Chapter 2: The Slick Corridor Drag
The shame was a cold, tight stone in Kristen’s gut. She lay on her side, her back to Emma, the warmth of the silver fluid replaced by a clammy chill. The memory of what they’d just done—the sloppy, frantic coupling on the floor—played behind her eyes. She could still feel the clench of Emma’s cunt around her fingers, taste her on her tongue. It made her sick. It made her throb.
A soft sniffle came from behind her. Emma was crying again, the sound small and broken.
“We didn’t… we didn’t want to,” Kristen whispered, the words sounding hollow even to her. “They made us.”
“It felt… I wanted it,” Emma choked out, the confession a miserable exhale. “Even though I was scared. I wanted you to fuck me.”
Kristen had no answer. She’d wanted it too. More than anything she’d ever wanted. That was the terrifying part.
The wall across from them shivered without a sound. A circular section dissolved, irising open into a corridor that pulsed with a deep, violet light. The hum shifted, became a resonant thrum that vibrated in their bones.
Two figures entered. They were taller than R’hllor, with carapaces of polished black chitin, movements jerky and precise. Their faces were smooth plates, dominated by large, dark, multifaceted eyes. In their upper limbs, they held long, slender poles tipped with glowing blue rings.
“No,” Kristen breathed, scrambling to her feet. Emma shrieked, trying to cover herself with her arms.
The handlers moved with unsettling speed. The poles lashed out. The humming loops snapped through the air, and before Kristen could duck, one settled around her neck. It didn’t touch her skin—a cage of blue energy hovered a millimeter from her throat. The moment it sealed, a jolt went through her, not pain, but a profound muscular paralysis. She couldn’t move her head.
Emma’s cry was cut off as a second loop cinched around her neck.
The poles retracted, yanking.
Kristen’s feet flew out from under her. She landed hard on her back, the breath knocked out of her. The organic floor was warm and slightly tacky. She was dragged, her naked skin scraping against the slick surface, helpless as a fish on a line. Next to her, Emma was sobbing, her body a pale, twisting blur in the throbbing light.
The corridor was a living tunnel. The walls were ribbed and glossy, veined with pulsating strands of purple and magenta light. The air grew thicker, carrying a scent like copper and ripe fruit. It coiled in Kristen’s lungs, dizzying. She kicked, her heels finding no purchase. All she could see was the arched ceiling flowing past, the indifferent backs of their captors, and Emma’s terrified, streaming face.
The journey ended abruptly. They were hauled into a larger space—a hold of some kind. The ceiling was lost in shadow, but all around, set into the walls, were cages. Their bars were made of the same glowing, blue energy as the poles.
With a flick, the handlers released the loops. The paralysis vanished, replaced by the ache of bruises. Kristen and Emma were shoved forward. The energy barrier of an empty cage flickered off for a second, and they tumbled inside. It reactivated with a soft thrum, sealing them in.
The cage was five feet square. The floor was the same warm, resilient material. In one corner, a shallow trough held a mound of dull grey paste. Two bowls of clear, crystalline liquid sat beside it.
The handlers clicked to each other, a sound like stones tapping, then turned and left.
For a long time, the women just huddled together in the center of the cage, shaking. The other cages held other… pairs. In one, two creatures with fine blue fur and long tails were curled together, motionless. In another, scaled beings with too many eyes stared blankly into the hold. Directly opposite, something with moist, tentacular limbs was wrapped tightly around a smaller, avian-looking creature. None made a sound. All just watched.
Hunger eventually overcame nausea. The paste had no smell. Kristen scooped some up. It was cool, bland, the texture of thick oatmeal. She ate. Emma followed suit, eating with her fingers, the crystal water washing it down. It was tasteless, but as it hit her stomach, a different warmth spread, not from her core, but from behind her eyes. A soothing, blurring warmth. The sharp edges of her fear began to soften, to melt together. The question “Where are we?” became just a fuzzy impression of confusion. The memory of her apartment blurred at the edges.
She looked at Emma. Emma was staring back, her blue eyes wide and soft, less afraid now, just… open. Her hand rested on her own thigh.
Kristen’s hand moved without her conscious command. It settled over Emma’s, their fingers tangling. The contact sent a spark through the fog in her mind. A good spark. A needed spark.
