Chapter 1

The troopship Delaga hung in the void, alone. The ship’s current mission was to conduct denial operations in the disputed area between the Galaki Confederation and the self-styled Emperor Grot’s New Empire, which was using the low density of civilized worlds in this deep area of the first spiral arm of the Milky Way Galaxy to infiltrate and overrun new territory. The ship’s ‘cargo’ was Rendec’s Raiders, a free mercenary company under contract to oppose landings by Grot’s forces on local worlds...

Unfortunately, things weren’t going too well for the Galaki. Some of their hired troops (not the Raiders, notably — they’d been in six skirmishes in the last GSC, or Galactic Standard Cycle, and they’d done their job) had proven to be not up to their advertising; the Galaki had lost a couple of worlds and had had their trade routes pretty well chewed up. This dumped on the local economy, and created a balance of payments problem...

“We have a negotiated contract! I have troops to feed and arm — and more important, pay!” Captain Rendec ranted over the hyperwave communicator. “We’re doing our job, here!”

The face of the Galaki liaison officer was sympathetic, but noncommittal. “That’s why you’ll continue to receive your basic mission support supplies, Captain. Those units with a history of failure have been summarily dismissed — we can’t pay for troops who can’t or won’t do their jobs. Once our trade ships can get through to our neighbors again — meaning that you and your colleagues have done their jobs — the Confederation will follow through on all negotiated payments. Until then, though, you need to police your own ranks and get your less-effective colleagues in line and pulling their weight!”

“I’m not responsible for the fact that you went cheap and hired lousy outfits! And I can’t fix your mistakes! You get us fighting each other out here, and you WILL be lost!” Rendec howled.

“I certainly hope that will not be necessary,” the liason huffed. “One would hope that you are capable of dealing with one another diplomatically...”

“Those idiot Armag that Admiral Reflec posted on my left flank aren’t worth the energy pulse it would take to blow them to Entropy!” Rendec complained. “How am I supposed to hold MY sector when they just let the Empire pour through?”

The liaison’s face froze. “They are no longer in our employ,” he related, then assumed a poker face. “I’ve been authorized to make a rather substantial payment against your balance — and theirs — if you are successful in rooting the Imperials out of the three forward bases they have established in that sector — while holding your own, of course...”

Rendec raised an eyebrow. “How substantial?”

“Full pay for ninety DP (Diurnal Periods) for both your unit and the Armag for each planet freed,” the liaison replied.

That might EVENTUALLY make the contract profitable — IF the Confederation lasted that long. But he’d lose troops and equipment along the way... “Over and above the current contract?”

“No. Monies disbursed to you for your part will be against your current balance. However, the monies that would have gone to the Armag will represent a bonus...”

The bastards wanted him to grind his unit up trying to get even, with the promise of MAYBE getting ahead, EVENTUALLY. Still, it was what they did... “Give me the coordinates of known incursions,” Rendec grunted, “And if we find more, you pay for THEM, too!”

“Certainly,” came the fatuous reply, “But you will be required to provide proof...”

“Yeah, yeah ... Rendec out.” Rendec couldn’t stand to look at the greasy bastard for another minute. Excuses, excuses. If the Confederation went down, he’d take his piece out of them before the Imperials did, and they both knew it — but looting was frowned upon just about everywhere civilized. Meanwhile, Rendec needed supplies...

“Cap’n...” Top Kamicki came through the hatch, ducking to get his brush cut through unscathed. “More shit below decks. Alegi and Doramus started tryin’ to pull each other apart. Fortunately, there was a trank gun handy.”

Rendec rolled his eyes. He’d have to bust Doramus again — kid couldn’t hang onto Corporal. If he wasn’t such a fine scout, he’d have to let him go... “What happened?”

“Alegi went through his feelies and changed certain parameters — Doramus found himself being cornholed by a transvestite in sim. Shit went south from there...” Kamicki was having a hard time keeping a straight face. He didn’t approve of simulated pussy; besides, the computer equipment ate up too much of a soldier’s locker — and left no space for more important things...

