Offworlder: The Second Test

When Clara woke up, everything was pitch black. Her eyes felt filmy and crusted, and when she tried to reach up and rub them, her arms were stopped short by straps on her wrists. Irritated, she rolled her shoulder, struggling to rub the grainy feeling away. Wherever she was, it was full of hissing, beeping, and faint skritching noises. Clara groaned softly. She ached from head to foot, and a throbbing migraine pulsed behind her eyes. The cause of the soreness in certain areas became increasingly clear as she began to recall the events preceding her blackout. Alone in the darkness, Clara blushed. She knew that she had been on god knows what kinds of crazy government drugs, first making her afraid, then making her aroused. She knew that her decision-making abilities had been compromised. She also knew that, at least in part, everything that had happened had fulfilled a fantasy of hers in one way or another.

Clara was overwhelmed by such a mix of conflicting feelings, it was rather hard to think clearly. She had been drugged and terrified out of her wits. The goons who had kidnapped her and were now holding her against her will would, in all likelihood, kill her at the end of all this. Uldra, as abjectly monstrous as it was, had offered a thread of hope. Even the frailest filament felt like a blessing when you were hanging over an abyss. It was all just so-...so confusing. Clara didn't want to feel like a victim, but this whole scenario was a nightmare. No matter how much she had enjoyed it in the moment, she knew she'd have never agreed to any of the insanity that had happened in that room if she hadn't been in such an awful, exceptional circumstance. Clara felt like she was being unusually calm about the whole thing, actually. Didn't they say shock made you numb? It was amazing how detached one could be, contemplating the psychological ramifications of being abducted and basically forced into fucking a 3-story-tall alien spider monster. Could you even get Stockholm Syndrome for someone that wasn't your direct captor? Could you get it for something that wasn't even human?

Clara wrenched her thoughts away from that particular series of questions. She could have the luxury of being traumatized after escaping. Right now, falling apart wasn't an option, no matter how scary or insane things got. Clara squirmed, trying to feel out the cot she was on. Her ankles and wrists were bound, but maybe with a bit of wiggling...

Before Clara could even begin to attempt an escape, a crack of light appeared in the featureless blackness, silhouetting a figure. After a moment, lights flicked on, and Clara squinted painfully against the sterile fluorescent glare.

"Ah! Our favorite little patient is awake."

A doctor, maybe in his mid-40s or so, strode across the room. To Clara's eyes, used to seeing the prematurely lined faces of other vagrants, he looked inappropriately young. The smooth skin of a 30 year old, but the mature features of someone a decade older than that. His abnormally straight, gleaming teeth put her in mind of a white picket fence. The man had the flat eyes of a thing long dead. Walking roadkill. Clara hated the way he looked at her.

"I'm Dr. Sloan. You've been out for quite a while!"

He flipped casually through the clipboard attached to the foot of her bed, raising an eyebrow here and there.

"Four whole days, in fact. How do you feel?"

"...Hungry."

Dr. Sloan laughed; a rich, buttery sound.

"I'm not surprised! You've been on IV nutrients this whole while, which don't exactly fill you up. Let's have those cuffs off, huh? And then we can get you something to eat, how does that sound?"

Clara's skin was crawling as the doctor, his hands unnaturally hot, undid the Velcro straps holding her to the bed. She rubbed her wrists absently, eying the older man askance. What the hell was his deal? Was this some kind of new tactic, trying to befriend her, make her cooperate? Clara was surprised at how swiftly anger blossomed in her chest, even moreso when she realized that it was at least in part on Uldra's behalf. Though her relationship with the interplanetary horror was - well, Clara didn't even know if there was a word to describe it - but Uldra had been nicer and more honest to her than anyone else here had been since she got here. Despite the, ah, very physical introduction the two had had, Uldra had actually asked for her permission. Hell, that was more than most bar creeps ever did. Her imprisonment, of course, complicated things. Did it count as coercion because she was trapped and threatened? It didn't feel that way. Clara had no other word for it, but Uldra had seemed...nice. As nice as an alien monster could possibly be. She even kind of missed its weird, rhythmic voice echoing in her skull. The idea of the suits conspiring to win her over to manipulate Uldra somehow was infuriating.

