Salvage

Feeling it—the feeling of it—well, it was the feeling of fucking. Surprisingly unsurprising. More intense, sure. Much more, oh indeed. Yet perfectly familiar, for all that. Dyon Kruger was a beautiful woman, she'd had plenty of sex in her life. Not for a long and lonesome while, thanks to the damn silly space war, but earlier phases of her life had been quite amply supplied. Thus there was familiar and undeniable internal pleasure in this experience. The extreme tactile pleasure that fucking is supposed to give you. This artificial and non-consensual fucking was giving it to her, and whether or not she wanted it or hated it didn't make any damn difference. It was what she got. The all-too-familiar pleasure of sex, long absent and painfully missed ... And not the gentle, cautious, clumsy kind, but the other sort, the way she generally preferred it, aggressive and intense and animalistic. She got flooded with the sensations, her whole suspended, spread-eagle body, a system-overload. Stomach-churning, heart-stopping, teeth-gnashing, toe-curling fuck-spasms blasting into her pussy and into her ass and outward from them in shivers and electric shockwaves all through her captive flesh, every displayed inch of her, every molecule.

"Ahh! Ahhaahhuuh! Shit! Shit! Oh shit! Ahhaahh huuhhaaahhh shit! Shit! Huuhhaaahhoohh!"

It was terrifying. It was disgraceful. This would destroy her. She knew it without question. "I can't take this ... I can't bear this ... Wait! Please! Oh God! Ohhuuhhooh!" No human being could withstand this level of stimulation. There are heights of pleasure you're simply not made or meant to feel. Because you can't come back from them. You can't go back to ordinary existence. You're left shattered and shriveled. You're left hooked.

"Not so hard ... please oh please not so hard ... Please just listen ... just slow down and listen ... Just a moment! Oh! Oh! I beg you! I'm begging! Ohhaahhuuh! I'll go mad! I'll lose my mind! Please!"

And just then, at last, salvation finally arrived. Shavi and Rojjo came jogging up the corridor. Not quite in the nick of time, no siree—she was still overjoyed to see them. They would rescue her! With two pistols firing in concert they could surely kill the robot in seconds. Only at first all they did was stare at her with their mouths hanging open. Their heads jostled up and down, as the robot fucked her.

Okay, a moment of shock, fine. Fair enough. Might happen to anyone. But the moment stretched and kept stretching. Neither asshole made a move, except to blink, and waggle their chins up and down.

The delay allowed time for her to become fully aware again of the embarrassment of her position, taking rapid precedence in her heart and soul over all other considerations. It changed her mind about their arrival—she wished they hadn't turned up after all. Rescue carried too high a price, at this stage in the proceedings. She'd rather not pay it. The two men were seeing their commanding officer completely naked, and that would have been bad enough. They were also seeing her get double-pronged by a monster fuckbot. This was going to make it difficult to work with them in the future, very difficult—it would be tough for them to respect her the way they used to. It would tough for her to give them orders without stuttering and blushing. An effective leader must maintain an aura of dignity and authority. Hers was all shot to hell, forever. The happiness and relief she felt when they appeared faded away almost completely, drowned beneath the inescapable and unendurable humiliation of the moment. A humiliation that wouldn't end or get erased, when they saved her. Fuck.

And neither of the morons had got around to that part yet anyway.

"God! God! Gaawwwd!" she screamed at them, "Assholes! Don't just stand there gawping, you idiots! Shoot him! Pull out your guns and shoot! Stop this thing! Help me, for God's sake! Help me! Shoot him! Shoot it dead!"

Rojjo pointed his weapon. Then Shavi grabbed his wrist and pushed his arm down. Rojjo looked over at him with confusion, Shavi shook his head. He was smiling. The son of a bitch was grinning as he watched her get fucked.

"What? What? Are you kidding? Help me! Help me! Damn you! Uhhuuhh-Uhhuuhh-Uhhaarrhh! Please! Help me! You have to help me! Please!"

They didn't. They stayed right where they were, and didn't do anything ... except stare at her and grin.

She realized that was all they were gonna do. Watch and enjoy the show. Like she was just a piece of pornography. Oh God. Oh God. This was unbelievably heartless and shitty and cruel—but it was happening. They weren't going to rescue her.