“Huh,” Rendec grunted. “At least Doramus was getting some, even if it WAS only in his brain...” Rendec could use some, too — even simulated. It had been two hundred DP since they’d been on a station with proper comfort facilities. Corporal Windec was looking better and better, despite the fact that she was a klek and a half taller than he was and carried twenty renn more muscle mass — not to mention the major difference in rank. Not shipping with a Socialator or two had been a mistake; camp followers had their place ... Of course, by now they’d have been the only people on the ship with any money ... Who knew they were going to spend so long out in this armpit without pay? Rendec could have rolled off-station for a day or two and gone to a station or planetary base for re-supply and a quick liberty for the troops — IF he’d been paid. But the Raiders had been living off their own fat for a couple of months; they couldn’t pay the docking fees for a decent port. Well, they could ONCE, but Rendec had to hold that money in escrow...

“Well, Doramus will end up PFC again, but Alegi ought to have known better. He’s going back to Private.”

“Yessir,” Kamicki replied. “But that don’t solve the basic problem, Cap’n. The boys need to let off steam, BAD...”

“Yeah, I know — but they won’t get shit with what we’ve got ... I’ll look into it.”

“Sir.” Kamicki saluted and left. Rendec hit the intercom. “Blackie? I’m coming up. We need to talk.”

Rendec and Captain ‘Blackie’ Baluk were technically equals, but their jobs differed quite a bit. Rendec was in overall command of all of the Raider’s available resources, including the ship, technically, but Blackie was the ship’s master and ran the ship and commanded its crew after the fashion of a naval officer. Blackie and his crew made sure the Raiders were delivered on time, on target — and handled a host of other support missions, despite the fact that there were numerically fewer of them than there were Raiders. Now Rendec needed for his men to be delivered somewhere else...

The pair sat in the wardroom and sipped warm jawa from the synthesizer — the real thing had long-since run out. “Blackie, things are getting too tense around here; I need to give the men some shore leave before I don’t have any Raiders left!” Rendec groused.

“Nobody around here will take you,” Blackie replied. “Maybe somewhere further out in the Rim systems, where we can trade firecrackers to savages, or something...”

“Is that shit possible?” Rendec wondered aloud.

Blackie stirred sweetener into his jawa. “My Nav boys think so. There’s a pocket of systems around Centauri ... Lost colonies from the Diaspora.”

“I hate to go busting heads over some bitch in a loincloth,” Rendec grumbled. “Too many of those places go downhill — be lucky if we found anything CLOSE to human.”

“Glip has a couple of ideas...” Blackie eyed him over his cup. “Call me when you’re desperate...”

“I’m desperate NOW!” Rendec grunted. “See if you can show me anything.”

Blackie hit the intercom. “Bridge?”

“Sir?”

“Get me Nav.”

“Nav.”

“Glip, the Boss wants to know what you can do for us,” Blackie said quietly.

“Centauri is pretty empty, Skipper, but I have three possibles. Be about three DPs’ travel...”

“What about reaction mass?” Blackie asked.

“THAT I can GUARANTEE!” Glip returned. “Two of them have planets, according to survey. One may have several.”

“I’m out of options,” Rendec muttered. “Do it.”

Blackie relayed to Glip, “Best case for re-supply, then, Navigator. Execute!”

“Aye!”

Three and a half DPs later, Rendec stood beside Blackie’s command chair on the Bridge looking down at a brown, green, and blue world with fluffy white clouds dotting its atmosphere. “THAT has to be prime,” he announced, “What have you got?”

“Serious civilization,” the sensor chief replied. “They have fission and maybe fusion, and some space travel, all low-energy chemical reaction drives. Satellite communication on r-f bands. But things are uneven — some places seem to be a lot better off than others. Half a DP from now, that continent down there would be lit up like a glac board, but this continent over here looks like it barely has basic services. No broadcast power, per se, although they broadcast communications — once again with more sophistication and better coverage some places than others.”

“Hmmph,” Rendec grunted. “Okay, let’s look at the poorer neighborhoods.”

Twenty minutes later, sensors had a full report. “Not too tasty down there, Cap’n,” the sensor chief noted. “That big continent going to the south there is seriously backward; gene pool looks like it came from Anubis, but they definitely went native. They managed to cook up some kind of local disease, too — about thirty percent of ‘em ain’t healthy — some kind of autoimmune problem. Goin’ north, we got hot spots — there’s some serious military tech, but it’s bein’ chewed up by local guerrillas in the built-up areas here. There’s also some on-going shit to the west, here...” Sparks shifted his pointer. “Goin’ north and west, in particular, things get better. Standard of living goes up and it’s more peaceful. But it’s seriously crowded real estate; we wouldn’t get much time on the ground before we’d have to go to serious vigilance. East of here things stay decent for a while, but deteriorate until you get into jungle.”

