The Slave Project

Our space flight was just ending. In a few hours, we were scheduled to land at the Mars Research Station "Gamma." It was the third extraterrestrial research station – after the space station "Alpha" and the lunar station "Beta." There was also a fourth station – "Delta," intended to be a shipyard for all spacecraft, capsules, and other space structures. This was intended to reduce the costs of space exploration and space station operation, but its construction was still in progress. Gamma was built jointly by many countries and was the second station financed by the Global Space Finance Community. Among its ranks were countries such as the Union of European States, Russia, the USA, Japan, South Africa, and several other less important ones.

Gamma was the largest, most modern, and most self-sufficient space station. Of course, it didn't have everything, but hydrogen to power the cells, water, and air were obtained from the Martian ice by methods unknown to me. Food, in turn, was obtained from all the station's organic waste, supplemented with whatever Mars-derived food was available. It wasn't tasty, but in an emergency, it was enough to feed thirty people for a year. Usually, however, meals were made from food delivered by shuttles, along with other supplies necessary for the station.

The current station crew consisted of ten people: three staff members for security, nutrition, and comfort systems, and seven scientists conducting various research. It was for them that we were chosen in a plebiscite as "Comrades." There were seven of us, all ordinary women trained and sent to calm the men who had been living there for a year.

We were sent because tensions had supposedly arisen on the station between crew members, especially the scientists, who, after all, weren't cosmonauts accustomed to solitude, confined spaces, and lack of physical contact with loved ones or nature. Average (i.e., not astronauts) women were chosen in a plebiscite to alleviate these tensions with their ignorance, limited understanding of space, femininity, and naivety. We also received appropriate training in this area.

I was getting more and more excited about it all. I'd always wanted to see Earth from space; it was one of my dreams—the first one to come true. I also secretly dreamed of a handsome, charismatic man who would be a pleasure to be around.

Suddenly, an announcement came over the loudspeakers announcing the commencement of landing procedures. The shuttle began to decelerate, pressing me firmly into my seat, but not like during takeoff. The G-force stayed with me and the other flight participants for several seconds. That's how long it took to break through the atmosphere and slow down to landing speed. After a few moments, we taxied to the landing pad to dock and connect the airlocks: one for unloading cargo and one for passengers. I saw a male and a female crew begin unloading the shuttle – both tunnels were connected by a shared transparent wall. A moment later, I saw another man dressed in a spacesuit, exactly like mine (they were all the same, by the way). This meant the crew had been reduced to two.

Suddenly, the wall darkened, leaving only the artificial light overhead. A moment later, someone spoke to us from the invisible loudspeakers, a blunt voice.

"Ladies, you're here to facilitate the work of the scientists, so they and their whims are paramount. Consequently, you must obey them unconditionally, unless they act to the detriment of the station. Now, strip down to your underwear and, as you're called, you'll enter the lobby. Each scientist will choose one of you, after which, like them, you'll be marked with a tattoo on the palm of your hand. The mission will continue until further notice. Good luck.

" "Shove it somewhere, good luck," I thought, but despite myself, I started undressing. I don't know what was happening to me, but I couldn't control my body. They must have used one of those obedience-enforcing gases. Those nasty bastards! Within a minute, I was standing in my plain sports thong and a tight, skimpy top serving as a bra. I lined up fifth in the row and waited my turn to leave. They wanted to display us like merchandise for sale.

I was furious and bitter, yet at the same time, I felt utterly ashamed. If I could, I would kick something, or preferably someone, in the face. As soon as the opportunity arose, I would seize it. For now, however, my legs, instead of kicking, carried me to that damned hall. I stopped only when I reached the line of girls. From the next hidden speaker

, I heard my name, age, and those most chauvinistic of all female measurements – 89/59/90. They didn't even care about height, although any fool could see how tall someone was. Somehow, these "signs" didn't surprise me at all. From the moment I heard over the speaker that I had to strip for those lousy doctors, I knew it was all about sex – as always. Each of us had perfect or near-perfect shapes and sizes, each was pretty – very pretty, even – and none of us looked even remotely like the other.

