DiamondStar IV

 

 

Chapter IX – Out Tonight

 

            What does that mean?  “We’re going out?”  I know not out of the ship – we’re still using the luminosity drive, so we’re well away from any matter.  So out in the ship…the hell is there to do on a warship?  Isn’t it like, polishing buttons, ironing creases, and march drills?  ‘Cause that’s sure as hell all I’ve been doing so far.

            Well.  Ahem.  Except for that, obviously. 

            And what do I get ready?  Shower, of course.  She’d done that after Mistress left, and again after her workout (her body was still sore – it was a full hour longer than anything previous).  Shaving isn’t really an issue…unlike Mistress, there would no stubble or pop art down there for me, after the DNA injections.  She could use a haircut, although it wasn’t critical, but that didn’t seem like an option.  Perfume?  I’ve never been given permission to use any of her perfume, but I guess damned if I do, damned if I don’t.  Anyways, she’d usually found it hurt less to do put out too much effort than too little.  There were three kinds; she used the only one that didn’t smell floral.  After the first couple sprays, she looked around like a conspirator, and feeling very silly misted between her breasts and above her chastity plate: Mistress was as likely to be there as anywhere else, after all.  She painted her toes and nails – a dark red that complemented her pale skin – and did all the other necessaries. 

            Now, waiting, she just thought about the irony of working so hard to make herself up to be paraded naked and more than likely abused horribly.  I really ought to be a bit less eager about such things.  Instead, she fidgeted in impatience. 

            When Jillian entered and saw her slave kneeling obediently and took in the results of hours of preparation, her reaction was anticlimactic. She frowned, confused; “Why the fuck aren’t you dressed yet?”

            Nysia paused in shock – she had just placed her lips to Mistress’ boots, and the polished leather felt cool against her mouth.  Dressed?

            Mistress covered her face and sighed, very deeply; a sound that spoke of her own patience, and how completely idiotic her pupil was.  “The uniform ya ironed yesterday.  That ya spent hours on.  That was new, and in your size.  That has no insignia, like all of mine do.  Jesus, I make my privates print their name inside their collars, but I expected more from you, Freckles, I really did.” 

            Mortified, Nysia rushed to the closet and took out the uniform.  She dressed in a rush, and was surprised how odd it felt: she hadn’t worn anything in nearly two months.  Several packages had been delivered from the quartermaster in the last couple days, and it had never crossed her mind they might be for her.  Black socks, black reinforced knee-high boots with a mirror gloss finish, black trousers, with white pinstripe, black leather belt…underwear?  She glanced at Mistress inquisitively.  The petite woman paused in the act of toying with a loose strand of black hair to roll her eyes and shake her head.  Okay, so no underwear then.  Black bra – tight fitting and elastic, the sort intended for use in sports – black undershirt with white Civil Marine emblem, and black jacket, double breasted with rows of very bright silver buttons and emblems and a plethora of white trim but, as mentioned, no shoulder insignia at all.  She was clothed in record time, and thankful for all the effort she’d spent on her duties yesterday.  She set the cloth hat, ominously called a “piss cutter” for reasons she didn’t dare ask – lightly on her hair (all still in place, a quick glance in the mirror had shown her) and was finished. 

            “I’m ready, Mistress.  I’m sorry about not being dressed…I didn’t think that was allowed.”  Asking for mercy was pointless, she knew; Jillian was apt to punish her for no reason at all, or even as a sort of twisted reward (and sometimes, creepily enough, it was a reward).  If she’d actually done something wrong there was nothing to prevent hours of torment.  But…I want Mistress to know I didn’t fail her on purpose.  That I tried for her.  That was important, somehow. 

            The major looked up at her with an understanding smile.  “I know ya aren’t used to it, sweetheart.  I like to see all your delectable bits.”  Nysia blushed with the compliment.  “But this is a mixed crew event, and you’re an officer’s property – not some whore to be used by the enlisted.  Your goin’ naked would be like…well, like braggin’ about my pay or wearin’ gaudy jewelry or something.  Not polite, like.”

            “Mistress…if I’m going to be a problem….why not leave me behind?  I don’t mind, if it’s...better for you….”