She screamed and screamed. And now she wept, as well. She bawled like a toddler. The looks on their faces ... the boyish glee on them. Like kids at a birthday party. This felt far worse than everything the robot was doing to her. This was a billion trillion times more disgraceful and demeaning. It would have shocked her less if they'd shot her through the heart with their guns. Even if they'd done it before the robot showed up, that wouldn't have been near as bad a betrayal.

"You ... you bastards! Bastards! You fucking fuckers! Uhhhh! Uhhhaaahhuuhh! How can you uhnn-uhhn how can you do this! Uhhrrh! To me! To anyone! You're inhuman! I'm the captain! I'm your captain! Guuhhaawwhhhd! You're just gonna watch? You're just gonna watch this happen? Hoohhuuh! Huuhhaaahhhuuhh!"

No, they weren't just gonna watch. They also unzipped the fronts of their suits, fished their hard-on's out of their pants and jerked off at the show.

"No! No! You're sick! Sick! Jesus! Ahhhuuhhaahh!" But now the rage in her voice dissolved again to pitiful pleading. "Help me! Please! Please help me! Stoppit! Stop! I'll do anything! I'm begging you! Save me from this thing! Oh please! You bastards! Oh God please oohhoohh no nooohh!"

Things carried on like that for a considerable period ...

The robot fucked her and fucked her and fucked her, while she made a great deal of embarrassing noise, alternating between curses and pleas, until she was no longer capable of words, only wailing, howls, screeches and grunts ...

Droplets of her sweat and other juices were flung from her body all over the place, splashing every side of the corridor, the walls, the ceiling, the floor ...

The two assholes in front of her just watched and listened and smiled and quietly calmly masturbated.

It was almost funny, wasn't it? Or it might have been if above and beyond that it wasn't so completely pathetic and absurd. The high and mighty hoity-toity Captain Kruger of Avonlea ... Look at her now. Like a sequence from the trashiest imaginable e-scape for pervs and sadsacks to wank off to, just as Shavi and Rojjo were doing. But this wasn't just pretend, this wasn't a fantasy enacted on a viewer by exaggerated animation, this was real! A real life woman with a real life fuckbot. Real life screams.

Hell, if this filthy demeaning nonsense was happening to some other spaceship captain, Dyon imagined she would have found it very tough to feel much sympathy for her. Any woman stupid enough to let such obvious irredeemable drughead shitbags like Shavi and Rojjo on her crew, she pretty much deserved the disgrace she was getting, didn't she? Served her right. She should have been much smarter and much more careful, if she was half the captain she was cracked up to be.

She shouldn't have called for them, when the Outrage captured her. She should have handled this matter on her own. Kept her stupid mouth shut, killed her own commline, and just let the thing do its business while the men farted around in the ass of the ship the whole time, completely oblivious to what was happening. They never would known a thing, maybe. The machine wasn't going to kill her. Think how much more tolerable this experience would be without an audience. She could have coped all right, in solitude. Well, better than otherwise, at the very least. It would still have been exhausting and scary and deeply humiliating, but nowhere near as bad. Might have been able to take some secret enjoyment in it, regardless. She shouldn't have bothered fighting the robot's stimulation. Not for a second. Shouldn't have tried, complete waste of time and effort. Should have just closed her eyes and let it all roll over her and through her ... 'Cause what the hell, why not? If nobody would have known ...

Problem was, there was still going to be enjoyment, and on an extreme level, whether she fought the feelings or otherwise ... only it wasn't going to be secret. Not at all. The bastards were gonna get to see it. Every single moment of it. That was the real killer, the ultimate humiliation. She would never live this down. The evil treacherous fuckers were gonna get to watch her come, again and again and again. And it wasn't going to be subtle, when she was made to. The Outrage was too well built for this. The men weren't gonna miss it, when it happened. There wasn't gonna be any doubt or ambiguity.

Part of her brain shut down. The only protective measure left at her disposal. So that's what it did—it did it to itself. She lost her sense of self, and the ability to think coherently. Couldn't have remembered her name, anymore, or how she'd got into that situation. All that remained of her was raw naked unfiltered feeling—the howling fiery hurricane of sensation and emotion, blended and blurred. Rage entwined with shame entwined with bliss entwined with agony entwined with rage and so on and so on, endlessly looping.

It was hell, and it was also heaven.

"Ahhaahhuuhh! Uhhoohhuuhh! Ahhaahhuuhh Gawwd! Gawwd! Uhhnnnuuhh!"