Dr. Sloan continued to talk in what Clara was sure he imagined was a comforting manner, moving around the room to inspect various screens and instruments. She had been "very well taken care of", apparently, while she was out. There was something about his voice when he said it that made Clara sure he was wearing a smirk. She silently flipped off his sterile white back as the doctor went on and on about just how graciously she had been treated, how carefully nursed. If what she remembered about the end of her tryst with Uldra was accurate, that had no doubt involved a bath at the very least. Clara repressed a shudder at the thought of the hot-handed doctor touching her unconscious, naked body. Somehow getting fucked by a tentacle-spider-alien was less disgusting to contemplate. Nothing for it now. At least she was clean. Clara's hair was short again, too. It had been cut into a much neater version of the self-inflicted pixie style she normally wore. Clara reached up and ran a tentative hand through the caramel locks, the fluffy softness strange to her calloused fingers. Conditioner was not normally an aspect of her hygiene routine.

Only half-listening to Dr. Sloan, Clara took a good look at the room for the first time. It resembled that of any old hospital, complete with pale, sickly yellow walls and scuffed linoleum floors that squeaked underfoot. She recognized a heart monitor, but that was about it. Several other machines were displaying readouts, bleeping and clamoring for attention. Dr. Sloan had apparently been watching her careful tally of the equipment, as he offered some (downright condescending) explanation.

"Ahh, good eye. Those are your EEG readouts. Your brainwaves. Ever since you went under, activity in your cerebellum - the bottom bit of your brain - has been wild. That is very strange 'cause that generally suggests seizures and all kinds of other bad stuff, but here you are apparently fit as a fiddle!"

'Fit as a fiddle'? Is that how these fucking lunatics would describe me right now? Clara tried not to let her disdain show too clearly, the patronizing tone Dr. Sloan was taking making her want to sink her nails into his stupid smiling face. It was like he was talking to a five-year-old. Wow, your brain do a weird thing! That mean bad stuff! Uh-ohhhh! Fuck off. Mutely, Clara accepted him shining a light into her eyes, measuring her pulse, and peering into her ears and down her throat. A nurse briefly appeared, delivering a tray of food. Clara was pleasantly surprised to find that the unappetizing looking slurry was in fact somewhat watery but still tasty porridge with finely chopped bits of ham mixed in. She polished off the bowl and set to cleaning out the cup of yogurt, saving the apple for last. Dr. Sloan was talking about something the whole time, the endless stream of words punctuated here and there with a hearty chuckle. Something about the dangers of lawn darts, lemonade, something something kids...Stupid suburban shit that Clara could not give a rat's left arsecheek about. The mundane delights of a home life were lost on her. She just nodded mutely along and ate her food, gnawing the fruit down to the seeds.

"Well, well! Healthy appetite on you, huh? That's promising. Alright, well, you seem in fine condition to me. I'll just have you cleared for discharge then, how does that sound? Buh-bye now!"

With a pat on the head, Dr. Sloan disappeared from the room. Clara spent a blissful few seconds imagining the sheet she was twisting in her hands was his pasty white neck. Cleared for discharge, eh? She wasn't stupidly naïve enough to imagine that meant release from the facility entirely. No, Clara would probably be sent back to the old holding cells.

Her prediction proved right. Within the hour, Clara was given fresh scrubs and sent back into the general prisoner population. What friends she had made here inquired eagerly after her well-being and experiences. It was rare for someone to disappear for as long as she did and still make it back. Clara found it surprisingly hard to lie, these being just about the only people here she felt she could trust at least a little. However, besides being embarrassingly intimate, the exact nature of the experiment she had survived had to be kept a secret for Uldra's sake. It would be no good if there were hidden microphones somewhere that picked up Clara describing the aliens true plan or degree of intelligence.

For the next two days, things returned to what Clara was grudgingly forced to think of as 'normal'. Wake up, eat, spend all day doing nothing, eat, sleep. She tried to keep busy catching up with the other prisoners, but it was hard to shake the lurking feeling of paranoia. The suits weren't done with her yet, not by a long shot. It didn't help that Clara was sure that cameras were dogging her steps. More than once she caught the beady black gleam of the mechanical lens swiveling to lock onto her as soon as she entered a room. Some of the scientists who would come in to do occasional checkups would give Clara leering, meaningful looks that told her the events that had unfolded in that room were less than confidential. She smothered her embarrassment with anger, and made sure to be liberal with her scathing looks whenever she caught one of them ogling. All in all, being taken again was beginning to seem preferable to constantly being watched.

