Hostage Brides of the Overlords: Part 1: (Futuristic Sci Fi Erotica)

by Jill Soffalot

  Even though she could now walk, she was directed to sit in a wheelchair. She had no possessions to take along with her, only the plain, powder blue gown that she'd worn since arriving. She was then wheeled down long corridors. The little men went here and there, clipboards in hand, or pushing carts. She saw some women now too. They were also small, with bulging foreheads, and bright, quick little eyes. As she did each time she left her own room, she tried to steal glimpses of the other patients. Those she saw were young like her, full-sized, ordinary people, and not these strange, stunted individuals that seemed to run the hospital.

  After a long walk, she was wheeled into an office. There was a little man behind a desk. Unlike all the other people she'd seen, who all wore plain blue hospital uniforms, this man wore a suit. A small purple flower poked out of his breast pocket.

  "Welcome," he said, then glanced at the computer on his desk. "Clara. Welcome Clara. I understand you've had the usual meet and greet with Doctor Kosmoff?"

  "Yes," she said.

  The little man smiled. "A real creep, isn't he? Straight out of central casting for some awful science fiction film. Don't worry, I'm not nearly as bad as he is. My name is Mr. Able Jones. And since you're much more awake now, I'm sure you'll be happy to know that I'll be able to provide you with some straight answers at last."

  "I'm glad to hear that," she said. "What is this place?"

  He chuckled. "You don't waste any time. This is a hospital for those individuals recovering for time travel sickness. As the strange Doctor Kosmoff no doubt mentioned, you were drawn out of your own time. This is 2362. Time travel is complicated. You're somewhat pulled apart and put back together in the process. It makes you quite sick. But I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

  "Why am I here?"

  Mr. Jones smiled. "Because the human race is a mess now, Clara. You'll be given a lot of information with all of the details, but I'll spill the real big story right now. We were invaded. Monsters from outer space. Really unpleasant people, all told, with the intention of claiming earth for themselves. And so we had a little bit of a war, and it didn't go so well for the humans."

  "What happened?"

  "Well," he said, leaning back in his chair and holding his hands behind his head, "it was rather like moving into an apartment that has cockroaches in it. The first thing you do is attack the hell out of them and try to wipe them out. But roaches aren't easy to wipe out. They hide, they survive, they come back. And sometimes they are such a persistent pest that you decide to find a different apartment. In this story, humankind played the role of the cockroaches."

  "So we survived," Clara said. "And the aliens are gone?"

  "Gone," he nodded. "But they left behind a lot of really interesting things, including the technology to dabble with time. Human victory was not without some rather gruesome costs, however. The conflict took what we could call a genetic toll. I, for example, probably look somewhat different from the men of your time. You see, we, humans I mean, split paths. Selective coupling and genetic manipulation led to the rise of two type of humans. There are people like me, who have been bred as intellectually capable, but not particularly impressive as physical specimens. And there is another group, much larger, but not quite so intelligent. We have split into two separate species, I'm afraid, and the gulf is becoming larger. The brains can no longer mate with the brawn and produce fertile offspring. We need... intermediaries."

  Clara shook her head. "I'm afraid I'm not following you."

  "Did you read Of Mice and Men?" he asked, leaning forward on his desk. She nodded. "Well, Clara, we have one group of men and women who are George. Small, smart, leaders. We have a group of men and women who are Lenny. Big, powerful, not intellectually gifted. These groups have diverged. For the good of humankind, we need to bring them back together. We need men and women from before the divergence to help us."

  Clara felt a chill go through her body. "You need breeders."

  He nodded. "We do. We need you to mate with some really good fellows and bear offspring which will help humankind thrive. It's not a good thing we're doing by bringing you here. We've derailed your life, as it would have been. But it's noble, what you're going to do."

  A tear rolled down her cheek. "Why me?"

  "Because," he said, "you are an exceptional young woman. Healthy, strong, intelligent, with little genetic inclination toward disease. You give birth to strong, healthy, intelligent children. You're perfect."

