Chapter 7: Colony Feeding
The afterglow from the gardens was a chemical illusion, a ghost in his veins that the transport pod stripped away. It left Logan—Omega—shivering on a bench of cool, seamless metal as the landscape outside blurred into streaks of violet and burnt orange. Zylara sat opposite him, her posture erect, data scrolling across a pane of light hovering above her wrist. Vixia stood near the viewscreen, her tendrils stirring with restless energy.
“The synthesis is stable,” Zylara stated, not looking at him. “Environmental integration successful. Phase Two requires social conditioning.”
Omega didn’t ask what that meant. His body answered for him. His chest, where the garden’s tentacles had triggered that impossible release, felt heavy, tender. A dull ache pulsed behind his nipples. He glanced down. They were darker, swollen, visible even through the thin, grey shift they had given him to wear.
The pod descended, and the world resolved into sharp, terrifying focus.
The Harvesting Fields stretched to a razor-straight horizon under the relentless glare of twin suns. The air, recycled inside the pod, had been sterile. Now, as the hatch hissed open, it hit him: ozone, sweet decay, and the hot, coppery scent of raw biomass. It was the smell of a vast, living machine.
Row upon row of bioluminescent vines pulsed in the soil, their faint light throbbing in time with a deep, subsonic hum that came from everywhere and nowhere. Between the rows, figures moved. Tall, purple, adorned with minimalist harnesses and tools. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. All futanari. All turning, as one, as the pod settled on a landing platform.
Their golden eyes fixed on him.
Omega’s knees buckled. Zylara’s hand shot out, cold and strong, clamping around his bicep. She held him upright. “You are a functioning asset now,” she said, her voice low in his ear. “You will not collapse. You will perform.”
She guided him down the ramp, Vixia following close behind. The humming was louder here, vibrating up through the soles of his feet. It was the sound of the harvesters, massive, insect-like machines that crawled slowly along distant rows, their articulated arms plucking swollen fruit with chilling precision. But the closer attention came from the workers.
They didn’t crowd him. They simply stopped their tasks and watched. Their expressions were unreadable, a blend of cold assessment and stark, unnerving hunger.
Zylara led him to a cleared circle of soil at the edge of a sprawling vine terrace. The ground here was soft, dark, and damp. “Kneel,” she commanded.
He knelt. The earth was warm. It yielded beneath his knees.
A chime echoed across the field, melodic and clear. At the signal, the watching figures began to move toward the circle. They formed a loose, silent ring around him. Up close, he saw the variations in their purple skin—some darker like Zylara, some with a bluish tint like Vixia, others etched with fine, silver scars. Their cocks, in various states of arousal, were all shades of violet and plum, all daunting in their size.
His own body betrayed him. A trickle of warm, blue-tinged milk leaked from his left nipple, staining the grey fabric. A collective, low sigh went through the ring of aliens.
“The asset’s mammary function is operational,” Zylara announced to the crowd, her voice carrying. “It will provide high-yield nutrient fluid. The specimen will also accept seed to catalyze production. You will harvest.”
A tall alien with a severe, sharp-featured face and a thick, heavy cock stepped forward first. She said nothing. She simply unfastened the front of Omega’s shift, exposing his chest. The twin suns felt obscenely hot on his sensitive skin.
She leaned down, and Omega flinched, expecting a touch. Instead, she took his right nipple into her mouth. Her lips were cool. Her suction was immediate, powerful, and utterly efficient. It wasn’t a lover’s kiss. It was the sealing of a valve.
A sharp, pulling sensation shot from his nipple deep into his core. It was pain and relief twisted into one. He cried out, his back arching involuntarily. The alien nursed, her throat working in steady swallows. The sound was loud in the quiet circle. The other aliens watched, their hands moving slowly over their own cocks.
After a minute, she switched to the left side, repeating the process. The pull was deeper this time, triggering a wave of dizziness. When she finally pulled away with a soft, wet pop, two thin streams of blue milk still dribbled from his nipples. She stood, her expression unchanged, and stepped back into the ring.