“What about that big Island in the south?” Rendec asked.

“Not heavily populated. Everything is along the coasts, mostly. It’d be hit and miss.”

Blackie grunted. “So, where is it GOOD?”

“Other side, Skipper.” Sparks rotated the projection. “The south ain’t any great shakes, but the north end boasts arguably the highest level of technology on the planet. And while it is reasonably roomy, we can probably find population concentrations just the way we want ‘em. Locals average a whole lot more healthy, too, than the Anubis group.”

“Bad news is they’re the most likely to be able to deal with us...” Rendec mused.

“Electromagnetic scans indicate that we have a couple of things goin’ for us, Skipper,” Sparks replied. “No first contact, yet, although they’re aware of the concept. Broadcast entertainment does space travel stuff beyond their capabilities all the time. And the locals here haven’t got tough on the kind of thing we’d be doing; they’d be thinking about collateral damage to a nuclear strike, even though they’d be the first to get it there. By the time the locals get over the surprise and get their shit together, we’ll be done.”

“Have they seen us?”

“Not with anything active; shields are blocking them. They might find us later by passive analysis. They’re behind in a lot of ways, but from what I’ve seen, cybernetics is a strong point. We get a couple of their experts and a good fabrication tech, and we could re-designate half of the computer core for living space and still be able to out-maneuver most other ships...”

Rendec whistled. “Maybe we’ll be back...” Colony worlds like this sometimes turned out to be very valuable for those capable of quietly exploiting them. The cybernetics connection might turn out to be more profitable than being a merc... “What about reaction mass?”

“That’s a salt ocean, just like Manhome; my guess is that either this place was an extremely lucky find or somebody spent a gazillion credits terraforming it. Nonetheless, it’s not bad; we can filter it, no problem.”

“Huh,” Blackie grunted, “Maybe it IS Manhome!” Nobody knew where the race REALLY originated, exactly...

“If it is, things dropped in the pot for about ten thousand cycles,” Sparks replied.

“Okay, see what you can find, then,” Rendec directed.

Things got quiet for a bit, while Sparks and his assistant ran the scanners, then, “Lookit this!” The main display lit, repeating the sensor package. It was early morning in a small bowl of a valley where a large number of ground vehicles towing specially built trailers were congregating. Nearby were several fenced-in areas, a couple of bleachers, and some vendor’s booths. Men and women — mostly women, and young ones at that, were disembarking quadrupeds from the trailers, putting some kind of harnesses on them and then climbing atop them. The ones riding appeared to be wearing some kind of uniform — dark helmets, blouses and jackets, and strangely cut tan pants — but the others tended to be in as little as possible, flitting here and there in short, clingy shorts and halters or spaghetti-strap tops. “Eh, lookit that!” Sparks breathed, his eyes bulging.

“Tactically perfect, too,” Rendec mused aloud. “We can set down and clap an interdiction field around the whole place — nothing in or out until they get serious. And we’ll be gone by then...”

“Think they fuck those things?” Blackie asked.

“No — but they don’t have to. Look how they’re riding!” Rendec laughed. They watched a rider take her animal through a series of jumps over barriers set up for the purpose; she was raising and lowering herself in the harness the animal wore in time to its movements. “Gonna be some fine pussy in THAT bunch!”

Blackie laughed, then sobered. “Lotta young stuff. We’ll have to brief the troops...”

Rendec nodded. Turning to Sparks, he inquired, “What are the numbers?”

“Upwards of two hundred,” Sparks replied, “And ninety percent of ‘em female. More arriving from all directions, too! Thirty or forty percent of ‘em are under ten GSCs, but the rest...” He licked his lips.

“What’s the local cycle?” Rendec inquired. “Looks short, this close in to the primary.”

“About a cycle and a half to the GSC. I bet they mature early. Look at that!” He zoomed in on an obviously young specimen that was equally obviously well along toward sexual maturity to judge by the dairy farm on her chest. “I bet that ‘un is — what — twelve local cycles? Nowhere NEAR ten GSCs!”

Resolution firmed in Rendec. “Put the Delaga down in a quiet stretch of ocean to the west, there, and we’ll take an assault boat.” He leaned back and hit the intercom, “Top, get up here, and tell the Platoon Leaders and Platoon Sergeants we meet in 50.”