But the time had come to choose, as we were all lined up, ready to submit to fate. From the group of men drooling like fourteen-year-olds, a handsome and composed scientist emerged. He had gray-streaked hair, was slim but not skinny, had focused blue eyes (which I'd be afraid to look into if I weren't so brazen), and possessed, in my opinion, the most desirable trait in a man—he was tall (about six feet). He approached us, began examining us, touching us, peering at us, exposing us. I told myself that if he tried to expose me too, he'd punch me in the face—he didn't; the gas worked well, but I turned so red with embarrassment that they laughed. It was humiliating and turned my anger into fear. He started "playing with me," slipping his hand down my panties, and I couldn't pretend he didn't feel a thing because his fingers were incredibly adept at it; even the gas couldn't stop all the reactions. He watched along with everyone else as I trembled with excitement, my face turning red and my pupils darting to the ceiling. Fortunately, some still had a shred of decency and turned away. He stopped only moments before climax, leaving me completely disoriented.

Then he dragged me to his side, and thus I became his plaything to whom he could do whatever he wanted. I was helpless, and he acted like a sadist and a pimp. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me like a rag to the tattoo machine.

"Give me your hand," I said obediently, but with disgust and despair in my soul. They were supposed to give me a number, like the Jew at Auschwitz 140 years ago. The man placed my hand in a special hole, where something immobilized my hand, and on the palm of my hand, under my thumb, the number N03 was tattooed. The gray-haired one—my master—pulled me back by my beautiful, long, curly, auburn hair. He threw me on the bed and began speaking. His voice was low and so damned calm that I began to doubt whether he was even human—or maybe an android?

"Listen, this is the transmitter that activates the micro-stun gun, which, like all of them, is implanted under your skin near your heart. That's where the barely visible scar under your breasts comes from. If I turn the stun gun on, you'll feel a momentary, sharp, splitting headache. When I turn it off, you'll feel the same. I don't recommend touching the trigger, because it will hurt so badly you'll surely faint. The device inside you can't be discharged, and the activator has a battery that lasts 1,000 hours." He paused, but he didn't see my reaction because there was none. The nerve-numbing gas was working flawlessly now. I couldn't show anything. But I was terrified beyond words; he was certainly capable of anything. He could torment me like a rat in a cage; I was his toy, a birthday present he could do anything with. Fortunately, he didn't feel like doing anything to me today; he just lay down next to me and cruelly played with my breasts.

"By the way, everything except the door is voice-controlled, so if you want something, just say it out loud." After he'd finished his words, he turned his back to me and went to sleep. The good news is that he didn't rape me today, but if not today, then tomorrow. With circumstances so favorable to him, it's unavoidable. He was a typical guy, he wouldn't let me off the hook. God, where have I ended up! I don't want him to rape me, I don't want to be afraid! Where have I ended up?! People, help!! I fell asleep with these very negative thoughts and a huge fear of losing my beloved virginity.

* * *

In the morning, I was woken by a terrible pain, throbbing and shooting. Fortunately, it didn't last long, so I got up and did some stretching exercises. I was still naked, and I didn't like it at all. I started looking for the closet. I walked around the entire room, but all I could see were pale blue metal walls. In fact, the apartment was just a wide, well-lit hallway, which turned left after about four meters from the entrance into a bedroom with only a bed. It took me a few moments to remember how the house was run.

"Wardrobe," I said, and the bedroom wall opened, revealing hangers displaying jumpsuits. I thought I wouldn't be tempted by the clothes, but unfortunately, although the clothes were a variety of colors (mostly bright), they were all identical in cut and incredibly sexy. It had elegant, flared legs, reminiscent of early 21st-century fashion, and long sleeves that hugged the shoulders all the way. The front slit, from the bottom of the stomach to the neck, covered by a high collar, fastened only to the breasts, leaving the rest of the slit creating an incredibly alluring cleavage, highly undesirable in my situation. I chose the pearly black one; it was the least revealing, but that didn't mean it wasn't revealing at all. Then I applied subtle makeup, put on my shoes (elegant and incredibly comfortable), and ate a hearty breakfast.

Finally, I sat down on the bed and began to think. Now I had some peace, but when he came, he would rape me. I was sure of it; he could do it so easily, especially with that device inside me. I had to do something to prevent it.

I couldn't rely on those who had placed me here. If they were deliberately violating human rights, they certainly wouldn't be backing down by helping me. None of the other residents would help me either; if someone wanted to, they would have done it right there in the hall. I could only count on myself. But what could I do? I couldn't do anything. This was probably my destiny; I clearly couldn't change it. Damn it.

