ABERRANT FUTURES — CHAPTER 8 (Claire)
My dreams were intense and disturbing—In one I was kept with other women on a farm where we were milked like dairy cows. In another, a huge huge wolf monster impregnated me with a python-like penis. In the dream, I felt his litter of puppies squirming in me and I woke sweating under a heavy comforter in a small room I didn’t recognize. My memories of the day before were confused and feverish. I thought they were dreams too until I found the note on the stand by the bed. Blue ink from a wide nibbed pen scrawled across heavy stationary, “Emergency at work... away until six... make yourself at home... your to-do list is downstairs....”
Yesterday came back in a flood of surreal memories—my opening day, finding my way to the house, accepting McVoy’s offer to let him breed me (what was I thinking!). I had been unbearably horny as a side effect of his tinkering with my body’s fertility. When I disobeyed his command not to touch myself, he whipped me. The red stripes were still hot and sore on my ass under the covers.
I would later learn that McVoy kept the riding crop within reach but rarely disciplined me for honest mistakes. Many of my whippings would be due to what he called “willful disobedience,” but were really me faking defiance to satisfy a rare masochistic urge. Through tears and sobs I would always regret my disobedience and wonder what I had been thinking. The thrill of fear from seeing the jet black leather loop was enough to keep me in line most of the time.
I didn’t know if thinking about the spanking was turning me on, or if it was normal for someone as artificially fertile as me to crave penetration, but the temptation finger myself was becoming too much. I pushed the sheets off me—McVoy had put me to bed nude and tucked me in—and tried the doors around my room. The nearest opened into to hallway beyond which the house and my servitude loomed. Feeling exposed, I closed myself back in. The next opened into the beautiful master bedroom overlooking the stream furnished with full length mirrors, blue and white wallpaper, and an ornate oak bed. I paused for a moment to admire the reflection of my girlish figure and I imagined what I would look like sleeping in the bed with a little baby bump. McVoy would decide when, I thought, and reluctantly closed the door. The next was a plain but sparkling clean bathroom where I showered and dried myself. Lastly was a walk-in closet. My old clothes were nowhere to be seen, and the style of my new wardrobe was what I can best describe as “archaic sensual librarian.” The underwear was a complicated tangle of buckles and straps that never seemed to cover the bare minimum of skin no matter how many pounds of lace were used. Satisfied that I had an outfit mostly right, I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. The grey sweater and knee length skirt on the hangers appeared conservative, even dull, but they were tailored to hug my curves and the sensation of the intricate underwear underneath made me feel feminine. I imagined the Professor’s huge hands fumbling with the buttons, or just ripping them off and taking me on the floor. While I was absorbed in my fantasies, I began to caress myself with my hands and then yanked them to my sides when I became aware. I was too hot and bothered to let myself be idle, so I headed downstairs to distract myself with a late breakfast.
On the fridge was a arms length to-do list at the top of which was “Feed Lauren.” I was trying to sort out who Lauren was when the calico chirped at me from the floor. I refilled her water and food dish and scrambled myself some eggs. I stood at the counter to eat and put my speaker phone to check in with my friends starting with Ally.
“Hey girlfriend!” She said from my screen. She looked like her usual happy, pretty self. In the background we’re the stacks of the undergraduate library where we liked to study. I was surprised, I’d expected her to be traumatized and hiding away at her parents’ house.
“Ally!” “I said. “I saw what happened to you. I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”
“Oh my god, yes I’m fine.” She laughed embarrassedly, “I’m sorry I upset you, I asked them not to film. But I did tell ya’ll I was going to call the lacrosse team from the clinic.” Then she tried to change the subject, “But how are you? We didn’t see you at the courthouse. Who’s kitchen is that? It’s fancy.”
I didn’t let her put me off. “Ally, I saw that Eric was there, Ew!” I gestured with my finger in my throat and pantomimed vomiting. “And there were so many guys...”
She wasn’t smiling now and said seriously, “Its just sex, Claire. You’re embarrassing me, and you there are like ten guys total in the house; Eric probably won’t even be the father. Can we talk about you now?”
I wanted to believe we were both revolted by our subjugation to the men who had captured us, and I was angry with Ally for not being outraged at what had happened to her. But at the same time, and I tried not to acknowledge it, couldn’t help thinking ten men might just be enough to satisfy the need I had to be filled. I pulled my attention back to the conversation, apologized Ally, and brought her up to speed.