Top Kamicki hit the hatch a cent later, took one look at the main screen, and announced to all and sundry, “I will be dipped in shit! HO LEE FUCK!” Blackie collapsed in his command chair, laughing, but Rendec got quickly to business. “Top, I see us paying a visit in an assault boat, laying an interdiction field over the whole mess, and spending two to four dec getting some much-needed entertainment. Take a look over that mess and tell me what I’m missing before I issue the Operations Order.” Top stopped counting pussies on his fingers and got down to work.

Half a mil later, the platoon sergeants and platoon leaders were gathered with Rendec and Kamicki in the wardroom. “This is gonna be a quick in and out,” Rendec announced, pleased with the pun. “We’re gonna take the whole company, minus a volunteer rear detachment, and as many squids from the crew as we can manage. We’ll pop an interdiction field over the whole valley, and move quickly to crush any resistance with a minimum loss of life. Do NOT,” he swept his eyes around the table, “let anyone start tearing up the place! Use stun where possible — we might want to visit here again!”

Kamicki opined, “I betcha if we turn a couple o’ those ‘horses’ into roast meat, everyone will settle down in order to keep from losing their pets.”

Rendec nodded. “I’d like to avoid THAT. Let’s try to collect some free pussy and leave things basically as we found it, if possible. Makes wild stories harder to support. The locals still don’t really believe in ‘aliens’ — not that we ARE, except for a little genetic drift...” He mused a moment. “No object lessons without my direct approval. Understood?” Nods. “Get your people together — we’re gonna be in the water in twenty.”

The Rim Valley Equestrian Arena never knew what hit them. It was ten o’clock in the morning when the stunning sonic boom announced the arrival of the arrow-shaped, hundred-meter-long assault boat; the Seniors class was doing Equitation over Fences in Ring One and Lead Line was showing in Ring Two. Everybody stopped, stunned, as the craft settled into VTOL and deployed its heavy tripod landing gear. The Raiders used an Arrowhead because a platoon could actually cluster in the jump seats affixed to the tops of the landing pads, which meant that they could begin shooting as soon as the legs lowered enough for them to clear the hull. It made for a fine, quick, deployment — everybody just hopped off. The company let off a round of blaster fire — not aimed to hit anything, just to keep up the excitement — and commenced to rapidly deploy. The salvo worked admirably; seventy percent of the locals had their hands full for the next few moments getting a handle on their quadrupeds. The boat crew extended the spherical I-Field generator on a tall mast; under other conditions, they might have floated it on a small null-grav buoy, but this was better, and they didn’t have to go to full mast height, even.

Rendec was amazed; nobody even seemed to own a weapon. Certainly, they took no projectile or energy weapons fire. He got on the boat’s address system and keyed his translation implant. “All right! Everybody stake out your animals and get over here, or we’re going to lose a few of you! Pay attention to the troops and you’ll all be still standing when we leave — get stupid, and you’ll hurt for it! All you sluts line up in front of the boat, here! Males line up, too, back where my man is waving his arm!” Top stood there, looking stocky and pretending that his arm wasn’t really connected to his nervous system, waving it slowly and deliberately, like a robot. The locals milled a bit, so he upped the ante: “MOVE YOUR ASSES, OR WE’RE GOING TO START BY FRYING SOMEBODY’S PET!” Heads snapped up and people started moving quickly; apparently Top had been right. Still, it took a good ten mil to get some three hundred fifty females arrayed in a half circle before the boat, his troops chivvying some of the older, more recalcitrant and noisy ones with the barrels of their energy weapons. Four guards watched the fifty or so males, arrayed in a circle facing outward some distance away.

Becky Knopf, red-haired, freckled, and fourteen, just stood there, taking it all in. Obviously, things were going to get wild in a minute; she’d never seen that many big rough men in one place, but she was pretty sure what they were there for. Nobody was going anywhere, either — someone had mounted her horse and galloped for the gate and she’d expected her to go down in a hail of gunfire, but the soldiers just watched — until there was a sudden blue flash at the end of the clearing, and the girl and her horse went down in a heap. “Go check on her,” the big guy standing in front of the spaceship had said, “She’ll be fine if the fucking animal didn’t break anything.” Two of the local men were dispatched under the watchful eye of a trooper; Becky could hear the girl start to cry as they worked her leg out from under the animal, but she was limping this way, her arms over the men’s shoulders. The troopers prodded them to the vicinity of the leader, who asked, “Where were you going, Cunt?”

