THE CONTAINER Part 7

T.S. FESSELN


Disclaimer: This is a work of amatory fantasy. Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental. If you are under the age of 18, please stop reading here. If you are a bit squeamish about graphic depiction of violence, sex and bondage, please stop reading here. The author takes no responsibility for those who wish to reenact anything written below.

Permission is granted for private use. The author wishes any agencies that wish to publish this work, to please contact him at [email protected]. Or visit his weblog at fesselnsfiction.blogspot.com/ . Any comments are gladly accepted and encouraged.


   There was a slight hum as a side panel of the container parted revealing the life support capsule inside.  Dross could see the beautiful shadowed curves of the naked woman by the glow of the interior monitors.  Her red mane of hair had been shaved clean and a glossy black mask covered her mouth and throat.  The woman’s arms were pinned behind her, encased in a single-arm binder.  The emerald jewels that had adorned her figure were gone and no scars to mark their existence on the flat of her stomach.

    A slender, polished steel chastity/security belt had been locked around her hips and between her legs and a small green panel in the front of it showed that it was functioning.  Her legs were slender and her ankles were bound together by a steel hobble.  

   Dross tore his eyes away from the woman to glance at the capsule’s screen.  All her vitals seemed to be good. . .

   “What in the blessed drake have you done?” he heard a familiar voice behind him.

    Aelea stood not but a couple of meters away dressed in her full PASS uniform, her hands on her hips and a look of angered disbelief on her face.

    “I. . .” The customs agent began.

    “Do YOU know how to use one of these?”  Aelea asked, “Are YOU a medical tech?  I don’t see even an emergency docbot anywhere!”

    “These are all self-contained units,” Dross said tightly, “The onboard system will revive her.”

    “Like Hellion they will,” Aelea said stepping over the capsule to look at the woman herself, “You know when you revive a suspended person like this you need to have some sort of medical personnel present.  Every ship has one.  You even have medtechs on staff here in customs for this sort-of thing!”

    “Like I could call on them,” Dross answered curtly.

     “I thought we were supposed to think this one out, Dross.  Now I know that all you Torean men have balls for brains!”

     Dross just stood there silently.  Deep down inside he knew Aelea was right but the Torean male genetics ingrained within him would never admit to that.  He watched her tap her comlink.

    “What are you doing?” Dross asked.

    “Saving your future fuck slave,” she said before talking in unheard whispers into her link.

    There was little Dross could do but stare at the woman sleeping in the capsule and watch her vitals on the monitor.  He thought he had seen them change slightly but he wasn’t sure if it was a trick of his mind or not.

    “Get a cargo handler here now,” Aelea ordered.

    Dross fished out his pane and tapped in a few commands.  He didn’t know what his friend had planned but he made sure that the cargo handler would be one he could program and not one of the automated ones.  Within a few minutes an old, antiquated cargo sled glided up to Dross and the capsule.

     “Get her onboard.  We are going to meet someone who can help.”

     Sled lifted the capsule on board and Dross took one of the two pilot seats in front.  Aelea climbed in beside him and punched into the onboard system the coordinates given to Aelea by her ‘help’.  The cargo sled glided silently forward to one of the darkened access tunnels as Dross and Aelea sat beside each other as quiet as tombstones.


                         -o0o-

    Tia watched as the cleaning women retreated, replaced by an army of bots and drones that cleaned the faux sacrificial chamber of the past hour’s events.  The ebony-skinned girl had been hauled away by the women, along with the lifeless bodies of the others, to a darkened tunnel lit only by a small, flickering torch.  There was only one other spared slave that lay curled in her cage like a used rag doll, her wrists still locked to the top of her small cage.

