Birds of a Feather

Birds of a Feather: Chapter 1

By Theodoric of York and Wardall Clark

Warning: NO PORTION of this work may be REPRODUCED FOR SALE for any purpose. DC Comics retains full copyright to Superman, Wonder woman and the other characters mentioned here and John Norman retains full copyright to the planet and society of Gor. Birds of a Feather contains explicit sex and violence**, including scenes of rape and torture. This story is not for anyone under the age of consent** in their jurisdiction to read such sexually explicit material. Authors Notes: This is the conclusion of an ongoing series melding John Norman's World of Gor with DC Comics heroes and heroines. At the end of Chapter Seven is a thorough glossary of terms, places and recurring characters. If you find yourself completely baffled by Gorean customs, terms, or politics you should try reading the series in order: (1) A Cat and a Fiddle [by Theodoric of York], (1a) The Cat and the Shackles. (1b) Under the Shadow of the Bat (2) Diana and the Ubar (3) The Princess and the Mercenary [all by Wardall Clark.] In these earlier works Catwoman, Batgirl, Supergirl, Wonder Woman, and Wonder Girl fall prey to Kurri interplanetary slavers. Selina Kyle escaped to become a legendary Gorean outlaw until Batman came to Gor to re-enslave her. Barbara Gordon wound up as Scully, the abject slave of Mulkar, an agent of the Priest Kings. Kara Zor-El endured years of traumatizing captivity before Batman and Selina freed her. Princess Diana escaped from degrading slavery to a power-mad Ubar only to be recaptured and brought to the Sardar where her memories were altered in a failed effort to make her a docile slave. She escaped by killing her lover/jailor and was at large when Birds of a Feather began. Troia wound up in the hands of the Ubar from whom Diana escaped and was tortured for her sister's crimes.

Chapter One: IN THE LAND OF THE FREE

He examined the crate, which did not look at all special. Yet he had been waiting impatiently for this shipment for many weeks now. He had gladly paid the exorbitant commission his business associate had demanded once he had learned the crate's contents could be purchased. Now he could not wait to try out his newest possession.

Barely containing his excitement, he broke open the crate and looked inside. He was initially disappointed; inside was simply another box. Then he smiled. This one was designed for carrying animals. He reached in and opened the latch that held the barred door shut. It opened with ease and he looked inside. There she was, curled up in the far side of the container. She was staring at him with frightened, wondering eyes. She made no effort to hide her charms. That was a good sign, to say the least.

He snapped his fingers and pointed at his feet. Knowing the man's eyes were upon her, she began to sinuously stretch out her form so that he could study it and enjoy her training. She almost oozed out of the crates and lay down at his feet. She gently stretched her head forward to kiss both his feet. He felt her soft, hot lips press themselves against his skin. She licked and nibbled at his toes. She looked up at him with hope and shocked recognition mingled in her expression. He could also see urgent sexual need in her skin and body language. He could smell it, too. She must have been confined in those crates for a long time.

He growled, "Position!" and she immediately slid into a kneeling position, her hands on her thighs, her knees splayed wide. Her face was turned downwards in a display of subservience. She had a very good figure and so he didn't mind that her face gave away her present age. She would never look any older than this and that would make her possession all the sweeter. He reached down and fingered her nose ring. It looked good on her.

He looped his glowing yellow cord around her unadorned throat and leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her expression changed rapidly from fearful puzzlement to bewilderment to anticipation and curiosity. In those moments she forgot all the martial arts training her serviceman father had insisted she learn. She forgot how to use a telephone or computer, in fact she forgot how to read and write altogether. She even forgot that slavery had not been legally enforceable in the country of her birth for over a century. His pet was now even deeper in her new master's power, and yet he would remember exactly who she had been and how far she had fallen. It was delicious.

Then he turned and walked out of the room. She did not dare break position until she told to do so by a master. While she waited, she wondered whether this wealthy and prominent man was her new owner. The man was radiating so much power and authority he practically glowed with it as brightly as the light reflecting off his bare skin. She could fully be a slave to this man. She began to juice just thinking about the possibilities of having such a master.

