Hostage Brides of the Overlords: Part 3: (Futuristic Sci Fi Erotica) Read online

  Hostage Brides of the Overlords: Part 3

  (Futuristic Sci Fi Erotica)

  Jill Soffalot

  Copyright 2014 Jill Soffalot

  Wild Charm Publishing Amazon Edition

  Cover Design Sam Butters

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Mister Able Jones sat behind his desk. The desk was supposed to look large, like the wide top of a CEO's desk, but to Clara it looked ridiculous. The desk was sized for Jones, who stood only four feet tall. He looked middle-aged, with grey, receding hair and wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes. His big head looked strange on top of his little body. He was both physically unattractive, and unappealing of character. In her brief experience with him, Clara had found him arrogant and dismissive, and totally unwilling to display even a hint of compassion toward someone in crisis.

  And she was in crisis. All the women in the institution were, and the men too, if there were any. Clara hadn't seen them, but she suspected they were around somewhere. All of them had been kidnapped through time, pulled into an ugly future to provide breeders: genetic material to try and right the course of an increasingly divergent human species.

  Clara sat back in her chair, facing Able Jones from across his broad but low table. She allowed herself to feel a little smug, but she didn't let it show. It was her intention, if she could, to seduce this man. After all, he was the one holding the keys to this proverbial prison.

  Able Jones leaned back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap. He looked unhappy, and wanted to make sure that Clara could tell.

  "So, Clara, how would you feel you're fitting in so far?" he said. There was a snide, sarcastic edge to his voice.

  She smiled brightly. "Wonderfully," she said. "I'm really enjoying getting fucked night after night by giant half-human monsters. I especially enjoy getting gang fucked by ten-foot-tall cavemen who I've never even seen before. Really, it's every math major's dream come true."

  He sneered. "Yes, that's wonderful," he said. "You'll have to forgive me if I was not clear about the necessity of your role here, and the unfortunate necessity of some of our methods. I can certainly understand the discomfort you might experience when you're engaging in reproductive activities with your chosen partners. They are, after all, much larger than normal humans." He allowed himself a smile. "And yes, your caveman metaphor is occasionally very apt."

  She rolled her eyes.

  "Nonetheless," he said, remembering the rant he was about to assault her with, "your role here is necessary. I understand all the cultural implications of what you're going through, and the personal ramifications. I understand what has been taken from you, but I assure you that you are now taking part in something greater than yourself."

  "Sure, you can say that," she replied, "but who knows how my life might have played out if you had left me where I was? I could have been part of something greater there too."

  Able's eyes flashed angrily and he almost started out of his chair, ready to shout, but he caught himself and sat back down. "Actually," he said in a voice that was angry but restrained, "I know exactly how your life would have played out. And although you may have experienced some pleasant times, I assure you that the long-term implications of your time upon the Earth would be eventually confined to a very limited circle of descendants who would eventually be wiped out when giant alien spaceships arrived with an extermination program for our global citizenry. So if you want to look big picture about your new home here, I'm skipping you ahead of some very bad things, and placing you at the front of a hopeful new beginning for mankind."

  "Maybe," she said. "It's just a shame I'm being kept and treated like a farm animal."

  He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "We do our best under difficult circumstances to make you comfortable, Clara," he said. "I understand it is not ideal. I understand that it must be difficult for you being here, inside all the time, instead of outdoors, running and playing in the fields and on the beaches. You enjoyed the outdoors, didn't you? I regret to say that I did not have the same opportunity in my youth to run and play under clear blue skies. I had to worry about ash clouds and the toxicity of the atmosphere. These are not easy times we live in. And you are not helping anyone by sabotaging our mission here."

  She shook her head. "Sabotaging the mission? What are you talking about?"

  "We're well aware of the nonsense you've been engaged in recently," he said. "I suppose you expect us to believe you have no idea how women get pregnant, is that it?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," she said coldly.

  "You've been brought here to propagate the species, young lady," he said. "We're not asking you to have sex with those big apes because we think they deserve a nice time with a girl. We need you to get pregnant. We need a new generation that doesn't continue down the path of sub-human, half-witted trolls. We need you to give humankind a new generation of strong but intelligent children. And that's not going to happen if you only engage in oral intercourse with those men."

  Clara raised an eyebrow. "And... how did you know that's what's been going on?"

  "Oh, please," he snapped. "Did you think we would just put you in a room and hope everything would take its course? We monitor everything. We see you in there. Things went fine for a while. You submitted. You let them fuck you. You like to use crude language like that, don't you? Fuck. But suddenly, you don't fuck anymore, Clara. Why is that?"

  A strange smile crept over Clara's face. She'd always been a good person; smart, moral, helpful, and obedient. She'd never seen the use of rebellion for its own sake. It seemed counterproductive. All the same, she always felt a fascination with rebels, the bad ones, the high school girls who were always being dragged to the office. She always thought on some level that they must come from broken homes, difficult backgrounds, suffer from undiagnosed mental issues, something like that. She never really considered that some people might just get off on seeing the angry look on the face of a really obnoxious authority figure.

