Untitled 01

She was blond. A blond slave girl with dirty hands and ratted hair. She wasn’t special, just one of a few thousand slaves, torn from a struggling planet and taken back to Doom for a life of servitude. Slaves to build. Slaves to serve. Slaves to be used as the empire saw fit. Nothing was ever unjustified.

The moment they landed, the slaves were separated as per King Zarkon’s orders. They were sorted into queues, long and winding in the belly of a great cargo ship. Men on one side, women on the other, lined up according to height, weight and health. The sick were plucked away one by one, incinerated on the spot to avoid contamination.

All the children were slain.

He didn’t pay much attention to her at first—a mindless slave performing mindless duties—but as the days began to blend and the season slowly shifted from light to dark, Zarkon found himself quite taken with her. The infatuation grew as he watched her work; something about the way the blond moved when she scrubbed the floor of his quarters. He relocated her into a small harem for imperial use not long after. One day after that he broke and just made her his.

Zarkon had her pinned, his favorite slave girl writhing pitifully under his weight. He smiled as she moved, fangs slipping past his lips in a wide grin. There were fleeting thoughts of crushing her, more than any other. Zarkon wondered how it would feel with her life’s blood covering his chest.

“Exquisite,” he breathed, touching her hair. Gold, like everything else he coveted in the universe. Zarkon curled a bit of it around a claw, lifting it to his nose. He inhaled. Humans, especially the women, always smelled delicious. He licked his lips, winding his fingers tighter and tighter in her hair.

The first time he brought her to his throne, she was speechless. Fear, most likely. Wealth did not seem to impress her. Nor did drink. Luxury. As such was her kind. They were never impressed by anything important, except maybe food.

Starve a man and you could get him to do anything.

Sitting on his throne, legs spread wide around her hips, Zarkon liked to pet her. Gentle at first. He’d trace lines down her lips to her hips. Her belly, waist and thighs. The way she moved against him, shivering from his touch yet pushing into his robes at the very same instant set his skin on fire.

“Harder,” he breathed against her skin, claws hooking into her small shoulder. Zarkon always drank what she spilled for him. He never dared to waste a drop. Zarkon fingered the slave collar she wore with a grin.

“Please!”

He laughed. Always so quick to beg. Bothersome, and yet…

“It’s why I love humans,” Zarkon hissed, his fangs pressed dangerously close to her neck. “So fragile, so delicate.” Zarkon stirred at the feel of her fingers touching him, skirting lower and lower. With a groan, Zarkon arched back, grabbing her hand.

She quickly pulled away.

“Ah ah,” he chided, pulling her inside his robes. She struggled and fought, kicking hard. Zarkon was surprised when she spit in his face. She’d never done that before.

It set him off.

It didn’t take much to send her sprawling on the cold dais, belly down with her hair fanned over her. Zarkon heard her choke and she spit again, this time coughing blood. He watched her get up on hands and knees, her elbows quivering, legs moving forward to the steps in escape. How… futile.

“Think again,” Zarkon said, dropping to his knees. He bent over her, hands smacking hard against the stone floor. He lifted one and pulled her flush against his body. She screamed; Zarkon hissed. This one, this particular slave girl, her body fit against his so perfectly, it aroused him to no end. Warm and only his. He never shared. The empire be damned that he would give someone even the slightest chance to experience her the way he did.

He would never admit that a human, let alone a woman, made him so weak. Never in a whole millennium.

Biting down on her shoulder, Zarkon slid a claw up her skirt and pressed the pad of his fingers against her panties. They were damp so he pressed harder, smirking around the blood pooling in his mouth.

“Please!” she cried when he buried his fangs deeper, “Don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.” Her body trembled and the look she gave him over her shoulder—open-mouthed and afraid—made his hands relax on her hips and his body shudder with delight. She may have a talent in sapping his cruelty, but it would never be enough to diminish it completely.

“I won’t kill you,” he said with a growl, “I will however take from you whatever I so wish. The same as always.”

Another fearful look from behind. “Please, just let me go. Let me go back to being a faceless slave of Doom. Work me in the mines, in the fields. Anything else, please!”

Grabbing her thighs, Zarkon somersaulted her legs over her head, shouting a string of curses in Drule. She reacted beautifully, screaming and landing flat on her back, her chest heaving with panicked breath. Twining fingers through her hair, Zarkon brought her to her knees once again, this time facing front.