Emma shifted closer, their shoulders touching. Her other hand came up, her fingertips tracing the line of freckles on Kristen’s arm. The touch was electric. The aphrodisiac wasn’t a raging fire now; it was a deep, smoldering coal, stoked by the mind-dulling paste, by the eerie silence of the watching menagerie, by their sheer, shared aloneness.
“Kristen,” Emma murmured, her voice slurred and sweet. She leaned in, nuzzling the juncture of Kristen’s neck and shoulder. Her breath was hot. “Feel empty.”
The words were simple. Kristen understood them perfectly. Her own need was a hollow ache between her legs. She turned, her hand coming up to cup Emma’s cheek, her thumb brushing over a full, parted lip. Emma’s tongue darted out, licking the pad of her thumb. The sensation went straight to Kristen’s cunt.
“Gonna fill you,” Kristen heard herself say. The sentence felt strange in her mouth, the grammar clumsy, but the meaning was pure. It wasn’t a question.
Emma moaned, a low, surrendering sound. She fell back onto the soft floor, legs spreading, an invitation as old as time. Her pale skin was bathed in the cage’s blue glow and the violet pulse from the corridor. Her smooth, hairless pussy glistened, already wet.
Kristen loomed over her, the dominant angle feeling instinctively right. She didn’t kiss her. She stared down at the offering, at the flushed, swollen lips, at the tiny, hard clit begging for attention. She spat into her own palm, a crude, wet sound, and slicked her fingers.
“Watch,” she growled, her voice lower than before.
Emma’s eyes, heavy-lidded, focused between her own legs. Kristen positioned two fingers at her entrance, pressing firmly against the resistance. Then she pushed inside, a slow, inexorable invasion.
“Fuck,” Emma whined, her head falling back. “Yes… so full.”
Kristen fucked her with a steady, deep rhythm, her fingers curling, searching. She found the rough, textured spot inside and rubbed over it with blunt pressure.
Emma shattered. Her body bucked, a thin cry tearing from her throat as her cunt clenched in rapid, fluttering spasms around Kristen’s fingers. “More! Need… need more!”
Kristen’s own need was a violent storm. She withdrew her soaking fingers. She shifted down, throwing Emma’s legs over her shoulders, and buried her face in her cunt.
The taste was overpowering—musky, sweet, utterly Emma. Kristen ate her like a starving animal, her tongue driving deep, then flattening against her clit, sucking hard. She used her nose, her chin, everything. Emma’s screams were continuous now, a rising chant of “yes, yes, there, please!” Her hands clawed at Kristen’s auburn hair, holding her face tight against her.
Kristen could feel another orgasm building in Emma’s trembling thighs. She redoubled her efforts, lapping and sucking until Emma broke again, her voice cracking on a wordless shriek, her juices flooding Kristen’s mouth.
As Emma convulsed, Kristen crawled up her body. Their mouths met in a wet, messy kiss, Emma tasting herself on Kristen’s lips. Kristen’s hand slid between her own legs. She was dripping, aching. She rubbed her clit in frantic, rough circles, her hips stuttering against her own hand as she watched the ruined, blissful expression on Emma’s face.
“Come for me,” Emma slurred, her eyes dark. “Want to see.”
The command, from the submissive, from the one who was taken, sent Kristen over the edge. Her orgasm ripped through her with silent, seismic force, her body locking, her back arching, a strangled gasp hissing through her teeth as pleasure, white-hot and brutal, obliterated the last clinging shreds of her past.
They collapsed together, limbs entangled, skin slick with sweat and sex. The paste and the aphrodisiac and the afterglow wove a dense, comforting fog in their minds. Words were hard. Thoughts were slower.
Across the hold, the tentacled being tightened its grip on its partner. The blue-furred creatures watched, unblinking.
Emma nuzzled into Kristen’s neck, a contented sigh ghosting over her skin. “Mine,” she whispered, the word a possession, a prayer.
Kristen held her closer, her hand possessively splayed on the small of Emma’s back. The meaning was clear, even if the complex language to express it was fading.
Hers.
The cage hummed. The ship pulsed onward. The regression deepened, sinking its roots into the fertile soil of their rewritten needs.