            “Ah, no,” Jillian adjusted the uniform here and there, brushing away imaginary dust and tweaking the hat to the proper angle.  “It’s the Navy’s birthday, love, all hands that aren’t keepin’ us from blowin’ up are required in mess with their units.  And anyways…I’ve been wantin’ a date.”  A date?  With a girl…that owns me?  This should be interesting.  Well…at least I won’t have to endure one of daddy’s “boys only want one thing” lectures beforehand. 

 

            Dinner was surprisingly wonderful.  Each unit had its own room, as there was no single area large enough to hold the whole crew, so this was only the ship’s contingent of Marines.  It was still a lot of people: there were nearly a hundred of them, and they were packed tightly together, jostling black uniformed elbows.  As the senior officer, Jillian sat at the head of the table and gave several speeches.  As her date – still a strange thought to Nysia, who realized she’d gotten shockingly used to being goods – she sat one seat to the left. 

            The food was excellent – some sort of steak, and a type of shellfish she’d never seen before – and the conversation rewarding.  Jillian treated her completely different; while there was no question who was in control, she shared amusing anecdotes and witty jokes, and even paused a few times to whisper teasing, playful remarks in Nysia’s ear.  They talked about her command, her successes and her history in the Corps.  “I’ve been lucky, from day one; in the right place at the right time.  I transferred off two ships a week before they blew; my last command was nearly decimated and limped home with only a tenth of the crew alive – and ‘nearly destroyed but moving’ ain’t a common thing in the Navy, Love.  With all the command wiped out, I got bumped up two ranks and even took over for the skipper when we ran outta pain killers.  Did well enough they let me keep the rank…not that it’s a great thrill anymore, with all the coalition governments backing out.  Which is why we’re spending our time in backwaters fishing for volunteers and supply.”  It was strange to hear her owner ramble on amiably – she never spoke like this in their quarters – and Nysia realized, scooting her chair closer to hear more, that she was enjoying it. 

            She wasn’t so included in the wider conversation.  She was treated with the consideration given to a normal date of a coworker: polite but disinterested greetings, a vague inquiry after how she was settling in (“Fine, thank you,”) and then she was completely ignored.  But even so, what would have once been a frustrating ambivalence was a welcome relief: when bracing herself to go out she’d imagined being pawed at, abused by anyone who took an interest in her, and had half suspected she would be gang raped. 

            Not that every slave avoided that fate.  Several girls from the harem were here serving as waitresses, and the offer of clothing had not been extended to them.  Initially they were only groped, but by the time they’d finished the series of drinks of brandy to some Admiral Nelson a party atmosphere had taken over.  Racks in a side room were being loudly used as an impromptu brothel and slaves inside were being randomly harassed.  One blond was standing with a grimace, legs spread wide as an empty bottle was worked brutally into her sex.  Elsewhere, a cute teen in pig tails was tied to a tabletop and used as dinnerware.  A half dozen marines laughingly overturned their plates onto her body and ate off her navel, tummy and chest instead, while her head – hanging upside down over the end of the table – was forced to service a succession of men and women. 

            It wasn’t only the slaves in use, either.  Several pairs of men had split off to the edges of the room and were satisfying one another with their mouths and rears; Nysia watched these with particular interest, delighting in the hard bodies and exposed manly organs.  All these guys are cut…Mistress must work them hard.  Now that I seem to be avoiding the fate, the idea of a gang rape doesn’t sound bad at all. 

            To her left, two marines put several chairs together and collapsed into the resulting couch.  The woman, on her back, had short brown hair and beautiful olive skin; she stretched out, reaching her hands over her head into Nysia’s lap. 

            “Hey, do us a favor,” the man on top spoke to Nysia. “Hold Jone’s wrists for us, would ya?”  With a startled nod, she reached down and gripped them. 

            Jones looked up and smiled, “Harder.”  Nysia nodded, understanding, and gripped them as tightly as she could, twisting them to prevent any escape.  “Mmm, perfect!”