Before

entering, he cut my will from my body. But he immediately changed his mind. When the pain disappeared, he opened the door. He entered the dark room, turned on the light, and looked around for me; he hadn't thought I might be behind him.

"Where are you?" he asked into space, and I, right behind him, replied mechanically.

"Here." He turned quickly. I could tell by his expression that he was expecting an attack, not a girl crouched, terrified, helpless against the wall. For a moment, he didn't know what to do, then his lips began to tremble slightly. I didn't know why, but this was definitely going to end badly for me.

He approached and offered his hand to help me up. I took his strong hand, and as I stood, he began to touch my hair and face with a gentleness and restraint I hadn't expected him to possess. Finally, after a long moment, he cautiously tried to kiss me. Despite my initial surprise and submission, I turned my head away. If this was some kind of trick, it certainly wouldn't work. However, he didn't get as angry as I thought he would, he just pulled away and went to the bedroom. He undressed in silence and lay on the bed. At first, I didn't know what to do, but since I had some freedom, why not take advantage of it?

I stood over him, casting a shadow over his face, and when he looked at me, I became flustered. I wanted to ask him a few questions, but none of them seemed intelligent enough. After a moment, however, I gathered myself and, crossing my arms, asked,

"Why did you put on that cheap show at my expense in the hall?

" "Because that's all women are good for, if they're good for anything at all. Most are vindictive bitches who need to be isolated at the very least.

" "You isolated your wife?" "He was wearing a wedding ring for a reason, after all." "Is she only good for procreation?" His expression instantly fell; I must have overdone it. He grabbed me by the throat and, with a malicious rage etched on his face, threw me onto the bed and began to violently undress me, saying, "Unlike you, I never raped her."

I defended myself, but he was much stronger. I screamed, but no one heard or wanted to hear, I cried, but no one cared. Finally, I gave up, lying limp, face turned to the side, crying. When he finally finished, I turned away from him, curled into a fetal position, my right thumb between my teeth to hold back a loud sob. I could hear his slightly quickened breathing and the silence, the emptiness that surrounded us and signified loneliness.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you treating me like an object?" I asked without turning around.

"Because you are. You were sent here to please us scientists in every possible way, which is tantamount to such treatment. Otherwise, I doubt you would have slept with me." He replied completely indifferently, increasing my feeling of utter depravity. I was furious at the world.

"I hope some prick thinks your wife is the same way you do me." He seethed again. He threw me off the bed, grabbed my hair, and, pulling it, forced me to run after his hand like a horse on a treadmill. After a moment as long as a grass snake, he let go, but only to have me slam into the wall with the momentum—the bruise on my forehead I'd inflicted was the size of a plum. Once I'd bounced off the obstacle and landed on the floor, he finally took control of my body. He ordered me to stand and stand in the corner with my back to the room, hands in the air.

"You'll stand like that until I get tired of looking at your shapely ass," he said. Fuck, I couldn't even close my eyes for more than a few seconds. It was humiliating.

"And by the way, that wasn't a dick.

"

I stood there for almost a day, and he indulged in everything his sick imagination dreamed up. My legs and back ached for five days, and my arms ached for a week.

For the next dozen or so weeks that passed after that day, I didn't start any more arguments; I decided it wasn't worth it. It was better to endure whatever he came up with, because at least then he wouldn't be so brutal and cruel. I also didn't ask questions; I didn't want to risk irritating him with some unfortunate interrogative sentence. All my enthusiasm for life, for exploring the world, vanished; I became like a vegetating plant. Life with him became more bearable this way, but what kind of life was that?

Today, another scientist came to see my tormentor, and so it came to pass that to avoid disturbing them, I had to go out into the hall. It was the first time I'd been able to leave his house, and I wasn't particularly happy about it; surely, he would make up for it in some way. The hall, unlike apartments, had naturally shaded areas. I sat in one of them to avoid being noticed (I had no intention of meeting anyone) and waited for him to call me back.

I began to think about my family back on Earth. If they found out what was happening to me, they'd probably boil with anger, and my dear father would probably fly here on a broomstick if necessary and beat that monster up so badly he'd have to undergo treatment for the rest of his life, especially for his neurosis. Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by three blonde slave girls. They stood so they couldn't see me, so I could hear them without revealing my presence.

"So? What new information did you learn from your doctor?" one of them began.