“Out,” the girl sniffled. “Is — is Buster dead?”

Rendec shook his head. What was this girl, seven GSCs? Ten, twelve local cycles? Idiot... “Probably not — he just hit the wall harder than you did.” Raising his voice, he announced, “There is a wall of energy around this place. It isn’t going anywhere until I say different — and you aren’t, either. You’ll all do as we say, or BAAAAD things will happen!” Turning to the girl, he asked, “How old are you, Cunt?”

“I’m eleven.” The girl seemed to have gotten past fear, and was standing fairly well — even if her leg was broken, they could bud her a new bone, worst case.

He nodded, and the trooper chivvied the two men back toward the males’ group. “Everybody younger than,” he mused a moment, “thirteen, go over there.” He pointed at LT Kald. “Round ‘em up. Keep ‘em quiet.” Kald beckoned with an arm, and the young stuff started shuffling off toward his position off the port side of the boat. There were a good hundred and fifty. “Tippo, you and the LT go through ‘em, looking for ringers — dumb cunts get special treatment!” Several somewhat older girls who had apparently had ideas stopped in their tracks. There were about two hundred remaining.

One of then broke ranks and strode forward. Joy Frasier was forty, brunette, and chunky. Riding gave you heavy thighs, and she had them, as well as a pair of fairly large breasts — not particularly wonderful, just large. She was a show organizer, and was feeling a certain amount of responsibility for what she thought might be coming. Waving a finger at Rendec, she announced, “Now see here, you can’t DO this!”

Rendec’s face went blank, which SHOULD have warned her. His thought process was more on the order of, ‘There’s always one idiot ... The fucking kid was smarter... ‘ “I can’t?” He glanced at Corporal Sabac, his C3 systems operator. “She says I can’t do this...” The corporal shrugged. Rendec picked up a couple of troopers with his eyes, “Strip her.” The troopers pounced while Joy’s eyes were still popping; one of them produced an extremely sharp knife ... Joy stopped struggling when it became apparent that it was a good way to lose something. “Turn her around,” Rendec amplified. The troopers rotated her, the one holding her while the other peeled her with the knife. When he’d finished, he took an arm from the other trooper and they held Joy between them, exposed, a somewhat heavy woman with large, somewhat saggy breasts capped by big brown nipples and a thick pubic thatch. Rendec took advantage of the attention shift to dial down his blaster, then stepped around in front of her to get a look. Well, he’d prefer something more choice, frankly, but she probably knew how to do everything he’d want from her ... Sabac followed him around and stood, off-side, watching. Rendec looked Joy up and down and said, “Not bad, for her age, but I’ve had better. Besides, I like my cunts bare.” With that, he drew his blaster and triggered a quick pulse into her pudenda.

Joy collapsed, screaming — but not before everyone saw the effect of the shot. Joy’s thick pubic bush disappeared instantly. It wasn’t as bad as it looked — more like the flash that you get when you light a barbeque — the blaster singed the hair off while barely giving Joy a sunburn. But surprise and pain shocked Joy to her core; she KNEW she was ruined, or dead, or both ... Rendec turned to Sabac and said, “Remind me to use all of her holes before we leave.”

Sabac offered, “Lothar likes the big ‘uns, Sir.”

Rendec nodded, pensive. “Give her to Lothar. He’s to try out everything.” The two troopers grabbed her arms and began dragging her off, one yelling, “Lothar! Cap’n says this one’s yours!” A giant black started jogging in from the perimeter, yelling, “Well gimme her, then! Drop her there — if she gets up and runs, it’s more fun for me!”

Joy, dumped prone, raised up, took one look, and wailed, “Nooooooo!!!” before the big brute was on her.

Most of the women stood transfixed, watching the show. Rendec decided it was time to shift their attention. “My people are here to get a little long-overdue entertainment. You sluts can do as you’re told and have things go easy, or you can get stupid and have things go more difficult. It’s an individual decision; some of my troops LIKE to kick the shit out of their women...” Turning to his left, he roared, “First Platoon, saddle up! Look ‘em over! We don’t have all week!”