Another immediately took her place. This one was broader, her cock already fully erect, bobbing against her abdomen. She didn’t go for his chest. She gripped his hips, turned him roughly onto his hands and knees in the soft dirt, and without preamble, shoved her cock into his waiting, slicked hole.
Omega grunted, his arms shaking. He was still loose from the garden, but her girth was immense. She fucked him with a brutal, agricultural rhythm, each thrust driving his face toward the dirt. It was purely functional. There was no cruelty in it, no play. It was a transaction. His body was a socket for her release.
She came quickly, a hot, pulsing flood inside him. As she pulled out, another was already moving forward, her mouth latching onto his dripping nipple again. The cycle began. Suckling. Fucking. A constant, rotating extraction.
His world narrowed to sensations: the deep, draining pull on his breasts, the relentless stretch and burn of penetration, the wet heat of spend filling him only to leak out down his thighs as the next one took her turn. The milk flowed less freely now, each suck coaxing out a thinner, more desperate trickle. His own cock, hard and bobbing, ached untouched. He was a nexus of need, used only to drain others.
Through a haze of shame and overwhelmed sensation, he saw Zylara watching from the edge of the circle, her arms crossed, datapane still glowing. Vixia stood beside her, but she wasn’t watching the workers. She was watching Zylara. Then she looked at Omega, at his ignored, weeping cock, and something shifted in her playful gaze.
“This is inefficient,” Vixia said, her voice cutting through the grunts and wet sounds.
Zylara’s head turned slowly. “Explain.”
“Uni-directional harvesting depletes the asset’s emotional reserves too quickly. Observe the drop in fluid viscosity.” Vixia gestured at a worker who was pulling away from Omega’s chest with a dissatisfied frown. “His pleasure circuits are being ignored. That’s a waste of potential energy.”
Zylara considered this, her golden eyes flickering over Omega’s trembling form as another alien mounted him from behind. “You propose a reciprocal model?”
“A balanced exchange,” Vixia said, a sly smile touching her lips. “He needs to be plugged in, not just drained out.”
Before Zylara could answer, Vixia strode into the circle. She waved the next approaching worker back. “Yield your turn.”
The worker, a smaller female with a glistening cock, looked annoyed but withdrew without protest. Vixia knelt in the warm, trampled dirt in front of Omega’s face. He was being fucked doggedly by another from behind, his body jolting forward with each thrust.
“Look at you,” Vixia murmured, reaching out to tap his swollen, neglected cock. It jerked at her touch. “All this lovely tension, going to waste.” She then glanced over his shoulder at the alien currently using him. “Finish up. I’m recalibrating the asset.”
With a final, grinding push, the alien behind him climaxed and pulled out. Omega slumped forward, catching himself on his elbows, gasping. Vixia’s fingers curled under his chin, forcing his head up.
“You want to come, don’t you?” she asked, her tone conversational, almost kind. “It’s messy, all this need. Let’s fix it.”
She positioned herself over him, straddling his hips. With one hand, she guided the head of his cock to her entrance. She was dripping wet, her own arousal evident. “You’ll learn to enjoy feeding the colony,” she said, echoing Zylara’s earlier words, but there was a different promise in her eyes. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, devastating motion.
She was so tight, so hot, so deep. Omega cried out, a raw, broken sound. After being used as a passive receptacle, the sensation of being sheathed, of filling something, was overwhelmingly intense. This was different. This was connection.
“See?” Vixia breathed, beginning to move, rocking her hips in a slow, sinuous roll. “Feedback loop. I take from you, you take from me.” She leaned forward, her tendrils brushing his face, and took his sore, leaking nipple into her mouth.
It was too much. The dual sensation—the incredible, clenching heat around his cock and the deep, pulling suction on his breast—shattered the last of his resistance. He thrust upward into her, meeting her rhythm. He was no longer just being fucked; he was fucking. A ragged, participatory hunger took hold.