            For the next ten minutes Nysia pinned Jones in place while her comrade yanked open her uniform and took her sex, then rear (the last obviously much to her surprise, shock, and initial dissatisfaction).  To her other side, Jillian continued her conversation about weapons drills without a glance.  Being thus an agent of another couple’s lovemaking, but ignored in her own right, was a bit of a turn on.  It had the same feel of being an object that she had learned to treasure in her service to Mistress.  Curse this damn plate!  She squirmed against the chastity screen, but as always couldn’t get it to touch anything important. 

            And then Jillian’s hand was there, slipping her belt loose beneath the table even as she chatted amiably with others above it.  A brush of the warm fingers and the hated plate fell away, and suddenly she was entered with multiple fingers, and Mistress thrust so hard and fast it hurt, but felt so good.  When Jones screamed with her orgasm – her partner had already spent himself in her rear to her own voluble disgust, and was now using his mouth on her sex – Nysia clenched her pussy around Jillian’s hand and leaned over to whisper in her ear.  “May I please cum, Mistress?”  The major glanced over and nodded without pausing her conversation, and Nysia felt the waves of pleasure wash through her body, trying to stifle any outward betrayal of her state.  “Thank you, Mistress.” 

            She released Jones’ hands, receiving a wink in return.  Perhaps the girl hadn’t disliked being taken that was as much as she voiced?  Hands now free, Nysia reached under the table to refasten her trousers, but Jillian knocked her away sharply.  With no underwear, she was to remain completely exposed beneath the table.  The fingers kept moving within her, however, so she leaned back, contented, and enjoyed the attention – she’d gotten well past her initial embarrassment in being pleasured in public, and having her sex locked up and wanting so constantly made her thankful for every moment of contact. 

 

            The evening was beginning to wind down when the Captain finally stopped by on his tour of each unit.  Most of the revelers had left to find beds for sleep or sex, and those remaining were deep in their alcohol or – as in Jillian’s case – their conversation.  Almost all the other slaves had been hauled off as well.  The only one remaining was the pig tailed teen, still strapped tightly to a tabletop.  She’d passed out quite a while ago, when those around her had been spent and turned to more violent uses.  The girl remained still, and Nysia was concerned although no one else seemed to be. 

            When they entered in a noisy crowd, however, the white-clad entourage had distracted Nysia from her concerns.  The Captain was accompanied by several other officers and crewman, and of course Lisa.  Nysia couldn’t take her eyes off her friend.  She looked miserable; she was hobbled viciously, straps around her thighs connected by links to others around her ankles, forcing her to crawl behind her master on a leash.  She was clothed in a white dress that ended mid-thigh, but the gauzy fabric had clearly seen rough use earlier that night: it was torn in several places and long, narrow marks from a harsh whip bled through the back. 

            The senior officers exchanged polite greetings and wished each other happy birthday.  “From the look of things,” the Captain continued in his rasping, harsh voice, “You’ve had quite a good evening of it.  I was wondering if I could pry you away, however?  A couple of the junior officers have arranged a bit of a surprise in forward stowage….” 

            “Of course, sir!  I’d be delighted...it would also give us a chance to review those new crew assignments….”  The Captain’s face betrayed just how excited he was with a discussion of crew assignments, but Jillian rose and began to walk with him towards the exit.  Just before she’d risen, Jillian had given a tug to Nysia’s loosened fly to indicate it should be done up, and the slave fumbled with the unfamiliar clothing urgently, hoping to conceal her actions as she rose.  When she turned to catch up the party was looking to the exit – all but Lisa, who perched on her knees with a curious expression.  Then the tattooed girl’s leash jerked as the Captain strode away, and she was forced to hurry along on her knees, nearly stumbling on other’s feet as she tried to keep up. 

            Glancing back, Jillian noticed the situation.  “Captain, why don’t ya hand off your puppy to Nys here?  She’s gettin’ a bit in the way.” 

            “Hmm?  Oh yes, right…yes, she’s terribly ill behaved, barely leash trained at all.  I practically have to drag her everywhere we go.  Not like your slave…she obeys beautifully.”  Nysia took the leash hesitantly, and murmured a low thanks for the compliment.  I obey beautifully…I bet daddy would say something different to that.  “Perhaps you could spend some time with the uppity git, train her a bit for me?”