Time passed, and every morning, Clara waited to be called out again. There was no way these government squints would leave her alone now. Not when she was their only source of connection to their kidnapped alien. It was a little strange to think of Uldra that way, but it was more true for it than for Clara herself. She was at most a couple of thousand miles from home, not millions. Clara was proven correct in almost no time at all. On the fifth day, she was woken up and escorted from the communal holding cells by armed guards. Whether for protection for her or from her, Clara could not guess.

The same procedure as last time followed. Hosed down, given a stretchy white bodysuit, fitted with sensors, and strapped to a table. Clara could have sworn that the material used this time was thinner, more clinging. It lewdly outlined her pussy lips and nipples in a way that made her blush. No injections, though. And, blessedly, there wasn't much of a wait time. Within minutes of the prep chamber clearing, Clara found herself sliding through down that familiar ol' shaft in the wall. She realized what she had been far too freaked out to notice last time - that the long 'commute' to Uldra's holding cell meant that the walls of that room were many meters thick. Just how strong did they think Uldra was...?

When Clara emerged, she craned her neck to better see what was going on. Things had drastically changed since the last time she was here. Uldra's egg was gone, for one. As far as she could see, not a single fragment remained. No doubt meticulously gathered and archived for testing. The nest of sensors and cables that had surrounded had also been cleared away somewhat. And then there was Uldra itself.

The alien had not retreated into another cocoon, but nor was it still active and mobile. It appeared to have sort of folded up, its abdomen raised above its head (which was down close to the floor) and its legs drawn up to its body. The six gleaming black appendages had stiffened and arranged themselves almost like a tripod...a hexpod? The legs were clearly braced in a way that supported the gargantuan mass of Uldra's thorax in its unusual position. Most noticeable was the glow. Inside the glassy black mass of its bulbous oval abdomen a brilliant light shifted and pulsed. It looked almost like the aurora, green shot with threads of blue, pink, and purple. Clara couldn't deny that it looked mesmerizingly beautiful. A truly alien light show. She watched, awed, for several long minutes. Was it just the machines, or was the alien being emitting a low hum of its own? The longer she stared at the scintillating light, the more Clara was convinced that she could almost read a pattern in it. Like morse code, or lighthouse signals...She strove to perceive the meaning, but it was like trying to find purchase on slick glass. Tentatively, Clara reached out in her mind. She was shocked, and surprised at her shock, that there was no response. What else was there to do? Her only communication with Uldra had been telepathic, and it's not like Clara had any innate abilities to initiate it herself.

What if she had imagined it all? Uldra had only 'spoken' when Clara had been pumped full of fear drugs and hallucinogens. After that wore off, she hadn't heard the aliens voice again. Clara fought the sinking feeling in her stomach. She had to believe that there was some chance of escape, or she would go mad.

"-V-19, can you hear us?"

Clara jerked her attention away from her brooding thoughts. The intercom had crackled to life. Looks like the experiment of the day was beginning. Clara briefly entertained thoughts of mulish non-compliance, but she didn't feel like pressing her luck too much. If the escape plan was still in the cards...And it is, she thought stubbornly...then it would be best to just keep her head down and not give them undue cause to doubt her word. She was, after all, still covering for Uldra's lack of sentience.

Clearing her throat, Clara responded with an affirmative. She had expected more questions, perhaps about what she saw or felt. Instructions, maybe, to try and communicate with Uldra. Instead, there were several long minutes of silence. What she didn't expect was a soft crackle near her ear, and the voice from the intercom murmuring next to her.

"Hello, C-V-19. Comfortable? I hope so."

Clara didn't react, her eyes roving the blank walls, and the voice laughed.

"I know you can hear me. I had this little comm installed after your last performance with the monster. None of the other researchers know about it...or about the extra cameras I had mounted. All pointed at that sweet little pussy of yours, and those perky little tits. You see, after last time, I enjoyed the recording of you getting fucked over and over. It was incredible, watching your pussy get filled with alien cum. So this time, I thought I'd get a private little show. I'll be watching everything, and the video will be saved for me to use whenever I want...Just like that creature is about to use your body."