She almost swooned when she saw him returning. He was carrying a collar. She read the words upon it and stretched her neck out so that he would have no trouble closing the iron ring around her throat. She shuddered when she heard the click. She could not help herself; her emotions pushed her over the edge into a small orgasm.

Next she heard another click as he fastened a leash to the collar. He said, curtly, "Come along, pet, I haven't got all day." She started to rise to her feet, but he growled, "On all fours, like the animal you are!" She slid to her hands and knees and started to follow proudly alongside him. He glanced briefly at her to admire the way she was shaking her ass and dangling breasts as she high-crawled with an almost feline grace. He had to admit that his pet showed great promise. It would be a true pleasure to own her body and soul.

She felt the plush carpet being crushed underneath her palms and knees as she accompanied this magnificent master down the hallways and chambers. She was moving with a naturally sensuous grace, which she had thought she would never achieve only a few months before. Her heart pounded with excitement.

At last, he led her into a large, spacious room, which was quite Spartan for a man of such wealth as he. But in the middle of the room was a huge bed, with silken sheets. She was under no illusion that she would be allowed to sleep on that magnificent piece of furniture. She would no doubt have to earn the right even to crawl onto the bed to service her Master's desires. Then her jaw dropped in disbelief as she was ordered onto the bed.

With a motion only months of training as a pleasure slave could perfect, the collared woman practically slithered onto the bed. Then she rolled onto her back and cupped her breasts, offering them for the pleasure of a master. Her thighs were flung wide so that she was totally exposed to him.

Yet the robed man remained stone-faced. He commanded, "On your hands and knees, slut, but take your time. My eyes have not yet gotten their fill of my slave's movements." Her heart leapt in joy. He was her master! Her Master found her pleasing to His eyes! That thought alone made her ready to be penetrated and used for his pleasure. She flexed every muscle provocatively as she rolled to her hands and knees with a carefully practiced motion. Next she stretched and wiggled after he indicated that he wanted her facing away from him.

She looked over her shoulder with lust-filled eyes at her Master as he opened his robe and exposed his rampant cock. She squealed with delight when he slid himself into her hot, moist pussy with one quick thrust. In and out, in and out, he worked himself deeper and deeper into her tunnel. Her entire body quivered and bucked with pleasure as she moved to accommodate his sex and increase her Master's pleasure.

But then just as quickly he pulled himself out of her. She wanted to cry out in frustration and loss but she had learned, as every slave learns eventually, that her will meant nothing next to that of her Master. She was fully conditioned to give nothing but complete obedience, so she concentrated her thoughts on how to best please this overwhelming new master.

He traced his cock up her butt cheeks until it pressed against rear hole. She quivered, partly in fear, partly in eager anticipation of what was to come. With his fingers he pulled the butt cheeks open and pushed himself in. She felt her sphincter stretch wide to accommodate him. Then she felt her anal passage stretch as it was filled with her Master's pole. Slowly he started to pump, with each thrust pushing his thick sex deeper into his fuck toy. She stretched and squeezed to increase the pleasure of her Master's thrusts. Soon she felt his balls against her ass cheeks yet he continued to ram himself into her yielding body. Her nose ring swing forward with each thrust, only to swing back. Her Master began crying out in triumph and calling her filthy names.

She found herself caught between equal parts exquisite pain and pleasure as she felt herself losing control. She was coming in small waves already and she could feel a tremendous slave orgasm coming on. In her growing erotic daze she continued staring directly ahead out the grand window. The lights of the towers silhouetted against the sunset was breathtaking beautiful, but it was not familiar to her anymore. She had found and adapted to a very different way of life. Urged on by the demands of her body, she began to entreat her master to allow her to yield to him. He consented and her world exploded inside her mind and body.

Just months ago such a scene, she screaming in orgasmic submission as this man reamed her asshole, had seemed impossible to her. But at that time she had been a naive free woman who still took freedom for granted. In every part of her being, the slave girl on the bed now knew better.

Several months earlier

Mouse curled up within her blanket, feeling miserable. Before she could move to suppress it, she sneezed. Perhaps she had gotten another infection from her nose ring. It was one of the few possessions she had left. Nobody thought it valuable enough to take it away from her. She stared at a large sesame seed muffin that was serving as her birthday cake. She had lifted it from a grocery store earlier that day.

