On the planet of Farpost, there are no prisons. The punishment for severe crimes is Judicial Slavery. This is the story of one such slave. In this chapter, slave shishi labors under a new dome.
642 is the story of a young woman on a distant planet in the distant future who is wrongfully convicted of theft and sentenced to two years of judicial slavery. This book, divided into twelve chapters, is her mind diary as her slavery goes through some very interesting– and erotic– twists. This is the tenth chapter. I will be posting the final two chapters next week.
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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2021 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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Chapter Ten - Trapped Like Rats
Cycle 4378, Day 358
Cross-shaft fifteen seems to go on for miles. It slants up slightly and I would hate to be hauling a full cart up this incline. We reach an elevator. It has a very strange-looking door on it and there is a man sitting at a desk next to it. The second overseer is standing next to him.
“Dome is pressurized for the work shift,” he says curtly. “They are already working so you will have to bust your hump to make quota.”
The man sitting at the desk looks down at a hand display of some sort. “You are expected,” he says brusquely. “Go on up.”
As we get on the elevator he says softly to the overseer, but loud enough that we hear it before the doors close, “I’m going to file a complaint about this. We don’t need another three-cart up there. They will just get in the way.”
“It’s definitely a trap of some sort,” 34 says. “Watch out for everything.”
33 adds, “And trust no one.”
I stifle a sob. “That’s what Master kept telling me,” I say. I can hear my voice crack.
“Sounds like your Master is very smart,” 34 says as the doors open with a hiss.
I stand still in amazement. I have never seen an empty pod before. It stretches out for miles in all directions. In some areas there are what appear to be roads laid out. They appear to be putting in sewers and other utilities under the roads. Here and there are huge piles of ore dust that has been scraped off the surface. Hundreds of three-carts are plodding back and forth from the piles to clanking lift belts which extend up into the lower dome through places where panels have not yet been put into place. The upper dome, even at night, glows slightly from the solar radiation which envelops Farpost.
“Get your asses in gear,” a rough voice calls out and I begin to move. The man then smiles– more or less– at us and says, “I’m Gerald, chief overseer for pod development. Francisco will be in charge of your section. Listen to him and do what he says and everything will be fine. Slack off or screw up, and you will be hearing from me. Understood?”
“Yes, overseer,” we all say in unison.
“Not sure why you’re up here,” he mutters, “but every cart moves dust.” Then he walks away.
33 and 34 seem to know where they are going, so I trot along between them. We get into a line with other three-carts and eventually we are standing under a chute of some sort. Several male slaves are shoveling dust from the top of the pile onto a long tray that leads into a hopper above the chute. Once we are in place, a clothed man, probably an overseer of some sort, opens the chute and with a loud “Thump!” our cart is suddenly full of ore dust. So is the air around us and we all cough and gasp as we quickly pull away from the noxious dust.
The full three-carts are moving much slower. We plod up the incline to the dump hopper for the lift belt. There is a thick metal grating over the hopper. The carts in front of us walk over the grating and lift their push bars to dump their loads. As we approach, 34 says, “Get on the other side of the bar and pull the cart onto the grating.”
I don’t know why she wants to do that, but 33 and I quickly duck under the push bar and begin pulling the cart onto the grating. As soon as we are in position, we lift on the push bar and dump the load out of the back of the cart.
An overseer is standing near the hopper. She calls out, “What in the hell do you think you are doing?”
34 yells back, “I watched one of these gratings break and take the cart... and three slaves... down with it. I’m not getting ground up in a lift belt if I can help it.”
“Whatever,” the overseer yells back. “Just make sure you meet your quota.”
“Did you really see that?” I ask.
“Hell no,” 34 says softly, “but it would be a very convenient accident, wouldn’t it?”
After that, as we approach the hopper, 33 and I duck down and get on the front side of the push bar. Once we are pulling, 34 then ducks down and joins us. Our cart barely slows down and we are able to keep pace with the other carts.
We have done about fifteen trips, when the overseer yells over to us, “That’s a lot of extra work for nothing. Those gratings are space grade and I’ve never seen one even crack.”
“Better safe than dead,” 34 answers cheerfully.
“No skin off my ass,” the overseen replies.
“And such a lovely ass it is,” 33 calls back.
“Trust no one,” 34 says tersely.
“You don’t have to trust someone to fuck them,” 33 replies.
“And just because they fuck you doesn’t mean they won’t kill you,” 34 answers back.