            “Of course, Captain, I would love to help ya out with her.  About those B deck assignments, however….” 

            Nysia hung back a few steps behind the crowd, allowing Lisa a short break and taking the opportunity to finish buttoning her pants.  The curious expression returned, and Lisa tilted her head curiously. 

            Nysia blushed, then admitted with a smile, “Mistress was playing under the table.”  Lisa’s brows shot up questioningly at the giddy tone.  “I know, it’s like when we used to talk about Radley, huh?  But…I dunno.  She’s kinda cute, in her cheerful demoness sorta way.  I like her.”  Lisa nodded slowly in understanding.  “Come on, we need to keep up.”  She tugged the leash, unconsciously treating her like the puppy she’d been forced to emulate. 

            They walked a moment in silence; or rather, Nysia walked, holding the white leather leash, while Lisa crawled along quickly on all fours.  “Can’t talk?” Lisa shook her head.  “You weren’t modified were you?  This is just tonight’s order?”  Lisa nodded in response, then shrugged a little abashed and opened her mouth to release a quiet “Rarf!”  just loud enough for her friend to hear. 

            Nysia giggled.  “You can only bark like a dog?”  Another nod, and Lisa rolled her eyes and stuck her pink tongue out of the corner of her mouth to show her own opinion of the command.  “Heh.  I dunno, I think it’s kind of cute.  Like Halloween, but without the costume, and all yummy and helpless.  And on your knees like that, you’re damn hot, Lise.  It must drive the boys wild.”  Lisa nodded with a sigh.  “Is that what happened to your back…I heard the Captain say you weren’t well behaved….” 

            With a glare, Lisa snarled and looked about to spit in his direction.  Horrified, Nysia jerked the chain to disrupt the attack.  “Lisa!  Come on…behave tonight, so we can hang out together.  Otherwise they’ll take you away from me.” 

            Her friend nodded, and whispered very quietly, that no one else would hear: “Okay, Nys, I’ll be a good puppy for you tonight, but just for you.  That fuck…he doesn’t deserve it.” 

            Nysia reached down and tussled her friend’s blond curls playfully.  “I’ll try to keep you away from him.”  She continued a bit louder, laughing.  “Oh, and I can feed you from a bowl, and have you roll over and do tricks – in your face, daddy, for saying I couldn’t have my own dog!” 

            Walking along towards the upcoming event, Nysia couldn’t help but look over her friend with an admiring eye.  She had been beautiful when she came aboard – her pale skin, blond hair and elaborate rose and thorn tattoos had given her a sexy, exotic look.  Now she was different; the last of her fat had been worked off, and from the appearance of her limp, lifeless hair and the profusion of bruises and cuts across most of her body she seemed to be having a very hard time settling into her new status.  She was still beautiful, but like a wretched waif, beaten and ready for either consolation or more abuse.  To her own horror, Nysia wasn’t sure which she wanted to give more.  The rebellious, wicked spark in her friend’s eyes made clear that pity wouldn’t be appreciated, and enticingly challenged all those around her to break her will. 

            Forward stowage wasn’t a large place.  It held tables and chairs for a score of men and women, but it was a tight fit – especially with one end set aside for the surprise.  While they squeezed into seats Lisa immediately kneeled at her friend’s feet.  Apparently she’s not allowed chairs, either.  I wonder if Mistress would ever do something like that for me?  It does look fun, in a way. 

            The show began abruptly, without any introduction or explanation.  Mrs. Carlson, the wife of Nysia’s former English teacher, was dragged onto stage by a cord leading from slim metal handcuffs on her wrists.  Although married, she was still quite young, around 25.  Other than her restraints, she was completely nude, and a beautiful body was revealed; she was short, only a couple inches over five feet, with wide hips and very large breasts that gave her a mature, full appearance.  However, she’d already seen hard use that evening, perhaps in some other unit’s gathering.  Splatters of semen were scattered across her chest, imbedded in hair, and dripped visibly from both her sex and rear to flow down her legs wetly.  Once on stage, she dropped to her knees without instruction and crawled forward to the ensign holding her cord.  She deftly unhitched his trousers and engulfed his member with her mouth, thrusting her head forward so hard and deeply she gagged and drooled, but never paused or drew away. 