“That’s it,” she moaned around his nipple, releasing it with a pop. “Use me. Milk me. Fuck me.”
Her words were filthy, galvanizing. He grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into her smooth purple flesh, and drove into her harder. She rode him with passionate intensity, her own cock bouncing between them, leaking pre-come onto his stomach. The ring of watching aliens had gone completely still, silent except for the sound of their stroking hands.
Zylara watched, her analytical detachment gone. Her golden eyes were dark, fixed on the point where their bodies joined. Her hand had drifted to her own cock, still sheathed in her silks, gripping it through the fabric.
Omega felt the coil in his gut tighten, a precipice he hadn’t felt since before this nightmare began. “I’m… I’m gonna…” he gasped.
“Do it,” Vixia snarled, slamming down on him, her inner muscles clamping rhythmically. “Feed me. Give it to me.”
With a shout that tore from the deepest part of him, he came. It was a convulsive, blinding eruption, pumping into her in hot, pulsing waves. As he did, the sensation triggered another let-down. Streams of blue milk arched from his chest, spraying across Vixia’s torso and his own.
She threw her head back and came a second later, her cock jerking and spurting thick stripes of pearlescent cum across his stomach and chest, mixing with his milk. She collapsed against him, shuddering, her breath hot on his neck.
The field was silent but for their panting and the distant, mechanical hum of the harvesters.
Vixia finally lifted her head. She looked past Omega’s shoulder, her eyes meeting Zylara’s. There was a challenge there, and a sharp, triumphant curiosity. She slid off him, leaving him empty and spent in the dirt.
Zylara stared down at Omega. His body was a mapped of their use: smeared with alien spend, streaked with his own blue milk, trembling in the aftermath. The cold calculation had returned to her eyes, but it was heated now, focused by a new and disturbing variable.
“The reciprocal model shows a sixty-percent increase in fluid yield,” she stated, her voice taut. “And a significant spike in neural compliance.” She stepped into the circle, her shadow falling over him. “The asset is now viable for extended, high-stress harvest.”
She didn’t touch him. She simply turned to the waiting, aroused ring of workers. “Continue,” she commanded.
But as the next alien moved forward, Omega’s eyes, hazy with exhaustion and a terrible, dawning understanding, locked on Zylara. He saw her hand, still gripped around the outline of her own hard cock through her silks. He saw the faint, almost imperceptible tighten of her jaw.
The harvest resumed. But the equation had changed.
But the equation had changed.
Zylara’s order hung in the air, but the next worker didn’t move. All eyes were on Vixia, who still knelt in the dirt, her own breath coming in heavy draws. She wiped a streak of Omega’s milk from her chin, studying it. Then she looked at him, really looked, as if seeing a flawed equation she could finally solve.
“He’s still soft,” Vixia said, not to the crowd, but to Zylara. Her voice was low, charged. “Inside. Human. All this,” she gestured at his spent, leaking form, “is just surface compliance. The garden pollinated his flesh. The field harvests his juice. But the core is still… him.”
Zylara’s gaze was a physical weight. “The core is irrelevant if the output is sufficient.”
“Is it?” Vixia pushed herself up. She walked a slow circle around Omega, who knelt shivering in the dirt. “You felt the neural spike when he was an active participant. Not just a vessel. A source. Imagine that output, but constant. Not from a human trying to cope, but from one of us. From one who wants it.”
A cold dread, sharper than any physical violation, seeped into Omega’s bones. He tried to speak, but his throat was raw, his voice a whisper. “What?”
Vixia ignored him, stopping before Zylara. “The Synthesis is stable. The blueprint is integrated. We can accelerate it. Not just in function, but in form.” Her playful curiosity was gone, replaced by a zealous, terrifying certainty. “Let me rewrite him. At the substrate level.”