“Oh my god,” she said when I was done, “Oh my god, did you not know who he was. He is beyond sexy. I’m so jellie. Fuck, Claire; when he captured you in class and played with you, I felt it.”
“Uh, ok” I said. I used to think Ally adopted her slutty bimbo persona to clown around. Now that I knew her high pitched squeals and alarming suggestions were genuine, they made me uncomfortable. I wondered with horror if she’d even have sex with a man who hadn’t captured her. Beneath that, I was trying to tell myself that I wasn’t jealous and I didn’t wish I could trade places with her. But the desire to do anything for relief from my urges was beginning to become unbearable. Talking to her was stirring up feelings that were too intense for me and I had to get her off the phone.
“Sure,” I said. “Hey, Ally, catch up later, ok? My mom is calling.” One by one I called the rest of my friends. Many were euphemistically occupied, a few were safe on their opening vacation. But I spoke to maybe nine or ten girls, mostly in Ally’s same sorority, who had been captured. Some briefly by strangers, and others by family, friends, and neighbors. I talked to Chelsea last. She answered the phone with a preoccupied expression against a backdrop of pine trees.
“Hey, girlfriend,” I greeted enthusiastically.
“Hey!” she smiled back, but something was off, she seemed very distracted.
“Are you ok?” I asked. Her head was bobbing against the horizon almost but not quite like she was walking or gently bouncing on a trampoline. I was just on the cusp of identifying the motion when she groaned her brother’s name in embarrassed horror in what she couldn’t hide was an orgasm, “Saaaaaaam, noooooo!” I hung up the phone to spare her any more humiliation.
There was no one left to talk to and I was still horny and lonely in an empty house. The homey kitchen was incongruent with the desires and feelings that had been inflamed by talking to my girlfriends. It seemed like everyone was getting fucked but me. I wondered how I was going to make it until McVoy got back. And then I wondered what he would make me do when he was. My only distraction from myself was the chores list.
It unfolded to twice the length when I took it off the fridge. There were pictures and diagrams and annotation. The striped on my ass burned in anticipation of discipline from failing to follow them just right. I took the packet to the kitchen counter to read and skimmed through the main sections—gardening, housekeeping, personal care, exercise, meditation, academic studies, public duties, etc, etc. At the top of each was the outfit I was supposed to wear during. I gathered that the professor was more than a little of a control freak. I set my goal for the day: to get through the housekeeping section and dinner preparation before six and hope for the best. “Servants’ utility closet” directed the instructions to where I would find the maid uniform and blue handwriting in the margin read “Hidden lever behind ficus.”
Under the ledge of moulding mid way up the wall in the hall of house plants was a cubby I had to feel around in with my index and middle finger. Making a “come hither” motion was the trick, and a concealed doorway cracked open. Inside were prosaically normal buckets, mops, brooms, and more. A distracting image popped into my mind of me fucking myself with the handle of the feather duster, but I suppressed the urge and looked for my maid uniform. It was hanging on the inside of the hidden door—a white apron, black dress, and black loafers. The apron had a frilly halter and the the neckline of the dress sported a big, goofy, white bow. I was careful not to close myself in the closet while putting it on—I wasn’t sure how to open the door from the inside. The big bows and frills bounced foolishly when I moved, the neckline was so low my nipples were at risk of escaping, bending at all exposed my garter, and picking something off the floor exposed my panties. Wearing it made me feel servile, infantilized, and thoroughly objectified. I contemplated rebelling and just wearing the “librarian” outfit. But McVoy might be spying on me and I didn’t think I could stand another whipping so soon.
I started in the library. The big pink feather duster complimented my silly outfit, and waving it around made me feel even more foolish. I did my best to focus on my work and not how much of my underwear I was exposing through the big window with every bend and twist. I remembered from the street outside how airy and beautiful the wood shelved library was, and I tried not to picture how my black and white uniform stood out. I turned on some music to drown out the turbulence in my mind and dusted to the rhythm. Lauren curled up in a warm beam of light with her nose twitching from all the motes I was kicking up. For a while I managed to focus completely on cleaning.
