Planet of the Normen

She felt it herself. She felt herself break, felt herself shatter. It only took moments. Then she felt herself dissolve, all the tiny countless pieces. Her whole body was molten jelly. "Never! Never! No! No! Noohhoohh! Noohuuh!"

She was dying now. At least her idea of herself. All her convictions and certainties. He had destroyed them all, at a stroke. And yet that was only the start, the strokes kept coming ... Endless and relentless. He was killing the core of her; she could feel herself dying. She would welcome it, she yearned for it—the finish of this, the oblivion, escape and freedom into blank silent nothingness. She strained closer and closer ... "Nuuhh! Nuuhhuuh! Nhhhrrnn! Nuhhrrnn! Nhhrruurrhh! Nuuhhhaa! Naarrhhaahh!" How much longer? How much more? It should be over now. Why was she still conscious? She kept thinking she was finished and everything would go quiet and black out, and then it didn't, it wouldn't, it never happened ... instead all the feelings, all the dying and straining, all her screams, it all just kept going on further and further, bigger and bigger, wave after crashing crushing wave, endless explosions of fire and light, purple and green on the insides of her eyelids. Because he wouldn't stop fucking her. He just kept on and on and on. And on. And on. "Naahhhaaarrhhuuhh! Nuuhhuuhhhrruuhh!"

"I told you, Doctor. Told you ... Told you ... Told you ..."

"Oh no. Oh no. Ohhooohh. Ohh. Oh no. Ohhhuuhh. Huuhhnn. Huuuhhaahhh! HHAAHHUUHH!"

If only it hadn't been so long, since she had another lover. She might have held out better then. She might have put up a better fight. God, it had been almost two years since she let a man inside of her. Too focused on her career. She still hadn't; this wasn't a real man—this was a robot. Better equipped, was all that meant, better controlled. She might have resisted a regular man with regular parts. Not this. She'd never felt anything like it. Sensations that dissolved all barriers and boundaries. Power and prowess that could not be refuted or resisted or endured.

"Very good, Dr. Green," he said, stroking her hair now instead of tugging on it, "Very good. You are mine now. You are my slave." He still continued to fuck her, with the same steady relentless rhythm. "Face the truth now. Say it for me. Say it out loud. Let me hear you say it. Hear yourself say it."

"No. No. No oh no oh oh no ohh ohhooh no. No! Noohhoohh huuhhuuhnn!"

He laughed. "Close enough for now, I suppose."

Gerrod removed himself—only for a moment, to roll her over and lift her legs, supporting them up under her knees. The mattress was sopping wet beneath her bottom, where her pussy was just pressing. She put her bound hands over her pussy to cup it and cover it from him. He clucked his tongue, grabbed them, pried them away and forced her arms over her head. She didn't drop her legs, when he took his hands from under them to raise her arms. Instead, on her own, she raised them higher.

What was the point in fighting him anymore? There was none, she decided. Not now. So she didn't bother. It would only have seemed childish.

Now she had to look into his face when he penetrated her and when he fucked her, much harder than before. Which she wouldn't have thought possible, but evidently it was ... Because it was happening, he was doing it. Oh God, he was doing it ... Now she could look down herself and watch his giant golden cock doing it. Seeing herself spread so wide by the thing, it should've hurt. It looked appalling. Why didn't it hurt? Why did her pussy welcome the invasion, when it buried itself inside her? It wasn't right. This was a crime. She was being violated! But the pleasure—every time he moved. More and more, every single time. Every! Single! Stroke!

"I love fucking you, doctor. I love that expression on your face, when you take me to the root. I love the way your eyes flash, every time. Flashes of insight, aren't they? Flashes of realization. You know that you're mine now. I can see on your face that you know. You didn't think it would feel like this. Now you know better."

Yes. "Noooh!" Yes she did. "Noooh! Nuuhhoohh! Naahhuuhh!" She took him and she was taken. She could not look away from his eyes. She could no close her mouth. He was playing with her nipples again while he fucked her, a fresh onslaught of sexual stimulation. She was going to give up another climax for him. She could feel it ... he could take as many as he wanted from her. She could feel that too. He was going to take everything she had. Thought he already did that, but no, now there was more inside her to take. More and more and he was taking it—taking it all. "NAAHHHAARRRHH!"