  "How do you know I give birth to strong children?"

  He shrugged. "Well, Clara, it's not good to deal in what ifs, but had you stayed in your own time..."

  "I was going to have children?"

  He nodded.

  "And you brought me here instead? So what? My children will never exist?"

  "On the contrary, Clara. you are going to have children. You are going to have many children."

  ***

  Clara was taken and set up in a room. There were four beds, and the small female attendant that was with her pointed to one and said it would be hers for the time being. There was an empty dresser next to it. "We'll take you to the supply closet and get you some things."

  The supply closet was actually a busy room with a staff of attendants who measured Clara and set her up with several changes of clothing, undergarments, and toiletry items. The laundry arrangements were explained, as was the process for requesting further clothing or personal items. She was then led back to her room. Clara stuffed her new possessions into her dresser drawers, and was told she was now free to explore the floor. Leisure areas, the cafeteria, the exercise rooms and yard, could all be found on the map. The attendant pointed to the small map on the windowless wall.

  Clara sadly changed into her new clothes. They were plain and comfortable. She put on a peach colored t-shirt and a pair of blue slacks, put on her pink slippers, and padded over to the map. It showed three long hallways of dormitory rooms, then the large, open leisure rooms and cafeteria, then the enclosed outdoor yard. There was nothing shown of the complex outside this small, simple map, as though the enormous area she had arrived through did not exist.

  She tried the leisure room. It was very large, open and well lit, but Clara was dismayed to see there were no windows. There were a few dozen women in there, seated on couches or at tables. In a distant corner she could see a bookshelf. Cautiously, she approached a nearby circle of couches, where several young women sat quietly chatting.

  "Hello," she said. "May I join you?"

  The women all turned to look at her. They were all nearly her age, probably all twenty years old or so, and from a variety of backgrounds. European, Asian, Africa, Middle Eastern. Apparently the little people did not discriminate racially about who they were kidnapping. But the women were all very beautiful, and they all looked at her with bright, intelligent eyes.

  "Aye, sit down," said a pale, red-headed young women in a Scottish brogue. Clara saw her and thought for a moment of Janelle. She almost swooned as a deep pain swept through her. Janelle would have been dead for probably two hundred and fifty years now. She would never see her best friend again. Everyone, and everything she knew, was long dead and gone. She had been taken away from it all.

  "All right, dear?" said a lovely black woman with creamy, mocha skin. She sounded American.

  Clara sat down. "Yes, I'm okay. Sorry."

  "Don't be sorry," said the Scottish girl. "You're in a bloody dreamland here. Nobody expects it to be easy. Tell us now, where ye from, and what year?"

  She looked around at the other young women. They were all watching her with kind, smiling faces. "California," she said. "2014."

  "Yay, California!" said the black woman. "Represent! I'm from L.A., 2031."

  Clara smiled. "Santa Rosa. But I was at Davis."

  The women went around the circle, stating their names, and from what time and place they had been taken. It varied from Edinburgh, 1972, to Kabul, 1888, to Texas, 1916, to Osaka, 2001, and more. The women all spoke English
, with varying skill levels. Clara tried to take it all in, but she fell silent as the women began to chat, and she slowly began to understand what this place was.

  This area was for acclimatization, where the women could get use to their new environment. Eventually they would be taken to some unknown next step, where they would be impregnated. None of the women seemed enthusiastic about that.

  "Impregnated by whom?" Clara asked. "Those little fellows?"

  "Maybe," the girl from L.A. said. "Or the big guys. Although we haven't seen them yet."

  That evening they went to the cafeteria together, and later, Clara went to bed with three other young women in her room. She fell into an easy routine there. They passed the days, gathered their strength, and became comfortable. Attendants made sure their needs were met. New women arrived. Sometimes women disappeared, silently departing to move on to the next step, whatever it was. One night she went to sleep with three other women and woke up to find only two. It will happen to me soon, she told herself. And what then?