33 and 34 continue to banter back and forth as we carry load after load of dust to the lift hopper. As we walk, they comment on the other slaves– male and female– and go into great detail about what they would do with them.
When one slave waves back to 33, she says “That one would make a great dilduo mate.”
I ask them to explain what a dilduo is. Evidently dilduo is the name of a long dildo with a big circular plate in the middle of it. You push against the plate to ram the other half into another woman’s cunt... or a man’s ass.
“The trick,” 33 explains, “is to be able to hold onto it tightly enough to pull it back out.”
“Sometimes,” 33 says “they are used in contests to see who has the strongest cunt muscles.”
“There’s hell to pay if you lose, isn’t there, 33?” 34 says with a laugh.
“She cheated!” 33 barks back. “She douched with alum powder.”
34 just laughs even louder.
I lose track of how many loads we carry from the dust piles to the lift hoppers, but my body is telling me that I can’t push too many more loads up the incline to the hopper. My legs are almost like rubber when we finally hear the loud bell that signals end of shift.
The three-carts are kept in a big line next to the elevator. As we are pushing ours into place one of the overseers from the lower area is standing there. He looks down at the hand display he is holding and says, “You’re one trip short of quota. Get that done and you will escape punishment.”
33 and 34 both give a sigh as we turn and trot back to the dust pile. I am surprised that the overseer is jogging with us.
“I’ll have to fill you,” he says flatly, “the dump overseer already left.”
We position our cart and the overseer turns the lever. The cart fills with the customary “Thump!”
It feels strange pushing our way up to the hopper with no one else in line. Just as we reach the hopper, there is a series of loud clicks and clunks and the big work lights begin shutting off.
“Run for the elevator!” 34 screams as she jumps over the push bar.
We abandon the cart and run. 33 is yelling “Wait for us! Wait for us!”
It is almost dark by the time we get to the elevators. Dark would have been better. The lights are now all off, but the dome is starting to glow more brightly. It is sunrise.
34 pounds on the elevator doors, but all of the signal lights are off. We are alone inside the dome.
“Great,” 33 says angrily, “they won’t find us until sunset and then we slowly die of sun poisoning.”
“It won’t be slow,” 34 says flatly, “they vent the dome during the day. Something about making the dust layer settle properly on the inner dome. We will suffocate long before the sun kills us.”
“Is there an escape hatch?” I ask.
33 slams her hand hard against a hatch on the side of the elevator shaft. “Supposed to be,” she says, “but it is dogged from the inside. We’re trapped in here.”
“What about the sewers?” I ask.
“Sewers?!” 33 and 34 yell.
“Yes, sewers,” I reply. “Down there where they are preparing for streets there are sewers. Do they connect to the other pods?”
“Only one way to find out?” 34 says as she starts running toward the partially-built streets.
She picks up an iron bar and lifts one of the heavy service covers out of the way. Just as she does, there is a series of loud clicks and the sound of whooshing air as the dome vents open. There is also a severe stink as air is pulled out of the sewer.
“They’re connected in some fashion,” she says, “or they wouldn’t stink.”
There is a ladder built into the wall of the service box. We quickly climb down into the dry, but somewhat smelly sewer and pull the cover partially over the opening. 34 starts running down the almost dark tunnel. Suddenly I hear a loud “Oomf” and 34 bounces back onto her back.
“Rat screens,” 33 says glumly. “No way we can get through there.”
“But there is air down here to breathe,” I say. “We can just wait until next shift and come back up out of the sewer.”
34 holds her hand up in front of her face and says, “But we still die.”
“What do you mean?” I almost scream.
“It isn’t dark down here,” 34 says flatly. “The walls are glowing slightly. With an incomplete dome, the solar radiation reaches this far under ground. It’s not a bad as up there, but it will still kill us. We can go back up on the surface and die fast or stay down here and die slow. That seems to be our only choices.”
“Or we make love all night,” I say suddenly. I am almost as surprised as 33 and 34 at what I just said.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” I stutter. “I think I’m going offline.”
Both 33 and 34 both pause for a moment before saying, “I’m good.”
“Something is interfering with my lifepack,” I say. “It has something to do with how and why I ended up here and why someone wants me dead.” I sob slightly and say, “And now you two will die with me. I’m sorry.”
“Save sorry for later,” 34 says tersely. “Why did you talk about making love?”
