Page 103 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

103

Welcome to Prison

P resent Day

Prison Asteroid Blanterra

Willow

“No! Stop! I’m innocent!”

I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath. The two armed guards, encased in hard-shell armor, who are dragging me down the hallway in this antique dungeon, ignored me the entire flight here. Ignoring, that is, when they weren’t taunting me about how I’d never survive on the prison asteroid they were taking me to.

I stop fighting. Not only is it a waste of energy, but I need to put my focus on this new level of hell they’re dropping me into.

The space vessel that brought me here parked so close to this facility I saw little of the planet other than blowing dust and tumbleweeds. It looks like Death Valley. It’s not Death Valley, though, because I’m still in outer space. Just as I have been for the last five years.

I fought like this when they first abducted me. Fat lot of good it did me then. You can’t fight too hard when big, scary aliens snap a slave collar around your neck. Especially when they demonstrate that it’s capable of shocking you in various levels of pain up to and including death.

After being in space for a while, I came to appreciate my situation. Instead of being sold as a sex slave, a little old lady on Hyperion bought me. Being her maid wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened, not by a longshot. She rarely beat me. The relative comfort I experienced with Mistress made my recent change in circumstance even more difficult to tolerate.

They gave me a five-year sentence to this prison planet. The aliens who brought me laughed and said I’d never last a month toiling in the underground mine. Backbreaking labor? I’d rather be sweeping, mopping, and applying lotion to my alien owner’s aging extremities.

As they walk me to the cellblock door, one says to the other, “I still don’t know why they slated a female for this male’s prison.”

“No idea,” the other says with a bored shrug. “Probably a mistake. They pay me to fly, not to think. I follow their orders.”

An all-male prison? As if five years of hard labor for a trumped-up charge wasn’t bad enough. I have no idea what I did to deserve this.

Well, that’s not true. I couldn’t believe I was sent to court for the charge they accused me of. It wouldn’t even be a misdemeanor in America. When the aging judge pulled me into his chambers and told me the sentencing would go lighter if I let him use my body, I refused. I’d take my chances with a small fine rather than his dusty dick down my throat.

Now I’m not only sentenced to five years in prison, but they’ve accidentally on purpose sent me to an all-male prison to do hard labor? Maybe sucking seventy-year-old dick wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

I’m dragged out of the blistering, dusty heat, down a flight of stairs, and into the dim confines of a cellblock. Its ceiling is at ground height. What it lacks in sunlight is more than redeemed by the twenty-degree-cooler temperature in here.

As soon as my eyes adjust to the dim light, I get a full glimpse of the misery they condemned me to.

There’s a central hallway lined by open, barred cells on both sides. Each cell has bars on the front and sides and butts against sheer black rock at the back.

If the architecture wasn’t bleak enough, an inventory of the inhabitants highlights my new, grim circumstances.

For a woman confined to her Mistress’s house for the last five years, I’ve watched a lot of TV, or vids as they call it. For the last five years, my aging owner didn’t do much more than watch TV and order me around, until her daughter and grandspawn arrived.

With the thousands of hours of vids I’ve watched, I thought I’d seen every type of alien there was. As I walk down this hallway, pushed by the business end of one of the guards’ shocksticks, I believe I’m seeing a few new species.

Every single one of the males in this facility is looking at me with hunger. Honestly, it would be less creepy if it was only sexual hunger, but there are a few who look as if they’d like to eat me—literally.

I can’t control a shiver as I slow my steps. If what I’ve seen so far is any indication, unless they throw me into a private cell, I’m not going to make it to bedtime.

“Really,” I return to my fruitless protests. I have nothing more than my pleas to get me out of here. I might as well try that again. “I didn’t do what they accused me of. I’m innocent. I didn’t get a fair trial. I need to talk to a lawyer.”

Just how much I’m grasping at straws is highlighted when the cellblock breaks out in mocking laughter. I guess the mention of due process and a lawyer made them all howl in mirth.