She winced in pain. The beating she had received from her boyfriend when she had refused to turn tricks for him still hurt. His hateful words were also still fresh in her mind. He didn't understand at all.

She pulled out her deck of Pokemon cards--her most prized possession, even though her boyfriend had sold all the valuable cards weeks before. He had even thrown away these cards, but Mouse had retrieved them from the garbage without him knowing it. She had had them for years, even before she had gone to high school. For a long while she had used binders to carry the cards, each in its own protective plastic pocket. She had never played the game much. She just wanted to own the cards.

Even when the fad had ended and the other youths derided and teased her because of her passion for the show, she held onto them. As a child, the cartoon show had been an escape from Mouse's home life. She could dream about going about a safe, beautiful countryside with Ash, Misty, and Brook. She even wrote stories of the adventures they took. Those stories were gone now, as were her illusions of just what it was like on the road. The last three years had been hell, with Mouse being beaten, raped, and cheated.

Now her dreams had changed. No longer did she dream of wanting a Pokemon. She dreamed of being a Pokemon. She could hide in a little pokeball, safe and sound and only come out when her master needed or wanted her. She would have other Pokemon friends and no worries or troubles. Those would be the sole concern of her master.

Mouse was not Melissa Suzuki's real name. Her Daddy had given her the nickname, because he said that she was little and as cute as a mouse. She remembered him fondly, but her Daddy had been dead for years now. Even so, the nickname still stuck. For a while, she had been called Pikachu, mostly because she had the image of the cute Pokemon creature on the upper curve of her right breast. But the new nickname did not stay long, mostly because she got tired of guys, and some girls, pointing at her breast and shouting, "I choose you, Pikachu!" That got old quickly. Creeps still did it, but not so often once she went back to her old nickname. She looked down at her cards as she spread them around the muffin. There was no Pikachu, though. She did not need that card. Her Pikachu was now part of her forever and ever. She whispered, "I guess you are the only friends I got left. How do you like my birthday party? You probably do not realize it, but today I am a woman. I am eighteen years old. Next time I get arrested I can be charged as an adult. Happy Birthday to me. Happy crappy birthday to me."

Over the last three years there had been a few run-ins with the law. After all, she had survived mostly by being a petty thief. She was not a half-bad pickpocket by now. She had also spent some time in detention already. Yet as of now, she could look forward to feeling the full weight of the law when next she got caught.

Suddenly that looked as if it was going to happen sooner rather than later. She heard a door open and voices coming from outside the warehouse. Fearing guards, Mouse quickly blew out the candle and curled up in her blanket, attempting to be as inconspicuous in her hiding place as possible. She waited and watched.

Two figures entered carrying flashlights, cameras and other recording devices. The first to enter was Lois Lane Kent, star reporter of the Daily Planet newspaper. The other was Morgan Croft, staff photographer of the same newspaper. The latter was a last minute replacement for Jimmy Olsen, who had suddenly been called away on another assignment.

Morgan was a tall, extremely leggy brunette, with a face and figure out of an adolescent's wet dream. She was dressed like a Hooters' poster. Her full, gravity-defying breasts and ass were straining against the fabric of her brief garments. Lois hated her for it. Morgan Croft was always striking a pose, always flirting with the male employees. There were a lot of stories about Morgan and it was certain that she had broken up at least two marriages.

The former model flirted constantly with Clark. She had even suggested that if Clark ever got tired of Lois that he should give her a call. Morgan claimed that she was joking, but Lois knew that Morgan was quite serious. The sexy photographer had her eye on Clark and wanted him for another notch on her bedpost. It was not as if Lois was worried: thus far Clark had showed little interest in the slut.

That disinterest made Clark an even greater prize for Morgan. She was extremely competitive about everything. Her entire life was a competition. That was why modeling did not work out. There had been just too much standing around. She decided that the real action was on the other side of the camera. Even now, she was striking a pose, even though to Morgan's knowledge her only audience was Lois Lane. She wanted to convey to Lois that someday the younger more attractive woman would take Clark away and there was not a damn thing Lois could do about it.