First Platoon got rapidly organized, and started examining the merchandise, First Squad walking along the front of the ragged line of women, Second Squad examining them from the rear. It was surprisingly effective; a Second Squad soldier would reach out to grope an ass, and if the owner overreacted, a good slap from the First Squad soldier in front of her usually put an end to it. The women’s fearful eyes tracked back and forth between the oncoming threat from First Squad and the loud moans Joy was somehow managing to get out around Lothar’s huge cock. Lothar had undone the trap on his combat coverall en-route (the Raider’s equipment didn’t use the narrow trouser openings that the locals seemed to favor, but rather a trap-door closure sort of like old sailor’s pants, but with seals instead of buttons; it was more sanitary under combat conditions and a lot less work to get at), and he had Joy’s head pressed against his crotch with both hands, driving her onto his cock while her hands flailed. In a moment, he reached down easily and slapped her, grunting “No teeth...” Lothar was on a low volume PA link, deliberately, so every sound carried, keeping the other captives distracted. In a moment, he let go and announced, “Do it yourself, then, but make sure I like it; if you ain’t goin’ deep enough, I’ll just choke ya with it and throat fuck ya while you’re unconscious.” Rendec smiled; Lothar was their chief interrogator — the combination of his imposing body and the offhand manner with which he dealt out threats that he invariably followed through on was an exercise in psych warfare in itself, but Lothar was an artist. Joy, now thoroughly cowed, was holding onto his tree-trunk thighs, working hard while he bent and reached down to grab big handfuls of her heavy tits. “Deeper, Slut,” Lothar grunted, squeezing a handful of the soft flesh; the witnesses saw the grip, heard the bubbling scream, and watched Joy’s shoulders hunch as she tried hard to drive him down her throat. Lothar looked up at his Captain, “They’re trainable, Sir.”

Joy had hit the ground, still burning from the flash at her crotch, only to lookup into the eyes of a giant black who was popping open something huge in the way of a fly to expose a cock ... Shocky as she was, that cock brought another — it was HUGE! She’d started to move, but he was there already, pinning her to the ground by dropping a knee over her forearm. Then there was a hand in her hair and that monster was in her face, its musk assaulting her nose. “Suck,” Lothar had ordered, “or I’ll kick your teeth in and THEN you’ll suck!” Joy didn’t think about it; fear was in control. Her mouth opened, and Lothar jammed it in. Both of his big hands went behind her head, and his thick cock went right into her throat, dragging Joy into a maelstrom of choking suffocation while he stood up, dragging her along by the simple expedient of holding her pinned to his crotch while he rose to his feet. Joy’s hands waved and she gurgled a scream around his invading shaft, but it came out as a moan. Lothar responded by jamming several full-length strokes into her heaving throat. Then came the slap, stunning her, and the admonishment to watch her teeth...

Joy had never sucked a cock; a couple of abortive efforts by her ex to get her to do it had ended the issue when she ranted and raved about it and ended the sex session. She liked her dick in her pussy and nowhere else, thank you very much; she liked being eaten, but only really got off while taking it deep, and Art hadn’t been gifted in that area. It had been one of the unspoken reasons for the divorce, not that she’d done any better on her own, sleeping around ... Now, she wished she hadn’t been such a bitch about it — the skill might save her life! When Lothar let up and announced she could carry on, she was fully committed to doing so, not because she was enjoying it, but more from the idea that she wanted to live ... She grasped his thighs and started to work on her own, running the thing to the gates of her throat, but unable to make passage on her own. Then Lothar’s grip on her left breast went from stimulating to agonizing. It provided her the impetus, though, to impale herself — she crushed herself to his crotch, gagging on his pole until he released her crushed breast.

Oddly, his verbal approval of her effort gave her pleasure...

Lothar switched off the commlink and murmured to her, “Now that we understand each other, we can get on with Cocksucking 101. You ever done this?”

“Go,” Joy gurgled, his cock garbling her speech. Lothar took it for the negation it was, and said, “Lick the underside; work on the bottom at the back of the head, in particular. Then go deep, so I feel your lips on the hair at the base. Lotsa lip, and lotsa suction, but keep the teeth out of it. Understand?”

“Uh huh,” Joy gurgled, weirdly happy that she was not being actively abused.

“Good. You swallow a load for warm-up, and we’ll move on to your other holes,” Lothar grunted. Joy started working diligently to get his cum; was it fear that drove her, or something else? She discovered that she didn’t want to know; best to just concentrate on doing a good job...