Dyon never lost consciousness completely, and afterwards she would find herself capable of remembering the entire experience with crystalline clarity. But only as a series of vivid, startling, obscene images. Like all of it happened to someone else, not to her. Like an e-scape. Like it was something she just witnessed, not actually lived through. She would remember it as if she'd been standing outside her body the whole time, next to Shavi and Rojjo. The physical and emotional sensations, she would not retain. Or if she did, she would not acknowledge them. She knew she must never allow herself. She'd put a great black door within the depths of her being, and everything behind it must remain sealed away and buried, forevermore.

After the men both eventually came—Shavi took much longer to get done than Rojjo—and they'd tucked their cocks away again, then they finally raised their guns and blasted the Outrage through its head. Took several shots, and they damn near took her own head off while they were at it. Then at last, with a groan, the robot shut down.

It froze. Didn't fall over, nor did it drop her. The men had to pry its big hands open with tools to get her free from it. Took another twenty minutes.

She didn't say a single word, not while they worked, nor after she was loose and she was putting her clothes back on, the few pieces that were salvageable. The men said nothing either. The rest of her crew on the Testament were also wise enough to keep their mouths shut and act like they didn't know anything about what had happened. Of course they would have heard it all through the comms. Every moment of it. She'd certainly made plenty of noise for them all to listen to.

Hard to say how long the robot fucked her. When they got back to her ship, she found out they'd been over there a little over ninety minutes. She wasn't sure how long it was between first boarding the yacht and then getting grabbed by the Outrage. Somewhere probably between two minutes and five. Maybe a bit longer.

What she did know, though she would never speak of this to anyone, was that the robot had brought her to explosive orgasm five times before she lost track. And there had been another two or three times after that before Shavi and Rojjo got themselves off and finally put a stop to the ordeal.

3.

She took an hour in her quarters to settle herself down. A long hot soothing shower, a couple stiff drinks. Then she got into a fresh uniform—she didn't roll up the sleeves like she would normally do, nor did she leave the collar unfastened. She buttoned it tight to her throat. She wanted to look as formal as possible. She carefully braided her hair, and even pulled on a pair of dress gloves.

She felt hollowed out inside, from the fucking. From the orgasms. An aching, echoing column of emptiness, from her crotch all the way up through the middle of her body, to the top of her head. Like an apple with the core sliced out. Yes, like her brains had literally been fucked out of her skull, and her guts along with them.

Her pussy didn't feel like it was closing properly, and her butthole felt the same. Both, unsurprisingly, were very sore, throbbing and itching intermittently. Nothing was leaking out of her any longer, but it felt like any moment, more fluids might start escaping. Perhaps an oozing trickle, perhaps a great gush. So she kept clenched inside, as tight as she could manage, trying to hold the stuff in, whether it was really hovering in there or only existed in her mind.

Then she strode resolutely to her office, and summoned the pair before her. She did not take her chair behind the desk. When they walked in, she stood waiting with her hands on her hips.

"I could have the both of you prosecuted, for what you did."

Shavi nodded but then shrugged. God, she wanted to kick his teeth in. He said: "You don't want to do that, Captain. Do you? The inquiry would be embarrassing for you."

She didn't answer that. Not directly. "There will be no inquiry. We'll keep the matter quiet. Simpler for all of us. I am of course terminating both your contracts, as of now. That means the moment we reach dock, you will leave my ship. And I do mean immediately. Clear? I've nothing further to say—nothing that would do any good for scum like you. We will not speak again. You are dismissed."

"No, Captain. You mustn't do that."

"Excuse me?"

"Listen. You're being much too hasty about this."

"Hasty? How dare you?"

"Well, to put it simply, I dare because I can. And the reason I can, you see, is 'cause of this ..."

He pushed a button on the chunky interfacer he wore around his wrist. Her wall screen activated. A crackling burst of static, and then it cleared and she was looking at herself, writhing naked in the clutches of the Outrage. Larger than life, her own face contorting with agony, crimson and shiny with sweat.