Lois had to admit Morgan made a damn fine photographer. When Morgan set her mind on something she stuck with it with an iron will until she mastered it. She had gotten through college on an athletic scholarship and she had let it be known that she would be trying out for the upcoming Olympic trials with every intention of qualifying and winning a gold medal in running.

Morgan smirked as she snidely inquired "What are we doing here, Lois? It had better be good. I had a hot date tonight." She did have a hot date this night--She had one almost every night--but Lois was onto a big story and she wanted to be in on it. Morgan's instincts told her that Pulitzer Prize material might be involved. That award could really make her career. It could also bring to fruition her desire to corrupt that perpetual good boy, Clark Kent. She would have him, and then leave Kent a broken man and Lois a bitter divorcée. Life was deliciously sinful for those who lacking morals or scruples, the group which included Morgan Croft. When Lois just looked at her, her expression icy, Morgan prompted, "Come on, honey. Give me a hint." "If you must know; it's slavery," Lois snapped. Morgan paused for a moment, thinking. Then she said, "White slavery? Isn't that a teensy bit mundane for the great Lois Lane?" Lois replied, "Morgan, have you ever heard of Gor?" Morgan thought for a second**. "Gor? That is the stuff of stories and overactive imaginations. Goreans among us are like the Men in Black., nothing but myth." She paused for a moment, and then her tone was sharper.** "If you have dragged me out here on a wild goose chase, Lois, then you are going to owe me big-time." Lois smiled back and said, "Just find a good hiding place and do not stop taking pictures. You know what Goreans do with trashy sluts like you." Morgan smiled back and answered, "The same thing as they do with high and mighty sluts like you." Morgan then asked sarcastically, "I thought that Goreans loaded their captives on flying saucers, in the open, not in abandoned warehouses. What is going to happen? Is the space ship going to land in here? I hope there is enough room." "My sources indicate the captives are going to be loaded here." Lois snapped back. Morgan asked reasonably, "So why don't the authorities stop them or something?" Lois smiled sarcastically, and took the tone of an adult addressing a child. "The authorities don't know about it. If they did, then we would not be here. They would hush it up, like they always do."

Morgan immediately decided to take Lois' warning seriously. On the off-chance what Lois was saying was true, being captured and enslaved by aliens on another planet would put a real crimp in her career plans. She did not plan to spend the next centuries being a pleasure slave for some crass Gorean master.

"Even so, this might prove a real opportunity." Morgan mused "If there is some way I can expose Lois to these Goreans without being exposed myself I might be able to kill two birds with one stone. The story would be mine for the taking and Lois would be irrevocably removed from interfering with my plans for Clark."

According to the stories, if women were transported to Gor their fate was sealed. They were as good as dead as far as Earth authorities were concerned and not even Superman could do anything about it. Of course, Morgan would have loved being present to see Lois Lane being converted into a pleasure slave, but she knew what was practical and what was not. Morgan decided she would have to be content with her imagination for that scenario. Instead, she found herself a good hiding place.

After a while Morgan's level of anticipation began to wane and time seemed to wear on. Cold was beginning to seep into her joints. She began to curse Lois for being incompetent and their assignment for being a waste of a perfectly good Friday night.

Suddenly the lights went on and a huge door opened. Large men walked into the warehouse and started to direct a container truck backing into the building. They spoke a language that none of the three women watching them understood. Lois started to take notes; Morgan began to snap photographs furiously. Mouse just crouched in her blanket and snuck peeks around a pile of boxes. She recognized that this was something more important than just security guards looking for transients sleeping in the warehouse.

One of the men opened the container on the back of the truck. They started to unload a series of glass-like cylinders, each the right size to easily hold an adult human being. Soon afterwards, other vehicles started to arrive. Inside each of the vehicles would be one or more large men and one or two scared young women. Some struggled, others went passively. It did not matter; each shared the same fate.

Each young woman was stripped and placed into a cylinder, her weeping pleas ignored by the several much larger men overpowering her. The cylinder would fill with mist. After a short time the panicked girl inside the cylinder would stop struggling. The cylinder would then be loaded onto the truck.