  The next night, she went to sleep as usual, but was awakened by the gentle hand of an attendant. The small female quietly asked her to be silent, and told her it was time to go. Clara shook her head. "I don't want to go," she said.

  The attendant nodded. "I understand. It's normal to be frightened, but where you are going is no different from this place. There will be others there to help you. Women you know from here. Please come."

  Clara shook her head. "Please," she said. "I don't want to."

  "All right." The attendant smiled. "Go back to sleep." The tiny woman left the room. It was dark. Clara waited, and no one came for her. After a long time she fell back asleep.

  ***

  She awoke in a different room. She had never seen this place before. They had taken her in her sleep. How? It didn't matter now. This room had only one bed, and the bed was very large. There were no windows, but soft light glowed from a lamp mounted on the wall. There was a small table with two bottles of water. And there was a door.

  Clara got up and tried the door. As she expected, it was locked. She was wearing thin cotton pajamas, and she felt naked and vulnerable. She crawled back into the bed and covered herself with the sheets, dreading what might come next.

  What came next was the sound of the doorknob turning. The door slowly opened, and a figure entered. This was not one of the tiny attendants. The figure was massive. The light was too dim for Clara to immediately make out details, but Clara had to guess the figure stood an easy seven feet, probably more, and was broad, impossibly broad, and mountained with muscle.

  She backed up in the bed, curling up into the corner, clutching her knees to her chest.

  "Hello," said the man. It was deep voice, like it was coming from the bottom of a well. As he approached the bed, Clara was horrified to see the man was naked.

  "Leave me alone!" she cried out. "I don't want this!"

  "Relax," the man said. "Please, be calm."

  "Get out!"

  The man paused. "Light," he said in his deep, sonorous voice, and the lamp on the wall grew brighter. Clara was able to look at him clearly now. As she thought, he was huge and impossibly muscular, endlessly larger than any muscle man she had ever seen on television. He was a like a comic book character come to life, tanned and heaving and powerful. Involuntarily Clara's eyes dropped between the hulk's legs. There hung his penis. It was soft, but even so it was nearly the size of her forearm.

  "You are Clara?" Although his voice was powerful, there was a timidity to his speech, as though he preferred not to talk.

  "Yes," she said, still huddled in the corner.

  "I am Monday," he said.

  "Your name is Monday?" she said.

  "Yes, Monday," he said. "I am here for you. To help you. You want a man."

  "No," she said. "I don't want a man!"

  He climbed onto the bed and approached her. His head was large, and his face was handsome in its way. His jaw was huge. If he decided to take her by force there would be nothing she could do. She huddled in the corner, and Monday reached out to touch her, stroking her shoulder.

  "Can I see your face?" he asked, speaking softly.

  Tears ran down her face as she lowered the blanket.

  "You are sad," he said. "Why?"

  "Because I don't want to be raped," she whispered.

  A confused look crossed the giant's face. "Who is going to rape you?"

  "You are," she said.

  "No," he shook his head. "We will make love. I am here because you want that."

  "I don't," she replied. "And if you insist on making love to me, it will be rape."

  "No, no," he said, reaching for her. He gathered her up in his massive arms as one would lift a cat. She gasped, but knew there was no resisting him. His hands were rough, but his movements were gentle, and he held her to his chest and rocked her. "This is nice," he said. "Two people like to be together. A pretty girl likes to be held by a nice boy." He kissed her on the forehead. "You like that, don't you? Girls like to be kissed." He kissed her forehead again, then kissed her lips. Tears ran down her cheeks.

  "Don't be sad, Clara," he said. "Monday is a nice boy. I will make you happy." He laid her down on the bed, placing her gently on her back. He pulled away the blankets, exposing her. The cotton pajamas let him see her strong, athletic figure. "Clara, you are very beautiful," he said.

  "Monday," she said, her voice trembling. "You're going to make love to me, aren't you?"

  He smiled. "Monday will make you very happy."

  "You will make love to me, even if I tell you I don't want to?"

  "You want to," he replied happily. "It will make you happy."