While I was bending down to dust the baseboard, I felt a slight prick in my neck. I was confused at first until when reaching with my hand I touched my collar and realized it must be the sensation of a failed check attempt. The second prick made me yelp and freeze in terror. Then there was another prick and another. My pulse was beating in my ears, and without moving my body I craned my head to look behind me. My ass had the attention of the landscaping crew across the street. They were sweaty with tan faces and seemed like very big men. McVoy’s words came back to me, “your threshold is set too high to be checkable.” But in my imagination the crew was desperate to have me, would break down the door to get to me, rip off my uniform, and carry me to the office. There on the desk in my mind, they took turns pounding me and filling me up. In real life, I tried to pretend I didn’t see them and that they couldn’t see as much of me as the obviously and appreciatively did. I tried to stare fixedly at whatever I was doing, but my eyes kept meeting theirs by accident. When I was done in the library and I was ready to move on, the men were still watching me. My feelings about them were confusing and disturbing to me, and instead of rushing out I lingered looking back at them in the doorway.
It was easier to ignore my skirt riding up and my mile of cleavage while cleaning the quiet, more private office. But I could imagine how I’d feel with McVoy in the house and wonder if he would tell me to stop covering myself when my blouse fell open or cop a feel up the back of my skirt when I bent over to straighten up his desk. In the reflective glass of the cabinet doors, I posed for myself with my mouth opened wide in mock surprise and outrage as his imaginary hands molested me. I wondered if servants from the olden days felt similarly powerless and available to their masters.
I was about to move on to the living room when one of the machines on the desk caught my attention. It had a glowing pair of cables of rainbow liquid running from the back of the desk across the carpet and under the wall. I could tell from the bubbles racing along in it that the liquid was carried up one into the machine and back down under the wall through the other. I got on my hands and knees, ignored the draft up my skirt and my pinup like pose, and felt warm air from the crack below the wall where the cables ran. Remembering my secret servants’ door I looked up and saw a similar button under the moulding. I weighed the possibility of getting in trouble and remembered what he’d said the other day, “The whipping is not for exploring the book.” I decided the curiosity was too much for me to bare anyway and the wall opened with a satisfying click when I got my finger in the sweet spot. The opening door exposed a heavy stone arch over rough, uneven steps that twisted circularly down out of sight.
I’d read about wealthy homeowners circumventing zoning restrictions with underground extensions, but this was something else. It looked like the entrance to a crypt or maybe a wine cellar modeled on an old castle’s. The glowing rainbow liquid cast prisms of technicolor light down the grey stairwell. I leaned in the opening feeling like Nancy Drew in some sort of “Mystery of the Hidden Staircase” novel. Except I couldn’t recall the girl detective having to pull her kinky maid skirt back in place every thirty seconds to stay modest. With my butt tingling in fear of the possibility of having misreading the professor, I left my duster on the desk and descended. Lauren sniffed the air and elected to stay above.
The staircase twisted so I didn’t see where I was going until I was out of it. I was in a central room under a stone dome surrounded by the blinking lights and humming of equipment. On the perimeter were big alcoves decorated with models of plants and animals, but the contraption at the center grabbed my attention first. It looked a little like a motorbike seat, the kind you leaned forward on almost lying down. Except where the handle bars would have been there were locking cuffs. And it was tipped to forward so the “rider’s” butt would stick up in the air right towards a hanging metalic bulb bristling with thick, black protuberances. Thinking about where those were supposed to plug into made me shiver. Instead of wheels, it rested on a nest of wires, sensors, blinking lights, clamps, straps, metal tetacles, and what looked like industrial breast milk pumps. It was either brand new and unused, or meticulously cleaned and washed. I was repulsed by it, afraid of what McVoy might intend for me with it, and at the same time tempted to climb up and see what it did. It wasn’t hard to see where my legs would go on either side held wide apart by the width of the seat, or how the joint that held back the protuberences could be angled just right to slide them into me. I imagined them heavily, slowly, and inexorably opening me. My own whimper as I started to move towards the device startled me out of my reverie. Even if plugging myself into an unknown machine weren’t incredibly foolish, I reminded myself, I’d probably just sit there doing nothing without someone to operate it. I resolved to have fewer dirty thoughts about the appliances and explore the model creatures instead. For all I knew, I told myself with a giggle, it was the professor’s prostate exam machine. Deep inside, I knew better.
There were five alcoves around the room making it a blunt angled pentagram. Each alcove was recessed into the floor and were deep enough to be nearly another room. One had a liquid golden skined giant posing like a Greek sculpture. He had fully rendered penis that was ridiculously large, erect, and shiny. I mentally nicknamed him the “Golden Pervert.” The next was full of water up to the main floor in which two delicate looking mermaids with bare chests frozen in the act of combing each other’s hair. Their mouths were full of needle teeth. I nicknamed them “The Sisters.” I couldn’t see into the alcove directly across from me because of the motorcycle chair, but in the one a little further around was a thick horse like creature with too many legs. The legs in front had grasping simian hands, and the thing’s eyes were huge, human-like, and wild. I shuddered and nicknamed it the “Rapist.” The alcove nearest me was covered in purple, leafless vines. It was the least frightening display and I investigated.