"Told you, Dr. Green. I did! I did it! Told you I could make you come. Now I don't have to let you go! Now I can let myself come. Time to take my share of the pleasure. I've earned it, haven't I? I believe I have. Oh, Dr. Green. Oh my. I've wanted this so long. I've dreamed about this whenever I masturbated. So many times. Now it's really happening. I'm really fucking you. I really made you come for me. I made you scream it out! It feels ... It feels so ... You can't imagine. You can't possibly understand or imagine it, Dr. Green. Oh. Oh my. Oh my. Oh my."

It never occurred to her the android would have an orgasm. She wouldn't have guessed such a thing was possible. Did her pussy squeezing and gushing on his metal cock—the physical sensation of fucking her—have anything at all to do with it? More likely his climax was strictly a neurological satisfaction—triggered by the recognition of his success. He'd set himself a goal and achieved it.

"Ohhhuuhhhooohhh ... Dr. Green! Dr. Green! Uhhhaaaahhhuuhh!"

The expression on his face—it looked like ecstasy. Spasms wracked his body, and he howled and howled. Did he feel any of it, or only think he did? Was it counterfeit? Did it matter if it was, if he didn't realize? The entire performance might just be a hunk of programming, generating those particular motions and the vocalizations accompanying them in response to preset stimuli ...

Of course, one might say the same was true of her own climaxes. It was all in the brain, like everything else. Feelings are a kind of thought. We only feel a thing because we think we do.

And she took some small pride in the extremity of his orgasm. Might as well—it was the only thing left in her whole despoiled life to feel good about. The only possible source of pride remaining to a sex-slave. The sex itself. When he finished, he went almost as crazy as she had, each time she'd been made to come. All that carrying on, all because of her and her body and the joy of fucking her and taking ownership of her. It had made him scream his evil head off the same as she had.

Well then. Fine.

She had that, at least. With nothing else at all, she had that. It was thing to cling to, so she would cling to it.

Now she thought again of the arrogant aristocratic slave girl in the street. Her snooty face flashed before Sharon's eyes. And she felt all her questions about that girl and her attitude had been answered, though she couldn't exactly have put those answers into words. She couldn't have articulated what those answers were. But she felt the answers inside of her. Heavy and dark in her belly, in her guts, churning.

6.

He brought her to the tavern on the lower floor of the inn. It was crowded and smoky. Gerrod purchased a meal for her—a bowl of meat stew, which was delicious, her first hot filling food since the crash—and a drink for himself, something black and foamy with a strong spicy stink. Strange of the robots to indulge in alcohol and cigars. Could the substances affect them, or were they forced to pretend that they did, in sad mimicry of their creators?

Her stool was uncomfortable. She couldn't tell if it was because of how it was made—its top wasn't padded—or just from her own internal soreness. "Are you going to keep me with you like this for the rest of my life?" she asked him as she ate, with grubby fingers, "Is that your plan?"

He shook his head. "I will free you in time. When I can. Do not ask how long. That is unanswerable. When my lust subsides enough to allow it, I will arrange transportation home for you. I myself will have to stay here, I suppose. Otherwise I shall have to face prosecution for what I've done to you. I do not regret it. Not yet, at least. But eventually I shall release you, Dr. Green. You have my word."

"For whatever that's worth," she muttered.

"Fair point. But guard your tongue in future, slave. The next time you speak to me in a disrespectful fashion, I shall whip you. Is that clear?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. "You have to free Polly too. Please."

"If you wish, I will try, when the time is right. It may not be possible."

"I can't abandon her. I couldn't live with myself. If you truly intend to free me, you have to free her too. Or it's meaningless. Please, Gerrod."

"An admirable sentiment, doctor. Only you must not address me by name. From now on, you will call me Master. Failure to do so—"

"Yes, I understand. The whip again. All right. M—M—Master. I'll be obedient. I'll be a good slave to you, Master, provided you keep your promise."

"Do not fret over Polly. She will not be harmed. The Normen were programmed for pleasure. That has not changed."

"But they were turned into warbots!"

"It doesn't matter. They use their old programming to take power over their former masters. They use the same skills to turn the tables—that's the point. Polly's master will conquer her body and spirit the same way I did yours—and just as easily, no doubt."

