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WARNING: the following story contains scenes of graphic nature involving violence and sex, and can be safely considered NSFW. Read on at your own risk. .
To Serve the Masters by thegreatpl. Set C.1010PG
Alia tried to smile as she was escorted through her new masters chambers towards the bed chamber. She was an Amerial, a race known only for looking like the Masters.
A small dainty bipedal felines, the Amerial had only one difference from looking like a young or short Master; the feather-spines which grew from their backs. Back on their home-moon of EarthThatIsBelowUs, they had been used to attract mates. Now, they had no purpose.
Alia still had her spines, though that would change soon. The large Kikillian who escorted her made sure she couldn't escape her fate, but Alia did not wish to escape. What was the purpose in escaping? Her only purpose in life was to serve the Masters.
Alia looked up as she passed another servant-of-the-Masters, this one of a race she did not recognize. She stared at him for a moment, though not pausing in her step, before turning back to look where she was going.
At last, she reached a door, and the Kikillian escort opened it for her. She entered, head held up, to show the Master she was ready. Inside, she first noticed the Master lounging on a sofa, standing directly in front of the door she had entered, in a gown draped over his large and powerful muscles. The Master grinned as he saw her enter.
Alia quickly glanced around the room, forcing a smile to come for her face to show the Master she was not afraid. She noticed the large four poster bed behind the sofa first, draped with rich sheets of red and blue, which must be some sort of house colors of the Master she thought. The carpet too was a pattern of those colors, and the walls were painted red. A table lay against one wall, to the left of the door Alia had entered through. Alia's heart fell as she saw the knife on the table. She had hoped that her Master only wished to look upon her, but evidently, the Master was into the arts of Taking.
So be it, Alia was a Amerial, who lived only to serve the Masters. If the Masters wanted... that, then it was her duty to allow him the pleasure. Her pain was His to enjoy.
Alia halted before the sofa, standing as straight as she could as she had been taught. She shrugged off the thin dressing gown she had been wearing, and stood waiting naked before her Master. The Kikillian escort stood back against the wall.
"Ah, I see Jreeok is most kind with his gifts" the Master said, looking Alia up and down. The Master stood, and prowled around her. Alia continued to look straight on as the Master checked her over.
"Yes, I think you will do nicely" the Master said, coming back around to stand in front of her. Alia said nothing. Her lot was only to answer questions, and not speak at any other time.
"Are you familiar with Kriiata?" the Master asked her. Alia's heart fell. She had been expecting something like it, though Kriiata was considered one of the riskiest; to Master and slave.
"Yes Master" Alia replied.
"Good, begin when ready" the Master said, shrugging off his gown, and nodding towards the Kikillian.
Alia knelt before the now naked Master, and began to fellate him. Behind her, she heard the Kikillian moving about. Alia fanned her feather-spines out, of which she had six. Once, in her races past, she would have been considered beautiful for having so many. Now, it was a curse.
She felt the Kikillian grasp one of her spines, and braced herself. Alia tried to concentrate on the task before her, rather than what was happening behind her. She was lucky this first time though; the knife bit through the spine cleanly in one hack, only giving her a single excruciating stab of pain. Alia desperately fought not to bite, for to bite was to die a slow and ever more painful death.
The Kikillian grasped her second feather-spine, wrenching it to get a clear cut. Alia let a cry of pain around her mouthful. She began to recite her lessons in her head, to take her mind off of things. The next hack of the knife bit into her 2nd spine, but alas did not cut all the way, elevating the pain she received.
...I live to serve Masters, and only to serve the Masters. The Masters are great, the Masters are almighty.... She thought, over and over again repeating her lessons. It helped take her mind off of the fact that the Knife was now hacking it's way through the third feather-spine, and that the blood from the wounds left by the first two was trickling down the fur of her back.
The pain helped her lose track of time, until all her feather-spines were cut off, lying around her feet where the Kikillian had dropped them. Like colorful rainbow branches pruned from a tree.
With this done, the Master ordered her to the bed. Alia went, tears from her still aching back, which began to burn once more as she was forced to lie on them. Alia ignored this, as she knew that what was to come would be worse.
The Masters, a race called the Canthin, said that Amerial without feather-spines like Alia now was were proportionally small Canthin, with everything in proportion. Everything.
Thus, Alia screamed and passed out as the Master forced himself inside her.
Freer Winters walked down the corridors of the Demon's people, pulling a cleaning trolley behind him. He had finished cleaning the rooms he had been assigned to clean for this day, and now was feeling joy at a job well done serving the Demon's People.
Freer, an Eberan, was a member of The Demon's Servants, the subset of the Cult known as the Demon Cult of Ebera. He believed that it was his duty to serve the members of the race of the Demon, He-Who-Is-All-Powerful. Thus, Freer had willingly become a slave.