  "Oh, I see," she said. "You've been watching me, Mr. Jones. I didn't know that. You should have told me. I would have smiled for the camera."

  "Don't be absurd."

  "Are you the one who watches, Mr. Jones? Or is it someone on the staff? Do you watch me fuck? Do you like it?" She enjoyed watching as his face grew red with anger. "Does it excite you to see me taking those huge cocks, Mr. Jones? You must have seen it. You know, I never imagined that I could handle a cock as big as the ones the big men have, but I can. I just wonder if you were watching all those times that I took the really big ones, letting them stretch my pussy out. And I wonder if it excited you, on a strictly professional level, of course, that I was able to take those huge cocks in my little pussy."

  "You are being ridiculous," he said in a grating voice.

  "I guess I am," she said. "But I still wonder if you ever got excited watching me fuck. Did your cock ever get hard watching me fuck, Mr. Jones? Did you ever wish it was you there fucking me?"

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "I'm not interested in pursuing this line of discussion, Clara," he said venomously. "What I need you to tell me is why you have suddenly decided that you don't want to faithfully participate in the program anymore."

  She smiled. "You mean why I've started sucking their cocks?" Again, she felt the thrill of intentionally pissing Jones off. "I don't know," she said. "I guess the big guys all just love how I suck cock. And when I suck their co
cks, they can't stop themselves from coming." She turned her head to the side and gave him a teasing, open-mouthed smile. "Have you ever have your cock sucked, Mister Jones?"

  "You're here to be a mother, Clara. I would suggest that you don't need to act like a whore."

  "I was a mathematics student, Mister Jones," she said. "You're the one who turned me into a whore. Now answer the question. Have you ever had your cock sucked?"

  She could see him swallow. His mouth was getting dry, and maybe he was feeling nervous. She loved how uncomfortable she was making him feel. It was sweet revenge for how her life had been stolen from her, destroyed.

  "Maybe you haven't," she said. "Did it make you curious to see me sucking all those cocks? Did you wonder what it felt like?"

  "I'm an administrator, Clara," he said. "I'm not concerned with such things. It's my responsibility to make sure things are getting done. Right now you are deliberately trying to avoid getting pregnant. And I need you to get with the program."

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I think I've become addicted to sucking cock."

  "Very well," he said. "You're stubborn. Just remember, Clara, that you don't need to be awake to have the big men fuck you."

  Clara looked at him sharply. "You fucking pimp," she said. "You would, wouldn't you? Drug me, put me in one of those room, and put a gang of those apes in there to fuck me. They'd tear me up like a fucking rag doll, and you could watch the whole thing through your little spy cameras. Would that get you off? Would you jerk off watching them fuck me?"

  He smiled. "Why do you have to talk so crudely, Clara?"

  This had gone off the rails. Clara had wanted to meet Jones so she could get answers from him, learn something about this ridiculous world where she now lived. If she had to, she would have seduced him. She would have sucked his cock, given her body over to him in exchange for knowledge, or perhaps some hope for a better situation. Such an exchange would have been unthinkable to her previously, but what she said was true: they were transforming her into a whore. Her body was the only thing she had of value. It was the only thing she had to trade.

  "Okay. I'll stop misbehaving," she said. "But I want something."

  "And what is it that you want, Clara?"

  "Answers."

  He nodded. "Very well. Ask."

  "Where is this place? Physically, where is it located? Why aren't there any windows? Why aren't we allowed to go outside?"

  He sat silently for a moment, rocking slightly in his chair. "You can't go outside because the air would kill you," he began. "There are no windows because we're underground."

  "Monday said that he worked all day planting trees."

  "Monday," he said, scoffing. "You won't be seeing Mister Monday again, I can assure you of that. But yes, he and his burly compatriots spend their days on the surface wearing protective equipment, planting seedlings which are nurtured here in plant nurseries. This complex is quite vast."

  "Why are they planting trees?"

  He shook his head, like he was explaining something to a stump. "The atmosphere is poisoned. Our only hope for survival is cleaning the air up. Unfortunately, a little something called interstellar war resulted in the majority of the world's forests being burned up. We're planting trees so that they can grow and absorb some of the carbon dioxide choking the atmosphere. Meanwhile, half the bloody planet is still on fire. Many of the bigs are busy every day trying to put out fires, which isn't easy, because water isn't often close at hand. We're trying to salvage a burned planet, Clara, and we need a next generation of people who can survive the harsh conditions on the surface, but who aren't simpering idiots. We need you, Clara. We need you to stop giving out blowjobs and get pregnant."

  She sat in silence, processing what she'd been told.

  "What did you think?" he asked her. "That we were just doing all this for fun and laughter? Times are tough and the cost of survival is high. We survived alien invasion." He clapped his hands. "Good, hooray for us. Unfortunately it was a scorched earth victory. As near as I can figure, we got the aliens to give up by making the planet worthless to them. Hooray for humanity!"

  Clara looked down. "I didn't think it could get any worse," she said softly.