“I’m sorry, it just came out,” I say. “It does that when my lifepack disconnects.”
“But WHY did you say it?” 34 says, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me slightly. “Why?!”
“It was something Master said when we were looking at the stars,” I say. They both look at me in disbelief and I say, “He has a clear dome over his bed. You can see the stars at night. He said that the dome wouldn’t protect enough during the day. Then he said something about the original miners being able to stand the radiation for a short time if they were working hard enough. I joked about us pretending the sun was up and making love all day. He said he couldn’t last that long.”
“But he didn’t say your idea was stupid,” 33 says. She looks very thoughtful and then tuns to 34 and says, “Are you up for an all-day threesome?”
34 answers testily, “If I find out this was just a trick to get me to go down on you, I will get even.”
“We have to live long enough first,” 33 replies. Then she says, “Besides, we can switch off on who is going down on who in our three-person daisy chain.”
There is a fine layer of sand on the bottom of the huge sewer pipe. It is just enough to make it bearable to lie on the cold concrete.
We start with me between 33's legs and 34 between my legs. 33 is somehow twisting herself enough to be able to get between 34's legs. I am really not in the mood for sex, but 34 has a very long and very powerful tongue. It is almost as if a soft, wet, finger is rubbing me in all the right places. I feel myself starting to respond. My fluids are flowing. So are 33's.
I stop for a moment and say, “You have a strange, sweet taste.”
33 laughs. “That’s mine dust,” she says. “It gets into everything. If you’re in the tunnels long enough you start shitting ore... literally. Your crap even glows slightly in the dark.”
I try not to think about that as I use my tongue to force her higher and higher. As I lick some of her juices off her rosebud I start to wonder if I will live long enough for my juices to acquire the sweetness of mine dust.
I shudder in orgasm. So does 33 while 34 seems to not be responding. She waits for 33 and me to stop shuddering and says, “Let’s reverse the chain.”
I am now between 34's legs and 33 is between mine. 34 is flowing slightly, but she doesn’t have the sweet taste that 33 had. In fact, she almost tastes like a man.
“You’ve got a secret,” I say softly, looking up at her. “Does your little sister know?”
“Know what?” 33 says, looking up at me over my tummy.
“You have a brother... sort of,” I say.
“I’m an XXY,” 34 says flatly. “I was born with both a prick and a cunt. The doctors decided I would be better off as a woman, so they cut off my prick.”
“But they didn’t give you a proper clitoris,” I say. “That’s why you can’t get turned on.”
“Works for a prossie,” she says with a shrug.
“But it won’t work down here,” I say firmly. “We have to get you turned on if you’re going to survive. What does that for you?”
“My tits,” 34 says flatly, “and my ass. I almost prefer getting fucked in the ass.”
“33,” I almost yell, “we both need to work on your sister.” I latch onto one of her nipples and start sucking. 33 begins suckling on the other. We both are rubbing her crotch all the way back to her asshole. Suddenly she starts grunting out, “Ah... ah... ah... ah...” in time to our rubbing. She is moving to an orgasm... a real orgasm, not one of the thousands of fake ones she has done for her customers.
34 screams... really loudly... and thrashes her legs strongly enough to throw 33 a little way down the tunnel.
I am softly rubbing her useless clit when I feel it swelling beneath my fingers. “Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!” she is yelling. “I’ve never felt anything there before.”
She falls back onto the sand panting heavily.
“I think we just switched something on,” 33 says with a laugh.
“Is that what you feel all the time?” 34 asks breathlessly.
“We have the rest of the day to figure that out,” I say as I lower my head between her legs and lap at her clit. “And we can compare notes once we get out of here.”
“If we ever get out of here,” 33 says.
“Stay positive,” 34 says.
“And stay high,” I add. “We’ve got to keep this going for another nine hours.”
We have no way to tell time, but after a long, long while, it starts getting darker in the sewer. 33 pats me on the ass and says, “Is it just me or have the walls stopped glowing?”
“The sun must be low in the sky,” 34 says. “I think we can rest for a while and then crawl out of here after the shift bell rings.”
We remain in sort of a daisy chain formation, but we are all on our backs with my head on 33's stomach and her head on 34's stomach and 34's head on mine. We must have fallen asleep because we all jump up when we hear the shift bell immediately followed by the shrill disaster alarm siren.
“Holy shit!” 33 screams. “Something really bad must have happened!