The women were of every creed and color, but they all had delicate regular features, youthful complexions, and sweet bosoms. While only a few were outstandingly beautiful girls, each was quite attractive in both face and figure. While none of them were especially tall, the slavers seemed to have a predilection for girls with well-shaped legs. "Had she been fifteen years younger, Lois would have fit in well with this group," Morgan observed. "Only one of those girls has a figure like mine. " A man, who appeared to be the leader, started looking around the warehouse. He shouted in accented English, "Lois, we know you are out there. Come out; come out wherever you are!"

Lois touched the button on her watch that signaled Superman and noted to her horror that the dial failed to flash in acknowledgement of her signal. Icy cold water seemed to be running in Lois' veins as she realized that she had failed to arrange for other backup beyond telling her editor what the story was about and arranging for a photographer to be assigned to her tonight. She knelt further down in her hiding place, her arms and shoulders shaking in extreme fear. Morgan began to stealthily sneak toward a back exit she had spotted. Mouse was just relieved that the man had not called her name. She wondered who Lois was.

The man again cried out, "By hiding, Lois, you are just making it harder on yourself. I will give you to a count of ten to come out. If you do not surrender yourself by then, you will be whipped for disobedience." The man noticed a flash of movement among the boxes and crates. He shouted to his men to grab her. Finding herself spotted, Morgan was off like a shot, running the race of her life. She gave the men a merry chase, darting among the seemly random passageways. She would see a male appear in front of her and would turn and race down another aisle or jump through a gap in the crates and boxes. When she realized that she was not making progress toward an exit she cried out, "Lois, save me!"

Lois wanted to do something. She really did. Even though Morgan Croft was a conniving bitch who might deserve such a fate, Lois would have rescued her if she could. Yet it was better to keep quiet, and hold out until Superman arrived. Superman always arrived to save her, didn't he?

All too soon, Morgan was cornered. She made one last leaping attempt to pass though the men but the vice-like hands of one of them closed on her arm. In matter of a few seconds she was face down, her wrists tied behind her and linked to her crossed and tied ankles. Had she not been there, the tall, athletic photographer would not have believed any single man could be capable of so easily controlling and subduing a struggling, full-grown woman of Morgan's size and strength.

She was carried up to the leader and held on her knees in front of him by a hand on her shoulder and another in her hair. She looked up at towering Gorean male's stern face and suddenly felt completely overmatched and intimidated. She lowered her gaze from his face to his beltline. She saw the bulge of a growing erection. Weeping, she begged, "Please!" unsure what she meant by that word.

The male pulled a knife from his belt and leaned over the bound photographer. He sliced the cords binding her hands and feet and coldly ordered her to strip. Morgan immediately grabbed the hem of her tee shirt. Her breasts swung and bounced as she pulled the shirt over them. Those firm melons bounced and jiggled more as she slid the shorts and panties off her legs. As she reached to untie her running shoes he cautioned her not to rise from the floor.

When she finished Morgan looked up at this magnificent specimen of a male, completely nude and at his mercy, She realized then that if she ever wore clothes again, it would be at the discretion of men like this one. For all her mockery to Lois, Morgan had eagerly devoured all the novels and web stories about Counter-earth. She knew that she faced a Gorean master and all that that entailed.

Thus she did not resist when he bent down and retied her hands, this time in front of her. The big Gorean leader grabbed her elbows and pulled the tall brunette to a standing position. He spun her around arrogantly and bent her at the waist with a hand on the back of her neck.

Lois could not help but notice that Morgan's body seemed to be pointing directly at her. The leader removed something about four inches long from his belt; she couldn't tell what it was from her position. Grasping his captive's ponytail he forced her to arch her back with her head looking forward. Then he shoved the thumb-thick goad all the way into her bottom. Morgan's eyes went big as saucers. She grunted in pain and her eyes teared up in her fear of what was in store for her. Lois could not miss the look of frightened helplessness on the photographer's lovely face. As Morgan began to whimper and weep in her distress, Lois almost felt sorry for her.

Then the Gorean began to play with his prey. Holding Morgan steady with one big hand on her waist he started to toy with her nipples with the other. He did not rush, and he was very thorough. He knew that a passion goad in her rectum would quickly break down this slut's resistance.