He knew the Demon's People didnt really know what to make of his cult and the various sub-cults that had sprang up. Especially those which wanted to be enslaved like his own.
Freer happily walked along, ignoring the stares of the Amerial that passed him under escort of one of the Kikillian guards. He did not care about what the other slaves were doing, or what the Demon's People did to them. He only cared about serving them.
Freer rounded a corner in the corridor, and opened the door for the cleaning closet, putting away the trolley. Seeing it put away brought back the feelings of joy at the work he was doing. He was doing one of the highest callings he could do in this short mortal coil. It was his duty to do it well.
With his work finished for the day, he headed back to the slave barracks where he slept, and waited for more work to do. This was several floors down, along the servants corridors and stairs. These were perfect for someone as lowly as Freer, since they had none of the heavenly beauty that the areas the Demon's People frequented did.
Along the way, he passed a Ktkl mechanic working in a panel, though Freer ignored him as he did all those who would not accept the Way of the Demon, or were not of the Demon's People.
Then, he reached the simple barracks of the slaves. Perfect for one whose lot in life is only to Serve and Contemplate the might that is the Demon and His People. Here, Freer went to the room he shared with other slaves, though alas, none of them accepted the Way of the Demon in any real form.
There, Freer kneeled before the life sized picture of the Demon which he had stuck to the wall. Picking up a long, metal nail which was stored in a box beneath the picture. Freer then gripped loose skin on his arm, careful to chose somewhere which would not impede his ability to serve the Demon's People, and drove the nail through it.
Using the pain, Freer began to scream incoherently, his prayers to the heavens. While he did this, he drove another nail into himself. To him, his screams were music to his Demon Lord. To the Rindaalis who was trying to sleep in his bunk, it was nightmarish.
64 barely noticed the Eberan go by, except from the corner of his eye. He had seen that one before, so it was no longer a curiosity. And besides, he had to get one with this work.
64 was a Ktkl, a race of large beetles, whose once flourishing civilization had just been reaching out to the stars when a vast fleet of the Master's ships had arrived. 64, not the name he had been born with, had heard in his youth of the theories that any alien races would be peaceful, having gotten over the aggressiveness of youthful races before they left their home system. How else would they survive to leave their homeworld and travel to the stars without killing them all off?
That was the predominant theory when the Master's ships had appeared from nowhere around the star which had birthed 64's people. At first, there had been excitement, for this was the discovery many had been waiting for. An Alien race, with advanced technology, perhaps come to help the Ktkl advance and join them in the stars. The ships had moved towards the system, and more magic was seen, for these ships did not use the large reaction drives of the Ktkl, yet moved impossibly fast.
Then the first doubts had come, for no answer to their hails of welcome had come. The ships remained silent. No answer. Surely any race would know of radio signals? And surely any race capable of interstellar travel would be able to answer. Yet the ships stayed silent. And came on towards the center of all civilization in the system.
One of the transport ships to the outer system colonies had crossed their path, and then they knew. For the ships had simply sliced at it with some form of beam weapon. Sliced and watched it spin itself apart, the rotation which had provided it with gravity dooming it and it's passengers to oblivion.
The few armed ships which the nations of Klkl had were assembled, and the fact they would defend the world had been greatly broadcast over the systems media, yet there was no real hope, and secretly, everyone had known it. The ships had been too advanced.
Only after the ships had dropped large rocks on three of the largest cities of the homeworld had come demand for surrender. Some nations had done so immediately, but others had sworn to fight to the death, and so the nightmare began.
All this 64 remembered. He had been lucky; his nation had been amount the first to surrender. he had been spared the cruel tortures the Masters had inflicted on those who would not accept their rule. But, he had not missed the enslavement of his kind.
He still remembered the loss of his name:
"Name" the Master had asked. To which 64 had replied. He no longer remembered what his reply had been, or what his name had been. All he remembered was the answer. "Too long, you are now 64. That is your name. Forget it, and we will brand it on your carapace so you can remember"
And so 64 had been reborn into this eternal hell. Now, it was 64's duty to serve the Masters, with only the escape to the memories of the past.
64 closed up the panel within which he had been repairing broken machinery. He was a mechanic. Most of his people served the Masters in some mechanical or electrical fashion; fixing the nonessential technology that the Masters used (for the Masters were no stupid enough to allow slaves near the essential stuff).
64 proceeded to scuttle to the next job he had to finish this day. He didn't really know what it did, but he knew how it should look like. Which was good enough.
It was as he was walking that his world turned upside down, and he found himself lying on his carapace, and he heard the laughter of some of the Masters. 64 remained silent, and began to rock himself to turn back over onto his legs. The laughter increased, growing to howling levels by the time 64 was back on his legs, and heading onwards to his job.
It wasn't like that was the first time today, and probably wasn't the last.
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