Zylara was silent for a long moment. The hum of the harvesters filled the space. Her golden eyes flicked from Vixia’s eager face to Omega’s terrified one. She saw the yield data hovering in her mind, the potential for a perfect, pliable resource. She saw the spark, the troublesome variable of his remaining self.
“Do it,” Zylara said, the words final as a coffin nail.
Vixia’s smile was radiant. She turned and strode back to the transport pod. Omega tried to scramble back, but two workers stepped from the ring, their hands clamping on his shoulders, pinning him in the soft earth. He struggled, a pathetic, weak thrashing. “No, please, don’t—”
Vixia returned holding a device. It was organic in shape, a bulb of obsidian glass with throbbing, violet veins of light inside. Tendrils of slick, black metal extended from it, writhing like the roots of a malignant plant. It pulsed with a deep, subsonic thrum that echoed in his teeth.
“This will feel like everything,” Vixia whispered, kneeling before him. The workers forced him onto his back, his spine pressed into the damp soil. “It will feel like coming home.”
She placed the cold, glass bulb over his sternum. The tendrils snaked out, moving with a sentient hunger. They found his nipples, his navel, the base of his cock. They burrowed into his flesh with a wet, popping sound. There was no sharp pain, only a profound, invasive pressure, as if his body was being unzipped.
“Initiate,” Vixia said.
The bulb ignited. Violet light, too bright to look at, flooded through him. It wasn’t light he saw, but light he felt, boiling in his veins, cooking his bones from the inside out. His back arched violently, tearing a silent scream from his throat.
Change ripped through him.
It started in his pelvis. A deep, grinding ache as his bones shifted, widened. His cock, already sensitized, throbbed with a new, electric urgency. Then it began to swell, not with arousal, but with growth. The skin darkened, taking on a deep, bruised purple hue. Veins, thick and prominent, rose along its length as it thickened, lengthened, transforming into a mirror image of the cocks that had fucked him.
He could only watch, paralyzed by the energy coursing through him, as his own humanity was carved away and replaced. His testacles drew up tight, then disappeared inside him with a sickening internal slide. A new, slit-like opening formed beneath the base of his new, alien cock. A wet, hot emptiness yawned open there.
The transformation crawled up his torso. His pectoral muscles swelled, not with fat, but with dense, glandular tissue. The ache in his nipples exploded into a sweet, deep-fire as they darkened, enlarged, becoming perfect purple buds. The organs inside him rearranged, a sensation of liquid motion and solidifying new structures that made him gag.
The workers holding him down released him, stepping back. He convulsed on the ground, his body remaking itself under the cruel violet light. His skin prickled everywhere, then smoothed, his human pigment leaching away to be replaced by the same smooth, uniform lavender as Vixia’s. Even his hair was not spared; he felt it retract, the strands melting and reforming into fine, living tendrils that whispered against his neck.
The device clattered to the ground, its light dying. The process was complete.
Omega tried to breathe. The air felt different in his new lungs. He pushed himself up on shaking arms, his hands coming into view. They were slender, elegant, and a perfect, unbroken purple. He looked down.
A thick, purple cock, identical to those of his captors, hung heavy between his thighs. His chest was broad, marked with the familiar, swollen nipples ready to lactate. The evidence of his old self was gone, erased. He ran a trembling hand over his face. The structure felt sharper, higher.
Vixia loomed over him, her eyes wide with rapturous fascination. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around his new cock. It was his own nerve endings firing, but the sensation was alien, overwhelming in its intensity.
“Look at you,” she breathed, stroking him to full, aching hardness with a few firm pulls. “Fucking perfect.”
He was. He was one of them. The horror was absolute, but a new, invasive current ran beneath it. As she stroked, a jolt of raw, undeniable pleasure shot from his cock into his gut. It was cleaner, sharper than anything he’d ever felt as a human. A moan, low and unfamiliar, escaped his new lips.
Zylara approached. Her cold calculation was gone, replaced by something hotter, more intense. She looked at him not as a specimen, but as a creation. A peer. Her own cock was fully erect, jutting from the slit in her silks.