    The captive blonde looked up at her own wrists and the crude manacles that encircled them.  She gave a little smile as she looked at them as a sparkle of hope flared inside her.  One of her Master’s favorite games was to see if his slaves could escape their bindings while he watched. Tia had got very skilled at this game, out tricking her Master and other slaves on more than one occasion.  Her secret trick was that she could make her tiny hands curl inward to make them as small as her thick wrists.  Tia took a deep breath around her leather harness gag and began to wriggle her right hand through the iron band that bound it.  It took a bit but soon her right hand was free of the cuff.  The left hand was a bit easier.  If these were smart cuffs, the bands would have tightened like a python.  But these men had made things too authentic, much to Tia’s relief.

    Now to get out of the cage.

    Again, there was too much attention made in making these cages like those of ancient Torei.  It was a simple latch, most likely to make it easy for the patron to open it for the helpless victim inside.  In a second or two, Tia was free from her cage.

    The polished stone floor was cold to her bare feet as she silently stepped away from her cage.  Her eyes scanned over the old stone and wooden tables searching for something to free her fellow slave.  Most of the tools and implements made her wince as she imagined how they would be used.  All the tools gleamed in the fire still burning in the pit.  Finally she spotted what she was looking for: A ring of primitive keys.  She snatched it up as well as a scalpel-sharp dagger. With a few deft cuts, the straps of her harness gag parted and she pulled the pear-shaped leather gag out and threw it into the flaming pit.  Tia then slipped over to attend to her fellow slave.

    The woman had light brown hair and olive skin.  She was like Tia, a slight woman.  When Tia opened the latch, the woman glanced up with dark blue eyes as vacant as an empty grave.

    “I will get you out of here,” Tia said as she tried several of the keys until she found one that unlocked the manacles.

     The woman bowed her head, looking at her unbound wrists incomprehensively.

     “Come on,” Tia said, reaching out to the woman.

     The woman in the cage recoiled from Tia’s hand as if it were a viper, the slaves back pressed against the bars; her pretty facec twisted in terror.

     “I am not going to hurt you,” Tia said, very aware every second she spent in the chamber was a second closer to being caught.

      The woman shook her head and moaned into her gag.  Tia was loath to leave the woman but she had to think about herself. The woman was free to go if she wanted too.  Tia needed to leave.

    The blonde slave looked around the chamber and noted the corridor where the woman had taken the bodies of the other slaves.  The only other exit was a set of huge brass doors from which the patrons had come and she was sure that those very doors would lead to her recapture and worse.  Tia made her way down the dimly lit hall.

    The tan stone passageway with its flickering torches soon gave way to a sterile modern hallway with dim corner lights.  Steel hover gurneys were lined up against the walls with their lifeless cargo.  Tia tried not to look, focusing on the tile path ahead.  There were few doors. The blonde tried pushing on them but all were locked; probably keyed to some chip that she didn’t have in her skull.  The hallway soon branched and the blonde slave girl decided to take one of the smaller hallways until it ended in a set of double doors.

   Tia pressed on the doors but they would not open.  She cursed underneath her breath and was about to turn around when she saw one of the automated gurneys coming towards her.  With a slight hiss, the doors parted to let the gurney in.  Tia stepped in right behind it and into the room beyond.

    Inside the room was what looked like a medical facility of some sort.  In the center was a porcelain white table connected to a conveyor.  Above the table was an array of small lasers and manipulators.  The gurney dumped the corpse onto the table and the umbilical clawed manipulators arranged the body on the table, turning the lifeless slave’s head to the side.

    There was a small whiff as the laser cut behind the dead woman’s ear.  Within seconds, the claw pulled out the woman’s chip port and placed in in a tray with a pile of others.  The conveyor whirred to life and the remains of the slave disappeared into a portal.

    Tia huddled in the corner hugging herself.  She never before felt so naked as she did now, armed only with a small dagger.  She was used to being without clothing but it was always in a carefree way.  Now she wished to be covered, even in a simple shift.

   She watched as another slaughtered slave was hovered in and scrapped for her chips, worth more than the flesh they had been a part of.  