After a short time, she started to pant. Her body had become covered with the sweet of her fear and tension as she tried desperately not to feel pleasure at his touch. When slid his other hand from her side to her pussy, the photographer's face took on the look of a trapped animal. She started breathing quick, small breaths as she attempted unsuccessfully to control the passions building up inside her. He recognized the signs and moved on to the next stage of her first slave rape.

When at last she felt his cock head pressing against her cunt lips, Morgan Croft braced herself to be mounted. She placed her bound hands on one of her knees and positioned herself so that he would have easier access to her needful, juicing cunt. She was doing this on instinct; under the effects of his hands and the slaver's training device, the naturally sluttish woman was beyond thinking about resisting.

On a primal level the athlete/photographer recognized that for the first time in her life she would be used the way nature intended her body to be used. She was feeling that this was what she was made for. By the time the masterful Gorean slaver was ready to slide his pulsing rod into her pussy, Morgan no longer thought of herself as an independent being with plans and ambitions. She was merely a woman badly in need of fucking, a tool to be used as a dominant man deemed best. She moaned in relief and further need.

As he slid back out of her passage the Gorean leader announced, "Now where was I? Oh yes. I was going to count to ten. If you are not out by then, Lois, I guarantee things will be much worse for you. He called out, "ONE!" and thrust into Morgan to the balls. Her jaw dropped and her eyes grew wider. The thing in her rectum made her feel tight as a virgin; his big sex stretched her slick pussy almost painfully. Yet the sensation emanating from her twin passages included intense pleasure as well. Overwhelmed, Morgan could only shudder at the combination. The male waited for a moment. He let her adjust to his girth then pulled out to so that only his tip made contact with her pussy. He called, "TWO!" Again he thrust in and out of Morgan, this time slipping one of his fingers inside her as well. When his thumb stroked her clitoris Morgan whimpered and then cried out her pleasure at being so arrogantly used. Lois, who was beginning to perspire herself, thought, "Well Morgan it looks like you got that hot date you wanted after all." The leader worked very slowly out of the helpless photographer a few times before counting "THREE" and shoving himself back inside fast and deep. Driven by the overwhelming sensations coming from her lower body, and her mind's feeling of being a fuck toy in the hands of her captor, Morgan found herself spreading her thighs wider and thrusting her pussy back to better accommodate her lover. He repeated the process, working in slowly several times and then back out just as slowly before surging in on the count of "FOUR" so roughly that it sounded like Morgan was being spanked as well as fucked. Lois was flushed and feeling completely uncomfortable. She had tried in the past to watch a few X-rated movies with clinical interest, but even then she had felt discomforted. Lois found herself slipping out of the suit jacket she was wearing. By the time the slaver called out "FIVE," Lois had already begun to unbutton her blouse to get relief from the heat. Morgan was wailing and gasping, and begging for her dominator to keep up a rhythm so she could climax. That just brought chuckles and an assurance that she would come when he wanted her to and not before. When the count reached "SIX" Morgan's thoughts were completely in the Gorean's erotic control. She found that she could concentrate on nothing but the thick, hard, pulsing member impaling her again and again. She had been fucked by many men (and even a few women,) yet nothing had prepared her for this. If the male had not been holding her she would have fallen to the floor like a rag doll. The man, who clearly knew just how to use a woman, was making the act of fucking her into a lesson in his control over his newest slave. By the count of "SEVEN" Lois found her hand sliding up between her thighs. She was playing with herself for relief; the sight of Morgan's ravishment was forcing its way into Lois Lane's own psyche. The love scenes in R-rated movies usually stimulated her libido, more so than the crass 'adult' films. This was having the same effect as a love scene only it was totally explicit and it was going on and on. In Lois's imagination, she was the one with a big hard cock inside her while strong fingers gripped and squeezed her clit. By "EIGHT!" drool began to seep out of Morgan's slack jawed mouth. Between 'SIX!' and 'SEVEN!' the Gorean had established a steady rhythm of three deep slow strokes followed by a thrust with all the force of his hips and legs that seemed to split her guts. All the while he had been playing with her tits with one hand and gripping her pussy with the other. Now he had three fingers curled inside her to tickle her G-spot and further tighten the fit of her gushing cunt. She wanted very much to come, but the Gorean was skillfully keeping her on the brink. The big man next leaned over Morgan's back. The hand that had been playing with her tits locked itself over her mouth and pinched her nose shut. His other hand grabbed the brunettes bound wrists and pressed them tightly against her crotch. He picked up his pace, jarring her body with his harsh use. Needing air, yet lost in the sensations from her bottom and cunt, Morgan developed a dazed look, like that of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, by the time the Gorean rapist called out "NINE!." On "TEN!," he let her breathe again. Morgan's body began to convulse in great shuddering spasms as she was engulfed in a mind-blowing orgasm on the schedule her sexual master had forced upon her. The Gorean let the climaxing woman buck and writhe until she finished. Then he let go and allowed her to slide off his still-erect penis. The photographer's spent and dazed body fell to the concrete. He smiled and said, "Look, Lois, it is your turn now."