“Yeah,” 34 says with a huff, “like maybe they realized they left three workers in here to die.”
“Oh,” 33 says. “Think we should let them know we are OK?”
“First let’s see who’s looking for us,” I say as I cautiously move toward the service box where we came down into the sewer. The iron cover is still lying half across the opening as we crowd up high enough to hear what is happening.
A voice calls out, “See if you can find the bodies.”
Another voice... a familiar woman’s voice... calls out “They are alive. I would know if they were dead.”
The first voice answers, “I didn’t know you were a muja woman, Loretta.”
“That’s Madame Loretta,” she replies angrily. “Remember that if you want to live to see another sun.”
We know we are safe. Just as we start to push the heavy iron lid away from the opening, I hear another voice call out “My little shishi... shishi... where are you?”
“It is Master!” I cry. “We must get up to the surface so he can find me.” We all push even harder and the lid slides back with a loud “Clang!”
“Master!” I cry. “Master, we are over here in the sewer.”
I can tell that many people are running toward us, but my eyes are not adjusted to the bright work lights used during the night shift so I cannot see who they are. 33 pulls herself to the surface. 34 quickly follows. But I am too exhausted to pull myself up out of the service hatch. Then Master’s face is looking down at me and he is grabbing my hands and pulling me upward through the hatch.
Gerald, the chief overseer for the pod, runs over and yells, “How in the stars did you end up down there?”
“There was air,” 34 says quickly.
“And the dirt protected us... almost,” 33 adds. “We had to... work hard so our bodies could withstand the radiation.”
“How did you think of going down there,” Master asks.
“That was 46's idea,” 34 says.
Master looks confused, so I quickly say, “That’s me. They took away my name when they took away my hair. Now I am just 97846”
Master’s face flashes almost red for a moment. Then he regains control and says flatly but still with a trace of anger, “Your name is shishi. You are my slave and you will always be my slave.”
Gerald interrupts and says, “This is very important. How did you end up trapped up here in the pod to begin with?”
I remain silent, but 34 speaks. “The two overseers from the lower level sent us up here. Then one of them said we were short of quota and sent us back with one more load at the end of shift. We realized too late that it was a trap.”
33 almost wails, “We tried to run for the elevator, but when we got there everything was locked... even the escape hatch.”
Gerald turns to Master and says, “As soon as we saw the three-cart at the hopper, I sounded the disaster siren.”
“Where are those overseers?” Master says angrily.
“They didn’t report for their shift,” Gerald says tersely. “According to mine security, they boarded a Bordeaux starliner for their home cluster. It is an independent system, so they are beyond Farpost’s or even Home World’s reach.”
“They have made themselves enemies of the Moudorae,” a female voice says flatly, but very forcefully. “No one is beyond their reach”
I turn to see Madame Loretta standing there. She is still wearing her Moudorae sash and her blaster pistol.
Master holds up a folded piece of paper. “I have orders from the Founder’s Court on Home Planet guaranteeing my ownership of shishi,” he says firmly.
“No problem,” Gerald says.
“And I claim those two as friend of the Moudorae and under their protection,” Madame Loretta says very firmly. Then she stares Gerald in the eye and says harshly, “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, no, Madame Loretta,” he says quickly. “I assume that the proper transfer papers will be filed with the courts.”
“That will happen this afternoon,” Master says. He laughs slightly and says, “Or perhaps tomorrow morning. There is a little disruption of the courts today. Home Planet Space Militia and Founder’s Police are in the process of arresting several judges and court officers. Also at least one of the mine managers and several officers at the bank have already been arrested.”
“Do they have the authority to do that?’ Gerald says. His astonishment is very apparent.
“I did not return alone,” Master says. He points up and says firmly, “There are seven Home Planet Starforce Starcruisers orbiting the planet.” He pauses and adds, “... as well as the Chief Founder’s personal starliner. They take embezzling ore and selling it to our enemies very seriously.”
Gerald just stares at him and slowly opens and closes his mouth.
Master turns to me and says, “I am taking you home, shishi. Follow me.”
He turns and walks away. I take a step to follow him, but the events of the past days overwhelm me. Everything begins to turn dark as I slump to the ground.
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END OF CHAPTER TEN
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The true rulers of this world, the credit card companies, have made it almost impossible to sell books with true BDSM themes. Erotic publishers will soon be a thing of the past. So I have pulled all of my books from the one publisher that I had left, and have decided to share them with my on-line followers.