“You should know how easily I tire of begging,” he said, voice sharp like the claws in her back. Zarkon stood and pushed his robes aside, watching his slave flinch. “I suggest you put that little mouth of yours to better use. Go on!”

He had to force her, guide her by the back of her head as she twisted in an attempt to evade him. Lips tightly pressed, she shrieked, and Zarkon cracked her hard across the mouth.

“Open!” he growled, striking her again. Her will was solid and hard to undermine. Zarkon hated it. “If you fail to obey me, slave, I may just very well kill you.”

Warm, soft and smooth. Zarkon hissed on a breath and reveled in his victory, shoving more and more of his length into her small mouth. Oh yes, humans definitely were not created to accommodate drule men.

“All of it,” Zarkon growled as he ran a claw down her cheek in warning, leaving a bright red line in its wake. It was tight, tighter than any other human he’d experienced before in his existence. Her tongue moved up the underside of his shaft in an attempt to swallow. It was in vain, no matter how hard her throat worked. Instead, Zarkon saw saliva leaking from the corners of her mouth with the more he fed her.

“You’re making a mess,” he chided when he began to pump mercilessly into her mouth. She made a noise of protest which he blatantly ignored. “And you still haven’t gotten it all inside. What a shame.” Another hard shove and Zarkon’s eyes rolled back. If only she would suck.

Hands ripping at her hair, Zarkon forced her head down completely and paused, shivering in ecstasy. Her throat spasmed around him; she was gagging, grabbing at his thighs to push away. Zarkon held her fast. Even if she didn’t suck, he sure enjoyed the view of a human girl choking on his length, moaning and crying out against him. She would never win. He was easily twice her size and three times her weight.

“Just like that,” he said. It was divine the way her strangled moans traveled right through his body. It made made him thrust even harder. Yes, humans were the answer to everything. They filled in all the holes…

”No,” Zarkon thought with a smirk, ”The other way around.”

With a loud grunt Zarkon pulled back, much to the slave girl’s relief, only to be dumped once again on hands and knees. Zarkon made a grab for her, raising her hips so her chest hit the floor. With a firm press of his claw, he teared a slit into the crotch of her panties.

“Please!” She was begging again.

Snarling at her to stop, Zarkon impaled her.

He always took his women from behind. He didn’t want to look at them. They cried too much, their faces twisted and contorted in agony. Women made themselves ugly when they gave in to emotion. He didn’t want to see it, not when he was trying to milk pleasure for himself, and he most certainly didn’t want to hear it.

“Silence!” Zarkon snapped. To emphasize his command he bent over and raked his claws down the length of her back. She arched away from them, screaming, so he did it again and again and again. Licking his lips, Zarkon watched the blood trickle down her skin in rivulets. They sparkled like rubies and tasted much sweeter. Licking his fingers, Zarkon made note to turn her into wine some day.

She was screaming in agony, writhing and clawing at the dais to get away. Zarkon pulled her back but she made one attempt after another to escape.

“You’re trying my… patience, slave,” he growled between thrusts. “Don’t make me—”

She dove for the edge of the dais, grabbing hold and pulling herself away. Zarkon let her go, seething as she forced him to withdraw. He glared. It was a pitiful attempt. Where would she go? She didn’t even have the strength to stand.

“I am through.”

Seizing the salve’s ankle, Zarkon wrenched her away from the edge and pinned her belly up. She was crying. She was ugly.

Zarkon bent her knees, pushing them to the floor as he pushed straight into her. “No more struggling. No more games.” Zarkon made a slash across her chest with his claws. She arched from the floor, crying out. “Or I swear by the few things I hold dear, I will kill you.”

She was silent then and Zarkon moved to spread her legs even wider. Every inch of him was burning, thrilling at how small she was, and now she was clenching so very tight. Every time he thrust she got tighter. It was wonderful. Euphoric. She wore the scent of fear well.

“Ngh… my slave,” Zarkon grunted as he tensed with release, falling forward as he spilled within. He laughed at the way she bit her lip to keep from crying out in disgust. She wanted to live, and that made Zarkon’s heart quicken. He came dangerously close to crushing her. “My good little slave. I think I’ll keep you…”

Why he said it, he didn’t know. Everyone on the planet already knew she was his.


One Response to “Untitled 01”

  1. Sickening and yet…arousing? Man, I have issues.

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