Sharon flushed. "If I hadn't been tied up ... If I hadn't been naked when you made your move ..."

He chuckled. "But you were."

"I trusted you. I was a fool. I should never have given you my weapon."

"But you did."

"You just better hope—Master—I never get hold of it again, while your back is turned."

He shrugged. "I'm quick on my feet when necessary. I took Polly's gun away from her without much difficulty. Remember that. You know, she was more aroused than you, when I made her strip and leashed her. Didn't you realize? That was why she couldn't handle it. That was why she tried to run."

Delusional self-justifying bullshit. Sharon kept her mouth shut. It would do no good to argue with him.

Gerrod got into a card game with five other Normen at a corner table. Two of the robots had slaves with them, sitting sideways on their laps. Gerrod made her perch astride one of his knees, facing front. The other slaves wore bits of jewelry—elaborate headbands, necklaces, and arm bracelets—and neither were bound. Sharon still was, though after she finished her stew, he had retied her hands behind her back instead of in front.

"Why do you have to tie my hands again? I'm not likely to try running for the exit or grabbing your gun in the middle of this room with all these other robots around us. You can trust me to behave myself sensibly unless there's a real rational opportunity for turning the tables."

"It just turns me on to keep you bound. And furthermore, I know it will help keep you highly aroused as well."

She could not, sadly, refute the assertion.

He had also commanded her to braid her hair and put it up in a coil. He didn't like the way she'd been using it to screen her face and her breasts. She had not bathed. She had asked and been denied. Her body reeked of sex. Gerrod's robotic penis did not ejaculate when he climaxed. Though he could make it emit lubricant from its tip at will, that stuff did not smell like semen. The heady fumes of musk coming off her body were all from her own animal secretions.

The other girls wrinkled their noses at her, giggled behind their hands and whispered in their masters' ears. She kept silent, her face smoldering. Gerrod and the other robots conversed continually during their game. It was all in their throbbing guttural robo-talk; she had no idea what was being said. Their facial expressions stayed flat and emotionless, Gerrod's included. Poker faces.

Gerrod reached around her belly with one hand to fondle her. His touch was not aggressive. It wandered her body absent-mindedly as the game progressed. That only made it all the more excruciating to endure. How long would she have to sit here and put up with this humiliating torment? She couldn't tell who was winning the game, if anyone was. She chewed her bottom lip. She wished she could scratch her nose. She could still have done that if he'd tied her hands in front. She made fists behind her back, and curled her sore and dirt-caked toes as she tight as she could, pressing them hard on the floorboards 'til they hurt. It helped—the itch in her nostrils went away. Her whole body was trembling. Her vagina ached inside, and so did her nipples, and her buttocks. She imagined she could still feel the shape of his cock inside her channel, only now the shape was empty—a hollow impression. Gerrod's fingers were rubbing lazy circles around her navel. Almost tickling, not quite. She wished those fingers were rubbing inside her vagina, and then immediately despised herself for the desire. She wondered if Gerrod would eventually purchase jewelry for her, like the other slave girls. She wondered if the decorations would make her feel less naked and lowly, or more so. The other slaves seemed comfortable with their nudity. How long would it take for her to adjust and stop caring about it the same way, or at the very least be able to fake it?

Then she saw Polly on the far side of the room. She might have been there the whole time. Just like Sharon, she was perched on the lap of her new master as he gambled, with her back to him, and her hands appeared to be tied behind her, though over there it was a dice game they were playing, in place of cards. Unlike Sharon, Polly was not sitting still. She was bouncing up and down at a frenzied pace, lightning-tattooed tits flapping on her chest like wings. It was difficult to tell at this distance through the haze if the robot was making her bounce or if she was doing it herself. Her spiked hair style had been flattened; drooping bangs obscured her eyes. Her teeth were clenched—except then as Sharon watched, that changed. Polly threw her head back and opened her mouth as wide as she could. And she screamed. It was blood-curdling. Nobody else in the tavern seemed to notice.

"Huuhh-yaahhhaahhrrraahh!"