            “Tell me, slave,” the ensign intoned, his voice slightly ragged from the ongoing ministrations.  “How many have you sucked off tonight, like you’re doing now?”

            She barely paused long enough to answer, “Twenty two,” and take a quick breath before fully engulfing the man’s sex again.  Nysia could see her throat bulge as it was entered.  Stunned, she could only recall the image of Mrs. Carlson, proper teacher’s wife, serving cookies at a sports event.  Clearly, this place had changed her greatly from the woman who wept the entire first night, until the harem slaves shut her up by forcing her mouth into other activities. 

            “Only twenty two?”  Only?  That seemed like a damn lot…how can she still go at it like that?  The woman was acting like a wanton whore. 

            She paused again, a quick breath, then “Twenty two men.  Seven women,” and she buried her face in the man’s crotch again, forcefully, demanding to service him. 

            “And before…this…what were you?”  the ensign gasped, shuddering with pleasure; Mrs. Carlson actually sped up, sucking him hard into her mouth, clearly eager for him to finish there.  When he did, she still kept moving with loud, wet slurping sounds.  Several trails of white cum dripped down her chin: obviously that was where most of the twenty two had finished, as well.  When the ensign was finished spurting into her mouth, she backed away with an almost wistful look and licked her lips.  “I was the wife of a schoolteacher, sir.  A very dignified and uptight one.” 

            “And now?”  It was little more than a moan.

            “Now…I’m whatever you want.  I’m a fucktoy, I’m a piece of ass, I’m an open, willing ass, or cunt, or mouth, sir.”  Nysia’s eyes bulged.  This was Mr. Carlson’s proper wife, who never showed a hint of cleavage?  Compared to this change, my own was small, tiny; I only fell in love with a girl, not so bad, really. 

            Fell in love?  Where did that come from?  Had sex, I meant to say.  Well…repeatedly.  And enjoyed it, a lot.  And I want more.  I want to kiss her feet and stick my ass out to let her whip it.  Is that love?

            Recalling the things she’d so recently done with Jillian – had done to her, really, as she never had any choice in things – she felt herself getting wet again.  And my plate is still off!  She grinned wickedly, glancing to see the others intent upon the stage where four men in heavy leather hoods and gags, and nothing else at all, were led onto stage.  Nysia reached down, subtly, and unfastened her trousers under the table for the second time that night to slide a finger deep within her sex.  It felt divine. 

            On the stage, the ensign was talking again, slightly out of breath but mostly recovered from his endeavor.  “You’ve shown a lot of improvement, Sandra, so tonight you get a present.  You also get to be our implement of justice; these four men were caught last night trying to escape.  Three of them will serve you: one for each of your open, willing holes, as you put it.  The fourth, the one who doesn’t get to use his dick in you,” the ensign held up a piece of metal, about the size of his fist and shaped like a cupped triangle, “never gets to use it again.”  A chastity device…but a permanent one, like Aspens.  Nysia shivered at the thought.  “Feel free to take some time choosing.” 

            She was about to take three men at once?  The idea thrilled Nysia despite the horror of one man’s impending doom – or perhaps in addition to it; Why should we be the only ones to suffer for our Masters and Mistresses?  She started moving her hand faster, feeling the orgasm slowly building within her sex, tingling along her spine.  But a hand upon hers stopped her; Jillian was looking at her with an evil, knowing grin and pulled Nysia’s hand away, turned the hand over…and brushed it against a pair of soft velvet lips, just inches from her sex, below the table.  Lisa!  Omigod, was she that close the entire time?  She shivered with the sensations of Lisa’s mouth wrapped around her finger, sucking her juices off like she would from a man’s prick, and gasped in sudden desire with the thought of her friend’s voyeurism. 

            Mistresses hand let go hers, and the raven haired vixen squirmed in her own seat slightly.  On the stage, Mrs. Carlson was working her way along the line of men, taking each one’s dick into her mouth and performing as she had before: thrusting herself deep upon them until she had to be swallowing halfway down her throat.  Each man in turn moaned past their gag in appreciation, staring into her upturned eyes. 

