the fate of all Earth people brought to the Imperial Vorhavok homeworld. Once, years ago, humans were their hosts, welcoming the first colony ship to Earth with open arms. Oh, there had been many who had suspected a less peaceful agenda, even to the point of instigating civil war on Earth. Then they were proven right all along, as the Vorhavok warships arrived, devastated the planet and claimed it for their own. Now humans were nothing more than slaves, sport. Denied rights, clothing, even life. She wondered if she'd end up in some zoo, or pulling a cart as part of a team, or even experimented upon in some lab. About the only saving grace to any of this was that her kind were unappetising to the insectivorous Vorhavok.
When it was her turn, she was dragged out, roughly examined by her captors who ignored her pleas. She used to understand their language, but she didn't seem to anymore, and either they didn't hear own attempts to communicate, or they simply no longer recognised her as a fellow sentient being. Clawed hands ran through her hair, squeezing the muscles in her limbs, lifting up her breasts as if weighing them, opening her mouth to check her teeth, slapping her rear. The collar they fitted around her neck was a thick, constricting strip of flesh, which the Vorhavok examining her then attached to a chain.
But her feelings of humiliation were twinned with arousal at being treated like this, at being out of control of her own fate and the centre of attention. And when the thick fingers probed her pussy, her wetness was apparent to the Vorhavok examining her, who called to his companion.
Ilsa turned, blinking through tear-matted eyes as she recognised- "Rikk?"
It was him, clad in voluminous black Imperial wraps like some extraterrestrial Caesar, the sunlight dull on his mottled olive-green skin, his tail swishing behind him as he approached, the nostrils on his muzzle twitching as he drew closer and sniffed around her. Confused at his lack of response, she tried backing away as he bent down and scented her bush, only for her to be held by another. "Rikk? It's me, Ilsa! Please, help me!"
He drew back, honey-and-black eyes focusing on her face, the loose skin under his snout darkening with focus. Then he turned and spoke to one of his hunting companions.
Ilsa's face went cold. "Rikk? Please, please don't ignore me!"
Another approached, dragging with him a naked, bearded human male on a chain. Her eyes focused on the man, recognising him immediately. "Oh God... Victor?"
Rikk hissed orders, and the other Vorhavok unleashed Victor and pointed to Ilsa. And Victor, her former colleague, her former husband, showed no sign of recognition, or even awareness, as he regarded Ilsa. There was only a growing hunger - and a growing erection from the clump of dark curly hairs at his groin.
Oh God, no... Ilsa tried to run, but the chain attached to her collar was short and strong, and she fell to the sand, easy prey for Victor, who grappled with her as their owners surrounded and commented to each other. Victor pinned her face down, grunting savagely, his cock pressing against her thigh. This was not the gentle man who had given her support, then love, in the days when Rikk had been interred. No, this was a man broken by his owners, his keen intellect submerged, conditioned to perform as a stud animal.
And despite herself, the eyes of the spectators and the feel of Victor's cock against her triggered another reaction from Ilsa, the pounding anxiety and excitement of her captive state already making her heart race, the veins in her throat pulse and her pussy spasm in gasps.
Victor forced her upper half down and raised her rear; both hands gripped her hips, stopping to slap her flesh when she'd continued struggling. Then he gripped her again, the head of his cock sliding up and down the groove of skin between her cheeks, before driving his shaft hard into her. Ilsa faced ahead, shame at her sorry state, at her body's betrayal, burning into her skin like a brand.
And Victor began thrusting, pushing his hips hard against her buttocks, forcing his cock deep into her, hard and fast thrusts that portrayed his deep pleasure and satisfaction, his urgent sexual need seeking release, a frantic fucking action.
He had surrendered to their new Masters. As had all humans. And as the feelings grew and grew within her, Ilsa felt herself surrendering too, casting away her dignity and doubts, becoming nothing more than a beast, a source of amusement for others and pleasure for herself. Victor pumped harder and faster into her, until their bodies slapped together rapidly and rhythmically. Around them, the Vorhavok watched with amusement as their pets fucked.
And Ilsa, to her amazement, felt happy to be amusing her masters and mistresses, looked to each of them in turn for approval-
Rikk stared at her with an unexpected deliberation, as if having only just recognised her, and his voice was aghast. "Maideleh... how could you...?"
Her heart leapt into her throat. "Rikk? N-No, I- I-" But even as the enormity of what was happening struck her like a hammer, Victor climaxed with a strangled snarl, filling Ilsa's pussy with hot, thick bursts of come. The action pushed Ilsa over the edge, too, and she cried out-
*
-Ilsa bolted upright in the bed, shaking and sweaty, unsure of where she was, or of the person beside her.
Then it all returned to her. Sam had freed her from Rikk's clutches, dressed her in some emergency clothes and took her out of the club and to her own place, a few streets away. It was a small but comfortable-looking flat with music posters on the walls, an open kitchen area, and a couch unfurled into a bed she now shared with Sam. The blinds were closed to the daylight, and a leaky tap dripped like a distant, lazy drumbeat onto the stack of dirty dishes in the sink.
What a stupid dream, one inspired by some paranoid Coalition propaganda. She didn't believe the Vorhavok were coming in force, even if the time and expense required to launch such vessels wasn't so astronomical. The ones that were here were on their own, and didn't expect help.
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Keywords: By, Ch., Time, Goes, As, 03,