Heart beating, Clara had to clench her teeth tightly to avoid swearing or screaming. No doubt giving the pervert away would result in all kinds of unpleasant negative consequences. She would have to endure it for now. Surely...surely Uldra would save them both. It couldn't have all been in her head...But what was this creep talking about? Uldra seemed to have fallen into a suspended animation state once more.

"I'm sure you're wondering how that's gonna happen...well...I had a few theories, and my colleagues...Well. They were as eager to approve my suggestions as I was to see them used. In the end, even if that alien thing doesn't react, we're still gonna get a performance from you. Heh, heh, heh..."

There was a sudden hum from under the table. A myriad of articulated arms unfolded from underneath, poised over Clara much like Uldra had been. They worked in a flurry, and soon Clara was quivering naked in the cool air. The mechanical grippers had shredded her clothes with swift efficiency. Suddenly, the captive had a good idea of what kind of 'suggestions' she was about to experience. Clara expected another dose of aphrodisiac, and was surprised when instead two metal claws descended and clamped down on her breasts. The steel digits squeezed like a vise, pale flesh protruding between them. Clara winced, biting her tongue. The claws had some kind of holes in the middle that her nipples had been pulled into by a strong suction. Clara could see them, red and puffy, in the clear tube portion of the machine. Cold metal brushed her thighs and she flinched away, but there was nothing she could do. Two braces, shaped like brackets, inserted themselves between her pussy lips and spread wide. Clara's pussy was utterly exposed. She had resisted making a noise before, but she couldn't help crying out when she felt a painful pinch and then a powerful pull on her clit. Looking between her legs, she could see a tube latched on to the sensitive organ. It was digging into her flesh with sharp, tiny claws, sealing itself to her clit - which, too, was visible. The vacuum inside had sucked it right into the transparent duct, forcing it to engorge with blood.

"I thought that an intravenous delivery system just wasn't good enough, so I created this instead. It doesn't serve any purpose other than to humiliate and excite you. Not that any of the other researchers wanted to point that out. I think we all wanted to see you tortured and punished in some novel ways..."

Clara didn't understand what the guy was talking about at first, until suddenly - she screamed. Sharp needles had extended from inside the suction tubes and pierced her artificially swollen nipples and clit. A cold rush of injection spread from them, flooding into her body. They didn't retract, either. Instead, the serum slowly dripped into Clara's body, designed to keep her at unnatural maximum arousal for as long as possible. At first, Clara had to clench her teeth and squeeze her eyes shut, struggling not to cry from the pain. But slowly, as the chemicals took hold, the agony morphed into pleasure. Not that the pain was any less, but now each throb sent shocks of ecstasy through her pussy and tits.

"Ah, I can see it's starting to take effect. Can you feel your little cunt getting wet yet? No use denying it. I can see all your vital readings right in front of me. You're excited, aren't you? Well, don't worry, it's just beginning. The others thought this was an automated program, but I'm controlling everything from here. I decide what happens to you now."

The scientist spoke in a husky, breathy voice. Clara could imagine him already jerking off to her body, disgusting. It was hard to focus on her anger with the aphrodisiac in her system, so Clara was forced to file away her fantasies of revenge for when she regained control of her mind and body. As she watched, more robotic limbs revealed themselves.

"How about this? You took all those thick tentacles so well last time. A practiced slut like you doesn't need a warm up, does she?"

"Unnnghaa! Ahh!"

Without warning, something thick and hard plunged into Clara's tight cunt, and she cried out in involuntary delight. The painful stretching of her unprepared pussy was transformed into nothing but pleasure. The level of chemicals inside Clara was reaching levels that made it impossible to form coherent thoughts. All she could comprehend was a need to be filled and fucked. The mechanical cock was rigid and covered in metal studs. The protrusions weren't perfectly smooth bumps, but in fact had slight points. Instead of sliding into her dripping cunt smoothly, they caught painfully on the way in. Each time the appendage slid out and then rammed back in, Clara moaned. The inward thrust felt like it was going to tear her pussy right in half, and she loved it.