When I stepped over the border into the display, a cable hidden by a lip of stone gurgled to life and glowed with red liquid. In it’s light, the purple vines appeared reddish black. I crouched to touch the nearest tendrel and was shocked to discover it was warm and lithe. It felt alive. The idea that the other creatures might be similarly vibrant frightened me, I glanced to make sure they were still frozen before standing. Except I couldn’t stand up. In the moment I bent down, a tendrel had curled around my thigh gently but firmly holding it in place.
I panicked and yanked on it with my hands and it came free, but I couldn’t escape because more had wrapped around me feet and ankles. The tendrels felt more like octopus arms than vines. They were rubbery, muscly, and hot. My wrenching and tugging never seemed to break or hurt even those no thicker than a pencil and they gave the impression of only exerting a fraction of their strength. In a few moments they were up to my knees and then my waist. Every one I unpeeled was replaced with ten more. The rush of adrenalin I felt at being submerged in the creature gave me enough strength to twist my foot just about an inch off the floor where it was then held frozen as the tentacles curled around my arms, and then neck. My entire body was held immobile in the center of the twisting mass. I felt them wherever my skin was bare pulsing and moving with the tips gently probing me. For a while I couldn’t think for blind panic, but after a while when my breathing had slowed a little it occurred to me that the thing had carefully avoided covering nose, and despite its strength never exerted enough pressure to hurt me. I observed it appeared to like contact with my skin, it was touching as much of my surface with it’s as it could without harming me.
I opened my mouth to see if maybe I could reason with it and quickly realized that was a mistake. A tendrel about as big as my thumb was through my lips before I could make a sound, and more held my mouth open anticipating and preventing me from clamping down with my teeth. My eyes watered as I felt it snake down into my throat. It pulsed gently and deposited a stream of sticky fluid directly into my stomach. The small part of me that wasn’t terrified and trying not to gag was giggling hysterically. “Way to go, Claire.” I thought to yourself. “Meet the alien, make first contact, and fellate it.” Very quickly after the first glob of goo dripped down my throat, I realized I was being drugged. I felt tingly and warm all over and then happy and playful. My fear and rational thought ebbed away and I began to have very friendly feelings about my new purple friend’s probing. The tentacle in my throat oozed more of the viscous substance and I eagerly swallowed it down. Gently but firmly tentacles slid under my clothes. It felt like a message to my drug addled brain. When I felt the ripping of cloth as it undressed me, I realized I had made a mistake. It didn’t want to touch me, it had just been mapping me, exploring my shape and what of me was me and what was just packaging. I came awake a little as I felt cool are against my bare skin here tentacles had been, but it still had me by my arms, legs, waist, and neck. The one in my throat held my head immobile. I couldn’t help swallowing more goo, stopped struggling, and relaxed.
While I had been completely enveloped, the creature had maneuvered me with my back to the ground and legs spread like I was doing reverse cowgirl on the invisible man. It supported me so I was perfectly comfortable and could see down my body where a mass of tentacles hovered around my pussy. Very decent of it to give me a view, I thought foggily, and watched the thing curl and twist across my bare stomach, breast, and thighs. The tips of the tendrils were gently prodding every dimple and crevice. The tip of one gently stroked my clit, and I pressed my pelvis forward and moaned around the one in my mouth. The sensation and movement woke me up one last time to what my objective reasonable brain recognized as a dangerous, unwanted invasion, and I struggled uselessly against my bonds. But more of the thick liquid oozed down my throat, and I relaxed again into a dreamy, friendly acceptance of my captor. It let me have just enough mobility to move my pelvis against the clit tendril.
