Excerpt from: "The Tithe of Mars"

 

The Martian bus sped along the red metal road that led away from the city of Xanthe out into the russet and gold desert, weaving its way between outcrops of wind-carved rock under the deep indigo sky still thickly dusted with stars. The low sharp morning sun threw long purple fingers of shadow across the rolling sands. The temperature must still have been well below freezing but that did not trouble the occupants of the bus, either those seated upon it or those below them who formed part of its mechanism.

Phillipa, who was one of those mechanisms, could not help thinking of the vehicle as a "bus" since it had many wheels, carried several passengers besides its driver and was much larger than Trainer Jav's car. However, like so many other devices on Mars, this was a bus propelled by human female muscle power.

The bus had a long sinuous body of ten identical segments, reminding her a little of a centipede, each covered by transparent bubble canopies, with seats paired on either side of a blister that covered the upper rim of a large central gyroscopically balanced driving wheel at its centre. The seats, each bearing a Martian passenger, were plugged into the anuses of the naked slave girls who occupied slots in the floor beneath them, and who were in turn plugged into the frame of the bus whilst they peddled vigorously.

Phillipa occupied the floor slot under Master Rax with her palms pinned together in the small of her back. A coloform pole driven through her body from vagina to mouth, with side spikes passing out through her cheeks, locked her in place within her tight-fitting slot with her back up and her bare breasts dangling beneath her above the metal road. A bracket extending from the underside of the floor panel down between her legs, which were extended behind her, supported a pair of pedals to which her feet were pinned. These drove what she assumed to be dynamos that powered the individual electric motors turning the line of central driving wheels. A little of this power was returned via electric cables to clamps and pins driven through her nipples. The bus driver could send a warning jolt into them when he wanted his twenty living flesh engines to deliver more speed.

The driver rode directly on a saddle mounted on the back of a slave girl who in turn straddled the bus's single front driving wheel, turning a set of pedals connected directly to its hub. The ends of a set of handlebars with switches on their grips emerged from her cheeks. As the driver twisted them the wheel she straddled leaned left or right and the line of wheels behind followed after it, making the bus twist like a snake as it sped silently along metal road. And so while the native passengers rode on top in quiet comfort, the underside of the bus was filled with pumping pairs of legs, bare jiggling swaying breasts and dripping exudations of their slaves, which seeped from tightly impaled vulvas as they squeezed and slipped slightly about their coloform poles as they peddled.

The rigid pole skewering Phillipa's body from end to end lifted her head up and back as it filled her throat. Master Rax's feet rested on her shoulder blades. Every so often he lifted his foot to rub her cheek or ruffle her hair. Even though her head was held rigidly in position she could swivel her eyes about to look sideways or along the twisting body of the bus watching rows of rolling buttocks of every hue bobbing just above its floor line as the girls strained to propel the vehicle along.

It had been a week since her triumph in the Trifold competition. Even with the ability of Phillipa's adjusted body's ability to heal much more rapidly than normal, it had taken three days for the deep ache inside her to finally dissipate. Part of that had been due to the relentless pummelling her body sheath, anal ring and vaginal passage had undergone during the competition from all those sprung and sliding rods and crooked poles that had been variously pumped, slid and torn through her, by comparison with which the pole connecting her to the bus frame was a simple inert utilitarian fixture that joined flesh with metal. The balance of her suffering was the result of the day she had then spent on display in the arena together with her sister slaves being used by the citizens of Xanthe for their carnal pleasure.

She had lost count of how many Martian penises had been thrust up inside her, or the number of times she had been brought to another unwilling yet fierce orgasm. She remembered the powerful smell of hot spent Martian sperm seeping out of thirty-six sets of vaginas and anuses to mingle with the aroma of spilt womanly discharge and glisalve, oozing out of them in a desperate attempt to try to ease friction of alien flesh prongs pumping away within them.

Yet she could almost forgive all that. What felt far worse was the terrible sense of disappointment and, yes, betrayal. For a few moments after winning the competition, she had felt she had accomplished something wonderful and special. Then that pride had been shattered when Rax had used his power wand to shock her back to reality. All right, so a slave should not have excess pride and her fellow competitors were receiving the same treatment. Then Rax had penetrated and used her, which was his right, and said he was proud of her, even if it was no more than an owner might take in his pet for performing some especially elaborate trick. Well if he was proud of her then at least she could take pride in that, Phillipa had thought, and for a moment she had felt a thrill of joy.

But then, instead of continuing to celebrate her triumph together (and despite what she had already endured she would have done anything for him that night in bed) Rax had left her to be ravaged by the mass penises of his fellow Martians. Of course she had satisfied the needs of many strange Martians before while serving in Slave Emporium 3, but this had felt so much worse perhaps because it had been so unexpected.

Didn't Rax care what she felt or was it simply the custom in such circumstances? After all, despite his peoples' long experience with Earth women, he was still an alien and perhaps he didn't understand how much that hurt her, not so much physically but emotionally. To be fair she was not entirely sure she understood herself. What she felt for Rax resembled a despairing kind of desire for something unobtainable (Rax's unqualified approval, perhaps?) even now when she also burned with something very much like hate. Not that she would ever act upon such feelings, of course, even had she been free to do so. She knew now that she was totally in awe of his power and would obey the slightest flick of his power wand without hesitation.

The trouble was that by Rax's standards he had done nothing wrong to her. He had freely admitted that he, like all Martians, enjoyed subjugating human women and, according to the terms of the trade agreement between the British Empire and Mars, for a hundred days she was his to do with as he wished, as long as she was returned home in good health at the end of that period. And she did not doubt that she would be returned on time, but she would be a very different person from the naive 18-year-old who had been taken from Oakdean months before. Not simply physically changed but spiritually and emotionally. She had seen too many wonders and experienced too many shockingly intense pleasures, punishments and humiliations to ever be the same again.

Now she began to understand why slave girls could not simply readjust to Earthly life after their return from Mars. They might desperately want to try to put all this behind them, but it would be impossible. It was too big to pretend it had never happened. Still, was that any reason for them not to wear clothes in public?

But that was a puzzle for a later date. In the here and now she had meekly resumed her role as Rax's servile human slave pet and said nothing about her experience in the arena. Not that she had much opportunity to speak since then as he had kept her muted in the days following her ordeal. Perhaps he suspected what she might inadvertently say to him if she lost her self-possession and spared her the need to be punished for it, or possibly he simply preferred her mute? She did not know one way or the other and that was what made it even more frustrating!

Yet Phillipa wanted to speak to Rax for another reason because there was a question burning within her that came from her revelation in the stadium: where were the female Martians? Either there was a very simple answer, perhaps obvious to everybody but her, or else it was something unspoken and taboo. But she felt it was important and knew that she could not leave Mars without learning the truth.

Would she have an opportunity to ask her question today? She was not sure. Rax had not explained the purpose for this outing into the desert, nor why he was doing it in the company of nineteen other Martians, who were presumably there for the same purpose. She had no idea what it was but they, like Rax, were carrying coiled electric whips in addition to their power wands...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the needs of her body which had been squirming about her impaling pole, clenching onto it tightly, until she responded in the usual fashion. The sharp wave of delight rippled through her, making her convulse about the pole even as she spurted passion and glisalve from her plugged cleft over her pumping thighs and onto the metal road beneath her.

She heard Rax chuckle at her spasm of helpless pleasure beneath his feet. As the jolt of bliss faded she just hoped he noticed that she had continued pedalling even as she climaxed. Wasn't that the mark of a perfect slave?