   Tia smiled again, but it was a grim smile.  She knew what had to be done in order to save her life but it might kill her in the process.  However, she was a walking corpse anyway with the chips in her head giving away where she was and who she was.  She took a deep breath to calm herself before the next gurney came in.

                              -o0o-

   Nyx watched as a couple of offworld men shopped one of the open ‘rent-a-slave’ markets that dotted the Hubs’ Central Station, the portal to the rest of Torei.  The women were only clad in the sheerest of shifts that only seemed to emphasis what they covered.  The Central Station was THE first taste of Torei any traveler had.  The ground floor had shops devoted to promoting every ringdom on the planet.  The slave markets were there to let the tourists feel what it was like to own their own slave even if it was only for an hour or two.  The transport tubes and the skyports ringed the levels above and a huge dome of iridescent pearl poured light down from above.

    This was Nyx’s hunting ground.  

    The men had made their choices, paid the automated kiosk, and lead their bound pleasure away by their leashes.  Being a ‘Rent’ was not a bad life and a good number of free wombs did it in order to supplement their income.

    Nyx walked around dressed in her full truant officer catsuit and hands clasped behind her back.  She was still horny.  The fun she had with Lire Angel had faded as with the memory of the customs agents struggling form.  She needed more.

   And Truck knew it.

   Capturing a truant officer without an Eye knowing is quite a feat and Truck had pulled it off.  The Eyes are not all seeing rather they rely on hundreds of security subprograms to watch over all the chipped.  Somehow Truck had hacked into one of those subprograms and made it his puppet.  He had blinded the Eye of the South to the whereabouts of Nyx and with a simple q-gun, captured her.

   When Nyx had awoke, she found herself naked and restrained on a hovering gynachair.  A simple ballgag had been shoved between her teeth, making her pleas and curses nothing but mush.  Her wrists were pinned behind her back and her tanned legs lifted up and parted, exposing her sex to Truck’s ravenous eyes.

    “You are now mine,” were the only words that Truck spoke as he peeled himself out of his matte black suit and lit one of his cigars.

    He circled around her, like a hungry drake, his eyes caressing her slender figure.  Nyx winced as he combed his fingers through her short, dark hair and down across the line of her jaw.

    Nyx remembered the painful heat of the tip of his cigar as his hovered it over her dark, erect nipples.  Glowing flakes of ash felt like needles as they tumbled over her areolas.  Truck wiped the ash off with the back of his hand roughly and laughed.

    His hands roughly massaged her body, kneading her breasts and her sides until he positioned himself between her legs.  The gynachair adjusted itself until the thick head of his cock pointed straight at her now glistening sex.  Her Torean biology was betraying her and her truant officer chips were not overriding her desires.

     Truck did not enter her slowly; rather, he speared her with a single, painful thrust and held himself there inside her.  The feel of him filling her sent ripples of raw pleasure coursing through Nyx as he began to push himself into her again and again, violently, until her whole being exploded in the fiery bliss of orgasm.

    When she finally drifted back down, Truck had left and a masked medtech had taken Truck’s place.

    “Ah, back with us,” the man said behind his sterile white mask, “Now let’s start modifying those chips of yours.”

     In the following hours, Nyx’s grey matter mixed with new silicon circuitry that allowed Truck to physically control her without the Eye of the South knowing.  With a wave of a stylus he could wrack her body in searing pain or collapse it in pure ecstasy and there was not a thing she could do about it.  The chips were also designed to make the truant officer crave sex nearly every hour; every day.

     And she cursed Truck for every second of it.


              It is usually a long time between postings for my stories.  In the past, I have tried to compile a mailing list, but it has become unmanageable as of late. However, you can check my weblog at fesselnsfiction.blogspot.com/ for news of my latest works and to read some new ones. Or, you can catch me on Twitter or Facebook for up to the minute progress or a pleasant chat. Any and all comments are welcome and appreciated.  Please e-mail me a [email protected] or post them on my blog