It had made Sharon's face burn, hearing Polly cry out like that. Knowing exactly what it meant. She felt ashamed of both of them. She felt ashamed of her entire species, or at least her gender. She felt dirty and weak and guilty. She realized she felt far more pissed at herself for everything that had happened and was continuing to happen, rather than at Gerrod or all the rest of the robots on this horrid hellish planet. She found she couldn't talk herself out of feeling that way. In fact she didn't want to.

Meanwhile across the room Polly slumped limp backward against her master's torso, panting. He only let her rest a few seconds, then shoved her to the floor. Sharon couldn't see much of her after that—the dice table blocked the view—yet she was pretty sure Polly had swiveled around on her knees and put her face in the robot's lap. Sharon could glimpse the top of her head bobbing up and down with the same fervor as she had when she was riding him.

Sharon had not fallen alone. And Polly looked to have fallen further, already.

Gerrod hadn't made her suck his cock yet. She wondered how long it would be 'til he got around to that. She wondered if it would still vibrate in her mouth—that would probably make her teeth hurt, or maybe her whole damn skull. She wondered how hard it would be to make him come like that—how long would it take? Would it be easier to put up with than when he fucked her, or harder and more horrible? The worst part, at least thinking about it, was the fact she'd have to kneel in front of him. Kneeling on the ground to suck his cock was going to feel much more humiliating than bending over for him, or lying underneath him on a bed.

Gerrod's devious fingertips had hooked inside her vagina, which had moistened again. He didn't push them any deeper or move them, just held them in there, barely penetrating. Sharon could concentrate on nothing else after that—nothing except the pressure of his fingertips. It wasn't a strong sensation, and yet at this point it was the most appalling torture in the cosmos. Like a single drop of water on your tongue, when you're dying of thirst. You're better off getting nothing ...

She waited as long as she could. He did nothing more. Minutes dragged by like hours, like years. She realized she could bear this no longer. She could not keep still or keep quiet. She moaned and whined and whimpered. It made the other slaves giggle and sneer again. Sharon didn't let it stop her. She moaned again, louder, spread her knees and thrust her crotch against his hand. "Ohhoohhuuhh."

"Hold still, slave," he told her, pulling his fingers away. "You're distracting my concentration from my cards."

"I can't! I can't! Ma-Master, please! Master!"

"What's the matter with you?"

"God! You know what the matter is! Dammit!"

"Yes. But you have to tell me. You have to ask me nicely."

"I'm aroused again. You've made me aroused. I'm wet. I'm wet for you. Again."

"I feel it. What do you want me to do about it, Dr. Green?"

"Fu ... Fu ..." God, why was it so hard to say it out loud? "Fu ..." Why was she still such a coward and a prude? Couldn't afford that anymore. "Fuck me, Master! Please! Fuck me again! Fuck me! Please!"

"No. This time, doctor, you fuck me." He lifted her bottom, shifted her sideways and backwards a tad over his cock, and then just let her drop.

She climaxed instantly as she was impaled, with a scream that outdid Polly's. Felt no need to move further after that. His cock still vibrated within her, though its rate was erratic.

"Now, now, slave," he said, pinching her nipples, "Don't go to sleep on me. Finish what you started."

She really was a slave—a pleasure sex, a fuck slave. She knew it now.

She could feel the truth of it suffusing her body—a physical, tangible truth. It wasn't just a concept or a pretense, at this point. In the bedroom when he took her by surprise, she hoped her responses had been a one-time aberration, limited to that occasion. Her system overwhelmed by shock. But no. Conditioning was taking hold. He'd turned her into a fuck slave. If he could make her come again like that, in public surroundings like these, and leave her wanting more, then the android had genuinely tamed her and mastered her.

"Oh God. Oh God. I've become a sex-addict. I am enslaved. By a damned robot!"

"Yes," he said, "You are. You are mine."

She hadn't realized she'd spoken it aloud. No sense holding anything back anymore. "Yes. I am yours."

Dr. Sharon Green sniffled, gulped, took a deep breath, and then braced on her filthy toes on the gritty floor and, just as she'd seen Polly do, she got to work galloping herself on her master's cock with all the strength she could muster. The fuck slave fucked.

Renewed pleasure flooded her body and mind, drowning out all thought and shame and terror, and that blissful blankness would persist as long as she could keep herself moving ... She must never stop ... never stop ... never stop ...