“The transformation requires calibration,” Zylara said, her voice husky. She wasn’t talking to Vixia. She was talking to him. “The new systems need a stress test.”
Vixia released him, grinning. “The harvest is over. This is for us.”
Zylara gestured, and the ring of workers dissipated, returning to their vines, their curiosity satisfied. They were alone in the clearing now, the three of them. Zylara closed the distance, her powerful body casting a shadow over him where he knelt in the dirt, cradling his new, foreign form.
She placed a hand on his head, her fingers tangling in his new, tendril-like hair. “You are Omega Prime now. The first of your kind.” Her thumb stroked his cheek. “Show me your function.”
She guided his face toward her cock. The musky, alien scent of her filled his new senses. Without thought, without the resistance of a human mind, his lips parted. He took her into his mouth. The taste was familiar, a flavor he’d known only from being filled by it. Now he understood its source.
He serviced her with an instinctive, hungry precision, his new tongue exploring her ridges and contours. The feedback was immediate. As he pleased her, a deep, fulfilling warmth bloomed in his own transformed core. Pleasure was no longer a reactive thing. It was a circuit, closing.
Vixia watched for a moment, her hand stroking her own length. Then she moved behind him. He felt the slick head of her cock press against his new entrance, the one that had formed beneath his own shaft. There was no preparation, no gentleness. She sheathed herself inside him in one relentless thrust.
The sensation tore a shocked, guttural cry from around Zylara’s cock. It was fullness, completion, a socket finding its plug. Vixia fucked him with hard, driving strokes, each one jolting him forward on Zylara’s length. He was between them, a conduit.
Vixia’s hand snaked around his hip, her fingers finding his new, sensitive nipples. She pinched and rolled them. Fireworks of sensation exploded behind his eyes. A gush of warm, blue milk sprayed from his chest, splattering the dark soil beneath him. The feeling of release was oceanic.
“Yes,” Zylara hissed, her hips pistoning into his mouth. “The yield is already extraordinary.”
Omega’s world dissolved into a feedback loop of sensation. The suck and pull of his mouth on Zylara. The deep, grinding penetration from Vixia. The exquisite torture on his nipples. His own huge, purple cock ached, dripping pre-come in a steady stream. He was a machine of pleasure, designed for this, craving it.
Vixia’s pace became frenzied. “I’m close, oh fuck, his new channel is so tight—”
Zylara came first. With a sharp groan, she pulsed thick, hot release down Omega’s throat. He swallowed instinctively, the act triggering another cascade of pleasure through his own system. As she throbbed in his mouth, Vixia slammed into him one final time, her body locking against his.
Vixia’s orgasm filled him, a hot flood that seemed to light up every new nerve ending. The dual sensations, taking and receiving, pushed him over his own edge.
His own cock erupted without a single touch, jerking violently as it painted the ground with stripes of alien come. His body convulsed between them, milk spraying from his chest in synchronized pulses with the spurts from his cock. The orgasm was a supernova, wiping his mind clean of everything except the perfect, horrifying ecstasy of his new form.
When it was over, they withdrew. He slumped forward onto the dirt, spent, panting, transformed. His body hummed with a foreign vitality. The shame was a distant ghost, a memory belonging to a dead man.
Zylara straightened her silks, looking down at him with possessive satisfaction. Vixia stretched, a contented smile on her face.
“Calibration successful,” Zylara said. She kicked the now-dormant transformation device. “Scrap the old model. We start fresh.” She looked toward the skeletal processing towers, their glass gleaming. “He’s ready for the real work.”
Omega Prime pushed himself up onto his new hands. He looked at his reflection in a nearby puddle of viscous fluid. A stranger with purple skin, golden eyes, and a satisfied, empty gaze looked back. He felt Zylara’s cum inside his stomach. He felt Vixia’s leak from his new opening. He felt his own milk trickle down his chest.
He felt perfect.