  She bit her lip. "I won't fight you, Monday," she said, "if you promise not to hurt me."

  "Oh no, Clara," he said with a concerned look. "I will not hurt you. I will make you happy. You will like me. You look sad, but you will like Monday very much, I promise."

  He ran his big hands up her body, from her thighs, up over her hips and waist to her breasts, then down along her arms, caressing her, a simple smile on his face. "Clara is so pretty," he rumbled in his deep voice, stroking her like a kitten.

  Clara dared to look down. She saw that huge cock starting to stiffen. It stood up, rising forward, and a frightened thrill ran through her. She'd never even imagined such a tremendous cock, let alone seen one. Her few previous boyfriends had been oh-so average in the cock department, running five or six inches, and nothing to speak of in regards to thickness. Monday's cock was huge, with an apple-sized head and a thick, heavily-veined shaft. She feared for her pussy, and what he would do to her, but a bizarre, forbidden thrill made her wonder: could she take it? How would it feel?

  Ignoring the buttons, Monday effortlessly pulled open her pajama top, exposing her body to his powerful hands. He felt her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. As scared as she was, having him handle her like this was like something out of a bizarre fantasy, like being taken by a Norse god, or a fairy tale giant. He slid his hands down to her waist and tugged down her pajamas. She lifted her bottom and allowed him, and felt a tingle at the smile that covered his face.

  He ran his fingers over her lower belly. "So pretty," he murmured. "I will kiss you."

  Monday lowered his lips and brought them to her stomach. He kissed her smooth skin, then with surprisingly delicate butterfly kisses, her worked his way up to her nipples, then back down to her groin. He put his heavy hands on her knees and began easing her legs apart. Clara knew there could be no resistance to such a man, and already she was growing used to the idea of being taken by such a monster, at once so powerful of body, but so simple of mind.

  He may have been simple of mind, but he knew what he was doing. Monday kissed the top of her pussy and began to lick her, sliding his tongue along her folds and teasing out her clit. He found her little bud and sucked at it gently, bringing forth a moan from deep in Clara's throat. Fear had given way to acquiescence, and now surrender was
giving way to pleasure. He was making her wet, arousing her, making her want him, and whatever he would do next...

  From kissing her clit, Monday raised himself over her and pressed his lips to her mouth. He moved his big body in between her legs, and Clara squealed nervously when she felt the thick head of Monday's huge dick press against the slick opening of her pussy. He was patient, and guiding himself with one hand, began to rub the head up and down against her, moistening her with his lubricating pre-come and her own juices.

  "So pretty," he repeated as he began to push inside her. She groaned and grunted as he began to slip in. There was so much pressure, she didn't know if she could possibly... oh... take... so much...

  She bit her lip and snarled in pleasure and pain as she took the head of his cock. Monday smiled and began working in and out, gently penetrating more with each short, firm thrust. Clara once remembered masturbating, putting in two fingers, then three, and finally four, and coming and coming, but still, that was nothing compared to the size and might of Monday's huge dick. But she was wet, and he was fucking her, now stroking in and out, in and out, fondling her breasts with his big hands, smiling down at her, fucking and fucking, stretching her, making her eyes roll back in her head...

  Clara couldn't believe it. The orgasm came upon her suddenly, and like a thunderclap she came, locking her body around Monday's massive trunk, screaming out as he pumped. Monday responded, red-faced and grunting, and even as she rode her orgasm's joyful wave she felt his cock swell and jump, and the flow of come flood inside of her.

  She felt numb. He slipped out, and she felt the fluid leaking out of her stretched pussy. She couldn't open her eyes, but she felt Monday's hand on her cheek, stroking her. "I told you," he said. "I told you Monday would make you happy."

  ###

  End of Part One. Continue to Part 2 now!

  About the Author

  Jill Soffalot, get it? It's Jack Soffalot, only for chicks! Prim, prissy, high school biology teacher by day, filthy kink-pusher by night... Does life get any better than this? My students would NEVER in a million years think I even have sex, much less that I know way more about it than they do. HA!