Lois looked at that enormous rod still pointing at her. She realized that very soon it would quite probably also be buried in her. She could only hope that her dignity held up better under its onslaught than her colleague's. No matter what else Lois thought about her, Morgan Croft had been a strong, self-confident woman, used to dealing with and using men on her own terms. It was disconcerting to see such a woman dominated so completely. The Gorean had brought Morgan to heat and then contemptuously used her like an object or animal rather than a person. Lois started to re-dress, straightening herself as best she could. She wanted her last moments as a free woman to be as dignified as possible.

The male fell to one knee and asked, "Where is she, my pet?" Morgan meekly raised her arm and pointed in the general direction of where she last believed Lois had been situated. She did not do this out of malice or triumph; such emotions meant nothing to her in her condition. She was temporarily too deep in awed erotic daze for such thoughts. She was just following orders from someone that she could not conceive of disobeying, Lois crawled out of her hiding place. She stood up and walked toward the man, with all the pride in herself and contempt for them that she could muster. When she stood just a couple of feet away from him, he said, "Good, you are learning. Yet do not think I am going to go easy on you. You did wait beyond the count of ten to reveal yourself. You must learn to obey your masters promptly, kajira." In response to being called a slave girl in the Gorean language, Lois spit in the leader's face. Immediately, her body went flying back from the force of his blow, even though he only used the palm of his hand. He looked down at her bruised, defiant face. Blood was trickling down from her mouth and nose. He said, "Good, you have spirit. There is much more pleasure in breaking a spirited slave." Suddenly Lois realized that they were being filmed. One man had a video camera; another was taking still photos. Her resolve hardened. She looked up at him in fury and spat out a dare. "Give it your best shot, Big Man."

He was on her in an instant; for a man his size he had surprising speed. Despite her initial surprise the former Army brat scratched, fought and cursed a blue streak while she was stripped, bound, and finally gagged. She put up a remarkably good fight, but there was never any doubt how the contest would end. Even when she lay nude, bound and at his mercy, she continued to glare at him in defiance.

Smarting from her scratches and bites, the slave taker decided that he would take special joy in breaking this bitch down and leaving her shamed and humiliated. He started working on her body. He began with her feet for there was no need to hurry as he had with the long-legged slut. There were still a few lovelies to be delivered to the warehouse. From centuries of experience he knew that with stubborn ones like this one it could take longer to break down her defenses. To make her capitulation more humiliating for her he decided not to use any artificial aids. He had already spotted the residue of moisture on her pussy lips.

After a few minutes of teasing her legs, buttocks, and inner thighs, he began working on her breasts. They were round and firm, with nipples that jutted out as if now begging to be touched. He allowed his fingers to brush their tips. She gasped. Her breasts had grown sensitive and her hardening nipples rose in defiance of Lois's own resistance, in defiance of her beliefs and understanding of her body. She let out a gasp as his fingers proceeded to possessively handle her nipples and areolas. Even so, she renewed her struggle at the same time, attempting to pull free of his grasp. It did her no good; she was tied up tightly and held in place with his other arm and legs.

White sparks of pleasure shot from her breasts to her brain. She tried to ignore them but that was increasingly difficult especially when he lowered his lips and tongue to her nipples. Her right nipple was engulfed within his hot breath. Then she felt his teeth take hold of it and nibble at it with incredible gentleness. As he kissed and sucked at the nipple his free hand started to explore the rest of her body. Gradually at first, her body was defying Lois' efforts to ignore his possessive touch. Soon it was leaping to his hands to continue that touch. She started to moan as he switched his attention to her other nipple. On and on, he continued this gentle assault on her increasingly enflamed orbs. At some point Lois slipped from suppressing pleas that he would stop, to suppressing encouragement that he continue.