            Then Jillian’s small hand was back, holding something, and with a quick thrust the vibrator buried itself fully inside Nysia’s vagina.  She gasped in shock, and the entire table turned to look at her surprised face.  Several laughed softly, thinking perhaps she was reacting to the performance, then they turned back to the stage.  The vibrator moved within her, slowly, teasingly.  It wasn’t one of the larger ones in Mistress’ collection – she had a dozen or more – but it was one of the cruel ones, made of metal and dotted along its length with sharp studs.  It hurt almost as much as it pleasured her.  Where did she keep it all this time…she never carries much in her pockets, as she claims it ruins the fit of her uniform….

            Suddenly, she realized where it had been, and why it was already quite warm and wet; she looked over to Jillian in surprise.  How long had she been walking around with that thing inside her?  The cheery disposition and sensual attention all night fell into place.  And then the vibrator switched up a setting as Lisa turned from her finger to her clit, delighting it with quick, light flutters of the tongue.  Nysia found herself too busy trying not to moan aloud to worry about anything else. 

            On stage, however, Mrs. Carlson had been enjoying bringing each man to stiff attention until she reached the last.  The other three men were huge, well built and obviously used to hard labor.  At their side, the fourth looked pitiful in comparison, although he was probably just normal.  Next to chiseled abs and massive, thick cocks, however, his limp member and love handles looked ridiculous.  His loud sobbing, audible despite the gag, only added to the effect.  Mrs. Carlson seemed to agree.  She poked at his groin once, disdainfully, and sneered in disgust.  “I want those three…the big ones, and him,” she pointed as the one to her left, with a tremendous ten inch prick, “in my ass.”  The fourth, scrawny man whined through his gag and tried to say something in an urgent tone.  “Shut up, you pathetic worm.  This one you can lock up, or cut off, or whatever you do…no woman would want that insipid little thing anyways.”  The man screamed as officers stepped forward to grab his arms and legs, thrusting him backwards against the bulkhead.  The other three slaves – the lucky ones – were already moving towards Mrs. Carlson, who leered at them eagerly. 

            Nysia only understood all this vaguely.  She squirmed as the two women pleasured her, Mistress thrusting forcefully with the bruising, malicious vibrator, constantly shifting it to more and more powerful, harsh settings, while Lisa eagerly pressed her mouth above it to overwhelm Nysia’s clit with her tongue.  When Lisa worked a finger underneath to slip the tip into her anus, Nysia came forcefully, bucking her hips crying out slightly.  Again, a few turned to watch her for a moment – it could hardly be a secret anymore that she was being used beneath the table – but they turned quickly back to the orgy on stage as Nysia collapsed, barely sensible, into her chair. 

            Mrs. Carlson was by now thoroughly impaled.  The men hadn’t bothered lying her down; instead, the giant taking her rear entrance had simply picked her up effortlessly and thrust into her with one motion, eliciting a scream of mixed pleasure and pain as the woman struggled against him.  Her efforts for a reprieve to adjust were futile.  A second slave hooked an arm under one of her knees, lifting it high up and away from her sex.  No sooner was it accessible than he drove forward, pushing the other cock even more deeply into her bowels and forcing another scream.  The last slave stood confused for a moment, then shrugged and reached up to grab a handful of her hair and pulled her to the side.  She hung there, suspended horizontally with arms under her right leg and left side, as he too entered her and moved his hips harshly.  The men had been saved from modification, but clearly were still less than eager to serve as slaves – particularly to another slave. 

            The men were starting to climax when Nysia was finally recovered enough to be aware of her surroundings again and to see a familiar, half-lidded lazy smile on her Mistress’ face.  Beneath the edge of the table cloth, Nysia saw Lisa at work between Mistress’ legs, eagerly licking the pierced sex with long, firm strokes – like a puppy, almost.  It was a delightful sight: My two closest friends enjoying one another.  Perhaps life on the ship was going to work out, after all. 

 

 

 

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