"What he was doing here not only resulted in conflicts and a drop in the scientists' productivity, but also in the beating of one of the cosmonauts. Apparently, he said in anger that he was running away from his ex-wife because she wanted to rip him off with alimony.

" He calmed down a bit after the introduction of the "Slave Program," but he's still often irritable. "I knew something about that.

" "My doctor told me he arrived at the station a few months after his wife's death." She was his assistant, apparently he loved her so much he wanted to hang himself! I wish someone loved me like that too." I almost burst out laughing.

"If it weren't for some friend of his who convinced him to continue his Mars research, the guy would have simply killed himself." "Somehow I wouldn't feel sorry for him.

" "And how did his wife die?

" "She was strangled by some jealous lesbian, and she was put in a hibernation for thirty years.

" "And his slave girl looks remarkably like her. I've seen screenshots from the New York Times." "In the 2020s, all civilized newspapers were already online. Only the third-world press was a bit different.

" "Apparently, he abuses her..."

I'd had enough of listening; I'd gotten bored, I wanted to go somewhere, and it wasn't going to do me any good anyway. I wanted to know what happened to his wife four months ago, not now. I was about to get up and leave, but just then the other doctor flew headfirst out of his apartment. He landed facedown on the ground, and he kicked him again, then said calmly, "If you want to lecture me, be prepared for the fact that I might not want to listen." Then he called me over.

I walked up to him straight, showing my contempt for their incompetent and delayed help. All the blondes, as it turned out, were staring at me, completely paralyzed with surprise. He seemed pleasantly surprised; instead of brutally and angrily shoving me into the apartment, he politely let me through. This must have made an impression and completely disconcerted the blondes; they probably thought I was broken, crying at night, and looking for ways to kill myself.

"I didn't expect you to act like this." I thought you'd take the opportunity and do something to increase their enthusiasm for helping you. And you've dampened it even more.

"I didn't think I would either. But I gained something else." I surprised him again. Now I waited to see what he would say.

"And what did you gain?

" "I learned your story and I know my connection to it." He reacted completely differently than usual. He turned around and suddenly fell silent. Only after a moment did he say in a trembling voice,

"Don't say anything more, I don't want to go back to this." He stood up, went into the bedroom, and sat in the corner by the bed. I, on the other hand, was completely taken aback, not knowing what to do. Finally, I decided to go to him; he was a human being after all (I wonder how long ago?). Without saying anything, as he asked (!!!), I sat down next to him. He was breathing heavily, as if he'd just escaped a murderer. I wrapped my arms around him from behind, expecting him to burst into tears, but he was strong enough to hold back. He turned away, simultaneously disentangling himself from my embrace.

"You're going back to Earth on the next shuttle." I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. But after a moment, I changed my mind.

"What's your name?

" "None of your business," he replied quietly, dismissing me insolently. But I didn't care; I could see he was struggling.

"What was her name?" I asked as subtly as I could.

"That too...

" "Bullshit, that's my business. Are you blind? I want to help you a little, and you stubborn ass keeps saying, 'None of your business.' I'm a woman, and despite your beliefs, you can not only fuck with me but also communicate on a friendly basis. Do you understand, or should I translate that into sign language for you?" I've seen many stupid faces in my life, but never one like that.

"What could you possibly know about suffering?

" "Thanks to you, quite a lot." It took him a moment to understand.

"I said I didn't want to go back to that.

" "What was her name?" I asked gently but firmly. I didn't know why I was so stubborn about helping him.

"Aleksandra, but to me she was always Niunia." "Although funny, she was still pretty.

" "What did she look like?" He slowly began to calm down, the depression fading, and acceptance of her death and those fond memories appeared.

"Short, slim, with short black hair, fair skin, and those warm, gentle eyes. She was beautiful, though imperfect. Looking at her, I could have endured medieval torture. She had a nerve-soothing voice and skin that smelled of forest. I loved falling asleep next to her, knowing that when I woke up, she'd be somewhere nearby..." "I think I'll like him after all..."

* * *

After returning home, without knowing why, I missed him. There was a certain emptiness in my life. I didn't reveal any details about my relationship with him. I talked about everything but him. I don't know why I hid how he behaved during that time. Maybe I wanted to spare my family and friends the stress? Or maybe I wanted to protect him from my father? Or maybe I wanted to keep it all to myself, as just my memories? Who knows...