The two at my ankles pulled me a little wider and I felt a big thick one climb up my thigh and press into the entrance of me. I thought it was going to fuck me like a penis, but I was wrong again. It was soft, hot, and filling rather than hard and penetrative. More than a few inches slid into me, and where an erection would have banged painfully into my cervix, it filled me softly and warmly. It’s mapping my womb, I thought lazily; I should be worried. But I wasn’t and I watched as it moved and pulsed in my belly and distending me with gentle pressure. A second branch pushed on my rear entrance and I relaxed to let it in reminding myself to be a friendly host to my guests. It pushed in a few exploratory centimeters. I’d never had something penetrate me there, and I mentaly sampled the sensation of fullness trying to decide if it was uncomfortable or if I liked it. I whimpered a little like a sleeper disturbed out of a dream. After a few tentative prods and pushes, the tendril began to fill my ass just like the one in my womb. And then the one at my throat began to push down deeper into my belly. I wondered light head-idly if they were going to meet each other somewhere inside me. I closed my eyes and floated free mentally as the alien filled my body.
I came to a little while later still held firmly by the creature, but my orifices and mind were mostly free. I was a little woozy, and a few purple stragglers were intrepidly poking at my belly button. The rest of the fronds waved languidly around me as though in a breeze. I wondered if that were the alien equivalent of laying in bed with a cigarette. I caught sight of my phone in the tatters of my uniform, and a surge of adrenaline woke me the rest of the way up. I didn’t know how long my throat would be free and my mind undrugged, so I activated my phone where it lay in the shreds of my clothes, “Sherrie AI,” I commanded (my personal phone AI was named Sherrie) “Call McVoy.” I heard the whirring beep of my phone coming alive. But the motion and noise activated the creature at the same time. Just as I heard the craggy deep voice of McVoy say, “Claire, what’s going on?” the purple tentacles began to writhe and point towards me again.
“Help!” I said, except I never got to the “p” because quick as a cobra the thing was in my throat again. It was different this time, the creature had transformed itself. The tendrils were thicker and more rigid. The motion was more aggressive and less exploratory, and the fluid was saltier, more bitter, and less soporific. I thought as I was struggling that the experience felt more human and less alien as if it were conforming to my expectation of its assault. The drugs still effected my body, I felt myself becoming wet and flushed between my legs, and I struggled to make myself remember that I was trying to get away and not trying to thrust myself onto it. “Claire,” said McVoy from my phone. “I see on the house sensors where you are. There’s no danger, I’m coming to get you, try and relax.” Then he paused and chuckled to himself. “You might as well enjoy it while you can,” he said and hung up. His smug entertainment at my expense made me angry and I struggle so hotly I over exerted myself and had to go limp breathing hard. The entire time the purple creature was fucking my throat and forcing me to swallow globs of goo. I was beginning to feel full. It played with my whole body this time. It tickled my sides, stroked my thighs, and kneaded my boobs. It made me giggle and gasp, and I wondered how a plant could know to tease me just so. Drug enhanced tingles of pleasures ran from the soles of me feet to the top of my scalp.
When it began penetrating me again, I couldn’t struggle any more. I was too exhausted physically and from resisting my own urges. I told myself it was the drugs and that I was too worn out to fight, but on some level I knew I needed a good hard fucking, and I didn’t mind enough that I was getting it from an alien plant. The tentacle between my legs cupped my v first and nestled against my clit. I let myself go and voluntarily pushed my pelvis into it. Two more thick tentacles joined the first and thrust into me. Two entered my pussy and the third my ass. I felt them oozing liquid that caused my exhausted, addled body to experience euphoria.
By the time McVoy came down the stairs, I was mindlessly fucking the plant back, hungrily swallowing its fluid, and thrusting with my pelvis to try and get it deeper into me. I was too far gone mentally to acknowledge him, but I have the hazy memory of him chuckling merrily at me and saying, “Good show, Claire. You may come.” My memories after that are confused an unintelligible, but I know from all the times he’s told the story for the amusement of visiting guests how my tummy contracted and relaxed as waves of pleasure made me moan and squirt so hard Bleidlix (the creature’s name) became alarmed and dropped me right into the professor’s arms. I do remember waking up on the floor with him over me cradling my head. I felt very relaxed and satisfied. “Are you sure you don’t want a turn with Rex Penetrans next,” he asked with eyes that were still laughing at me and gestured to the giant gold man. Feeling foggy and woozy I sleepily nodded no. That was as much as I could manage that day and the professor helped me shower and tucked me in naked just as he had the night before.
“Am I in trouble,” I asked sleepily from under the covers.
“No,” said the Professor. “I’ll never command you not to indulge in your curiosity. But no more unsupervised conversations with that member of the council.” And he turned out the light. I noticed The Sisters, the Rapist, and the Golden Pervert were still fair game, but did I dare?