Then suddenly she gasped in frustration and disappointment as his lips moved their attentions elsewhere. Surprised by her reaction, she began to shudder as he moved his mouth down her chest and belly. She had resigned herself to being raped, but not to this sort of assault. She was truly only now beginning to understand the nature of Gorean men, particularly, their desire to own the minds and souls of the women they bought and sold. She cried out in delight and thrust her hips up his mouth as his lips, teeth, and tongue introduced themselves to her clit, nether lips, and cunt. She started to whimper as she felt his tongue exploring the inner sanctum of her cunt. It was the only way to suppress the moans of raw pleasure welling up inside her.

When, after a seeming eternity to Lois, he was satisfied with the flow of love oil flowing out of her channel, it was a simple matter for him to position the meekly resisting woman on her back. Her thighs resisted feebly as he pulled them apart; He could see that any resistance was pretence for the sake of her pride. She was too far-gone in her lust to fight his penetration of her now yearning wet pussy. She looked at him with pleading eyes as he pressed his head of his cock against her cunt. She wantonly whimpered when it slid into her.

He started pumping into her, using slow strokes but going as deep as he could get each time. Her widely splayed legs jerked back with every stroke. Her body slide along the floor with the impacts as he picked up speed to bring her body and emotions to a crescendo of need. He could see that she was gritting her teeth against the sensation of a hard cock sawing back and forth against her clit.

She climaxed quickly, without prior warning to him. He felt her pussy walls suddenly tighten down on him and that provoked the climax he had been holding back. It was all caught on film, including the tears of frustration rolling down her cheeks and his roar of triumph as he forced his sperm into her womb.

Even so, he wasn't completely satisfied with the slave's use. When he pulled out of the spent woman he was angry. It was the first time this night he had showed an emotion besides amusement. "Prepare her to be whipped," he ordered. "Sir?" asked one of his men. "The last of the girls have been loaded and we are ready to go. We have been here too long. Agents of the Priest Kings might be here quite soon. There is no reason to delay!" "She defied me and she will pay!" he cried. To receive the whip, Lois was stretched out tight against a packing crate between two men. They grew ever more nervous as her body jerked each time the whip struck her. They held her in place for twenty strokes, not understanding why they were taking such precious time for a slave they would never see again. Of course Lois knew and the leader knew. She was being whipped for the simple reason that the both of them knew that his had not been the greatest fucking that she had ever received. Afterwards they dragged her over to a storage tube. As they were lowering her body into the tube, the leader noticed a gleam of gold and gems on her finger. As she felt her wedding ring slide off her finger Lois snapped out of her pain-induced stupor. She looked up at him with panic, crying "Please don't take that? It is a family heirloom." He merely laughed and answered that even a common, ordinary looking ring like this one would be far too valuable to grace a piece of cheap slave meat like the former Lois Lane.

As the mists that swarmed around her began to place her into stasis, Lois was devastated. She felt she had betrayed Clark in two ways: First she had been forced to climax at the hands of another man. Second she had allowed Clark's mother's wedding ring to fall into the hands of others. Even if he rescued her, that ring would probably be lost forever. No doubt Clark would forgive her, but forever more he would remember this night whenever he looked at her hand.

It was with a strong degree of satisfaction that the leader watched the tube holding Lois packed in the container. The look of anguish on her face when he had removed her wedding ring was priceless. Taking the ring had truly devastated her, far more than the fucking or the whipping had done. Good, emotional trauma made it easier to make slaves out of earth girls.

Suddenly he heard something unexpected. It sounded like a sneeze. He looked at his men. The looks on their faces indicated that they had heard it also. They were already scanning the area from which the sneeze had come.

A few minutes later the tractor-trailer pulled out of the warehouse. Under a tarp were over sixty objects stacked like cord word. Three of the objects had recently gone by the names of Lois Lane, Morgan Croft, and Melissa (Mouse) Suzuki. It had been a good night's work, all in all.