  "I'm not sure it could, Clara," he said. "But it can certainly get better. For now, mankind will survive in these tunnels. We have plentiful geothermic energy, supplying heat and therefore electricity. It is unlimited. With that, we are able to grow food hydroponically. We filter and recycle air and water. We are largely self-sufficient, but we can't do this forever. And we need to generate viable children. Do you get my point, Clara? Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

  She nodded sadly.

  "Good," he said. "Please, take tonight off. Rest. Collect your thoughts. I would much prefer you to approach your role here with a sense of hope, duty, and teamwork. Let's keep our discussion between us, all right? We'll talk again soon, I'm sure." He gestured toward the door.

  She stood and took one step. "Are there men?" she asked.

  He looked up. "Pardon me?"

  "Are there men?" she repeated. "Like me. Regular men. From the past. To get the big women pregnant. Or the little women. And are there some women who are getting pregnant by the little men?"

  Mister Able Jones smiled coldly. "I think we've covered enough ground for today, Clara."

  She nodded and went to the door. "One last thing," she said. "If I... if I just don't work out, is there any possibility of being sent back to where I came from?"

  "You'll work out, Clara. No need to worry."

  "But I--"

  "You'll be fine, Clara. Everything is fine. Please relax tonight. We'll talk again soon."

  She opened the door. There was an orderly, one of the littles, waiting to lead her back to her own section in what she now understood to be an enormously vast underground system.

  ***

  Clara arrived in the cafeteria in the late afternoon. She walked by the serving counter and picked up a tray, but passed by the servers without requesting any of the food that was being served. It all seemed different now, knowing that all of this food was being produced far underground. How was it possible? An underground greenhouse, growing some hydroponic tomatoes was believable, but how much space would be needed to grow all the food necessary to feed all these people, day after day?

  Suddenly Clara realised her role in this whole affair was small. Very, very small.

  She accepted a piece of toast from the server and took a cup of the hot, dark brown liquid they were served with their meals. The mystery of this brown liquid was now less mysterious. Of course they would not be able to duplicate the equatorial forests and mountainsides where real coffee beans and tea trees grew in a subterranean environment. So they had devised a substitute that looked like coffee or tea, was slightly bitter tasting, and delivered a measured portion of caffeine in each cup. How delightful.

  Everything here was fake, a pale imitation of the life Clara had known in sunny California.

  She took her tray, with her toast (was it even toast? could you grow a field of wheat underground?) and her drink, and walked toward the tables, trying to absorb it all, extrapolate the implications of what she'd learned.

  "Clara!"

  She looked up. There was her friend Gretchen, sitting at a table with two other women. In a trance-like state, she wandered toward them and sat down.

  "Hey, what's wrong, girl?" Gretchen said. "You look sick. Are you sick?"

  Clara looked up at her friend, the tough '50s New Yorker. Gretchen wouldn't have taken any shit from Able Jones. She would have kicked his ass. But what good would that have done? She would still be living in a cave underneath a burned world.

  "I'm okay," she said. "I was just talking with Able Jones."

  "No shit," Gretchen said, flipping her black hair out of her eyes. "What did that asshole have to say?"

  "He told me that the world is all burned, the air is toxic, and we're underground. That's why there are no windows. We're
underground."

  "Shit." Gretchen turned to the other two women. "Just like you were saying."

  Clara looked up at the two. She hadn't seen them before.

  "Hello," said one of them. "I'm Regina." She looked Persian, but spoke with a London accent. "This is Heineka."

  "Hallo," said the other woman.

  Clara looked back and forth between them. "Who are you guys? What were you talking about?"

  "They've been out of the section," Gretchen said.

  "We've been on tour," Heineka said in a German accent. "Seeing all the sights."

  Regina giggled. "Yeah. Wow, amazing."

  "What are you guys talking about?"

  Gretchen grabbed Clara's hand. "Everything you were wondering about," she whispered to her friend, "they know all the answers."

  They laid it all out. They were both breeders, just like Clara and Gretchen and the others. They'd been impregnated by the bigs and had immediately been whisked off to the other department, where the pregnant women were kept. There, Regina had seduced one of the littles, a male orderly who drank on duty and was willing to accept a blowjob in exchange for sharing some secrets.

  Apparently the relationship progressed. Regina had brought Heineka in on the situation, and soon the two pregnant normals were having three-ways with the drunk little. He, in return, was opening locked doors, talking, telling them everything they wanted to know and more.

  "All the littles drink," Regina told Clara with a grin. "They're all miserable, self-hating little fuckers, and they all love a good piss-up. You'd never know it though, right? They're bloody sneaky."

  "That's not all," Gretchen said. "He sneaks them out. And there are men. Normal men."

  Clara's eyes went wide. "I knew it! Where? How?"

  "This whole place is divided into sections," Regina said. "It goes on forever. The men are just in another section. They don't want the men and women meeting, because they know we'll fuck and have normal babies. They don't want that though, because they don't want a new generation of normals. They just want bigs that aren't so fucking stupid."