The sound was turned low, but still faintly audible. She could hear herself whimpering and then wailing: "Please! Oh God! Ohhuuhhuuhhoohh! God help me! No more! Please no more! Ahhaahh! Ahhuuhhaahh!" Her voice was like a little girl's. "Don't look at me! Don't watch! Please stop watching! Please just stop staring at me! I'm begging you! I'm begging! I can't stand it! I can't stand it! I'm gonna die! I wanna die! Please!" She'd never known her eyes could open that wide. In the magnified image, each of her eyes was as big around as her whole face in real life. Even regular size, it would have shocked her. "I'm coming! I'm coming again! Oh God I can't stop coming! Ahhhaahhuuhhaaah!" She watched herself being fucked so hard and so fast, you'd think she was about to split in half. You'd think her tits were about to rip themselves off her chest, swinging like jackhammers. Seeing that made them start aching again. Her screams were distorted on the recording—too loud and too high.

She nearly fell over. Felt like she'd been punched in the belly. "You—you made a recording! God!"

"Yep. With my hand-scanner in my gauntlet. One of them—the other hand was busy. Heh heh. I'm surprised you didn't notice before. Well, then again, I guess it's perfectly understandable. You had so much else to deal with, didn't you?"

"You son of a bitch."

"Just take a moment, all right? Don't fly off the handle. Think. Consider what would happen to your reputation if this started to circulate, on the focean."

"You—you can't do that. You can't do that to me."

"Then you can't kill our contracts, Captain. Fair's fair. Look, I know you don't like either of us. You got a real nice ship and we like working here with you, but I also admit we're not quite up to your usual standards and we won't stick around forever. All you gotta do is let us complete our tour, like originally agreed, and then you're gonna have to give us nice performance reviews when it's done. Then we'll move on. Okay? Don't look at me like that, all down in the mouth. It won't be so terrible. Just another couple months and we'll be out of your hair. You'll have to give us bonuses, though. Nothing extreme. We don't wanna bankrupt you. How about another fifteen percent, for each of us? I think that's fair. And it won't raise anybody's eyebrows."

"I won't do it. Go to hell."

"You sure? Hey, it's up to you. Brave choice. I guess it's not gonna kill you, if we publish the recording. In fact it might bring you a lot more business. They say there's no such thing as bad publicity. You're already pretty famous. This is gonna get the whole galaxy talking about you again, and probably beyond. Myself, I don't know if I could handle that much heat, you know. Not on that level, not like this. It would get under my skin. I'd probably die of the shame. Maybe for you it's different. After all, you do look damn good up there. No denying that. Hell of a show. As a piece of pornography, it's really spectacular. Look at it! Look at you go. Holy crap. Turns me on like crazy."

On the screen, she was begging again. "Please let me rest! Please! Just a few moments! Please! I can't breathe! I can't stand anymore." The Outrage was in the process of inverting her. It had done that a few times, for brief periods. Holding her upside down by her ankles and making her suck on its cocks. "Umm-umm-ummm. Uhnnuuhhuuhh." It still wouldn't leave her pussy or her ass alone while she was doing that—it used its other set of hands on them, forcing more splashy climaxes from her with its thick hairy fingers, while at the same time tormenting the bottoms of her feet and between her clenched toes with its long black tongue. Watching that happen, remembering the feeling, it made Dyon curl her toes again inside her boots. Now the monster was rotating her back upright, for another impalement. "Mmmuuhhh-mercy! Mercy! When will you be satisfied? How many times must I come for you? Please! My God! Guuhhhaaahhuuhh!"

How could it be her up there on the wall, looking like that and making those sounds? Yet it was. And Shavi was absolutely right—as an e-scape, as a piece of pornography, it had real power. It was dreadful and horrifying and she couldn't tear her eyes off it. It was bringing the feelings all back, all of them, all over her. God. It was.

Shavi was still talking. "Maybe it makes you proud, seeing how hot you look. Is that it? It doesn't make you embarrassed? Or maybe you're just too plain tough, regardless. I admire that, Captain. Okay. We'll play it your way, if you want. We'll pack our things. Soon as we get back to the station, just like you said, we'll get gone. Come on, bro."

She almost let them walk out the door. Almost. "Wait. Wait, dammit. Just ... wait."

"You change your mind?"

"Fifteen percent? Each?" Considering the alternative, he was right, it wasn't so terrible.

"That's what I said. And favorable evaluations for our employment files, remember, so we won't have no trouble getting good new jobs."

"Just so long as I don't have to renew your contracts myself. Whatever it takes."

"Good. We got a deal."

"Shut off that fucking recording now. I don't want to see that shit ever again."

"Sure thing, Cap." The wall screen blanked out.

"Get out of my office now."

"As you command, Madame Captain."