“Halt,” one of the guards says, his voice bored. He’s barely paying attention. I’m a small Earth female who’s certainly not going to hurt him or make a break for it. He’s bored, distracted, and ready to go on break.

I look to the cell directly on my right. There’s just one guy in there. He’s covered in white fur and must be six-and-a-half feet tall if he’s an inch. His razor sharp fangs have to be four inches long. He’s breathing with his mouth open.

I’ve watched enough vids to know he’s scenting me. If that wasn’t a clear enough message, he grabs his hard, enormous cock, and fucks his hand, never removing his predatory gaze from my breasts.

“DearGoddearGoddearGod,” I mumble out loud. I won’t make it an hour in that cell. The judge’s ancient gray cock is looking better and better. I wish I’d taken him up on it.

“If one drop of that splatters on me, Gronk, I will not hesitate to turn your collar up to ten and watch with glee as you die,” one of the guards says.

Gronk takes two measured steps back without skipping a beat—or a stroke.

I haven’t eaten in days, so I don’t know where it’s coming from, but acid is crawling up the back of my throat.

The guard in the rear moves to open the cell.

“Please!” I shout. “Not that one.”

He puckers his lips, shrugs his shoulders, and walks to the cell on my left.

This one has two males inside. Unlike every other male in the cellblock, these two are not standing at the bars gaping at the Willow show. They’re sitting on their beds looking completely checked out. Well, maybe not. The furry one is watching me out of the corner of his eye while he pretends nonchalance.

The words, “be careful what you wish for” float through my head when they both stand as the guard approaches their barred cell door.

They’re both big, bigger than the white guy jacking off across the aisle. And built. Like bodybuilders—alien-style. They’re looking me up and down as if… I don’t know what they want. The looks don’t appear sexual, but they’re inspecting me.

Both guards are fully engaged now. These two guys could attempt a breakout when the door opens. The guards’ shocksticks start humming as they pull down their helmet visors.

“You two, face against the back wall. Hands on the top of your heads.”

My two new cellmates turn in unison, slowly, then make their way to the rear wall and follow directions. One is bald and somehow reminds me of a sexy, camouflage-color Mr. Clean. The swirling indigo third eye in the middle of his forehead is both scary and fascinating.

The other male’s wide-shouldered, narrow-waisted body is covered in suede-like purple striped fur. There’s something feral in his golden gaze, making him more animalistic than most of the humanoids I’ve seen in space. Luckily, he’s not like the furry male masturbator who, by the sounds of his moans, is about to splatter. This one’s face is calm, almost bored.

The guards open the cell, push me in, and lock it before I can put up a fight. I fought a shockstick once—it won. It was my first day after waking up in a stasis pod after my abduction. I still remember the stick’s electric bite. It brought me to my knees.

“That was set at one,” my abductors told me. “It will be set at five from here out.”

It’s small in here, maybe ten by ten. Two big aliens, two beds on opposite, barred walls, a sink in one rear corner and an open toilet, minus seat, in the other rear corner.

No place to run. No place to hide.

I back up and place my shoulders against the barred cell door as I try to get my bearings. One of the guards slams his shockstick against the bars right where I’m standing. Not only does the metallic clang scare the shit out of me, but he managed to graze my left butt cheek, giving me a shock potent enough to draw a pained yelp from me.

While my jangled nerve endings recover, I move to settle in one of the two front corners while I get the lay of the land inside my cell. I’m watching my two new cellmates and can’t quite read the severe look on their faces when they move toward me as if on a prearranged signal.

A male in the neighboring cell reaches through the bars behind me, drags me closer, tucks my throat against the crook of one elbow, and crushes my breast with his clawed hand so tightly I scream in pain.

I’m squeezed into the corner, my breast being smashed so hard it’s worse than the shockstick. My two cellmates are hurrying toward me. Am I about to enter into a non-consensual foursome?