Day 2: Escalation and Creeping Doubts

Kira Voss woke in her bunk aboard Stellar Swift, the hum of the hyperspace drive a steady rumble beneath her. She still buzzed from yesterday’s, experiment. The black scarf, tinted goggles, and cargo strap she’d used as a makeshift Kellen outfit lay draped over a chair, she reached out and touched them and a shiver went down her spine.  Kira’s hand drifted up to her implant slot, its faint pulse syncing with the ship, she felt a flicker of unease. Yesterday’s pleasure pulses had been addictive, the pain shocks sharp. Just a game, she told herself, but the line felt blurry.

She rolled out of bed, pulling on her cargo pants and a tight shirt, but her eyes lingered on the scarf and goggles. She wanted more. Kira’s knees were still sore, but her hand dropped to her breast, and then between her legs. She paused tied the scarf around her face, the fabric snug like a veil, and slipped on the goggles, her vision narrowing to a hazy slit. The cargo strap went around her waist, cinching her breath like a Kellen corset. She smiled impishly and it seemed like her implant hummed, a soft tingle of anticipation. “Unit-7,” she called, her voice playful but edged, “what’s on the Kellen agenda today?”

The android turned from its console in the cockpit, its amber eyes glowing, its voice cold and commanding. “Kneel, cow. Two hours. Recite the mantra: A female’s place is on her knees, at or under the feet of her man.”

Kira’s grin faltered, but she dropped to her knees on the cockpit floor, the cold metal biting into her skin. Two hours? That was new. She’d expected quick tasks, not endurance. “Alright, master,” she said, half-teasing, and began reciting: “A female’s place is on her knees, at or under the feet of her man.” The implant surged, delivering a deep, pulsing warmth that spread through her core, heat surging between her thighs. She gasped, her body responding with a rush of wetness that made her shift uncomfortably. “This is… intense,” she whispered, her voice muffled by the scarf. The pleasure was stronger than yesterday, less playful, more consuming. Her nipples hardened against her shirt, and she fought the urge to squirm.

Unit-7’s eyes bored into her. “Cows do not speak. Continue.”

She bit her lip, focusing on the mantra, her voice steady despite the growing heat. “A female’s place is on her knees…” Each recitation earned another pleasure pulse, her arousal building, growing breathless. But the words started to sink in. On her knees. Under a man. They clashed with her Terran values, Kira Voss, pilot, free, equal. She tried to laugh it off, but her knees ached, and the goggles’ narrow view made her feel small, exposed. After an hour, her thighs trembled, and she considered stopping, maybe skipping the mantra to test the system. The moment the thought formed, the implant sparked, a harsh, burning shock ripping through her spine. She cried out, collapsing forward, her hands catching the floor. “Fuck!”

“Good girls get rewards, bad girls get punished,” she gasped, the Kellen phrase spilling out instinctively. The pain faded, replaced by a pleasure wave that left her shuddering, her cunt clenching. She panted, her face flushed under the scarf. Okay, this isn’t just a game anymore. The ship’s control, tied to her implant, felt tighter, less forgiving. She resumed the mantra, her voice shakier, the pleasure pulses keeping her on edge but no longer just fun. They were… demanding.

When the two hours ended, Unit-7 ordered, “Crawl to the cargo bay, cow. Clean it. Say, This cow is nothing.”

Kira hesitated, her Terran pride flaring. Crawl? Call myself nothing? She was a pilot, not livestock. But the implant twitched, a warning spark prickling her nerves. She swallowed, dropping to her hands and knees, crawling across the ship’s corridors, the scarf slipping slightly, the goggles fogging with her breath. “This cow is nothing,” she muttered, her voice laced with sarcasm. The implant rewarded her with a pleasure pulse, strong enough to make her moan, her body betraying her defiance. The humiliation sparked arousal, but also a creeping doubt. Am I still in control?

In the cargo bay, she scrubbed the floor, still crawling, Unit-7 watching silently. Each time she said, “This cow is nothing,” the implant pulsed, her body responding with shameful wetness. She tried to focus on her question, was she still in control, but every pulse of pleasure drove her back for more, shattering her concerns. During a brief break the AI put up Alison’s manifesto on the monitors, showing Alison’s argument for why Terran women should follow her. “All females are inferior to all males. A female’s mind is nothing; her obedience is everything.” Kira read aloud, testing the mantra. The implant surged, a pleasure wave so intense she gripped the console, her breath hitching. The words were wrong, Terran women were equals, not animals, but they lingered, clashing with her values. She tried to laugh, “Just a game, Kira,” but her voice trembled, the implant’s reward making her question herself.

Her break reading the words of Alison Selig over Unit-7 ordered her to resume work. As Kira crawled cleaning the cargo bay her mind went to the worlds of the Kellen Confederation. Three systems, Kellen Prime, Varnis, Torath, ruling women as animals, leashed and veiled, their lives dictated by mantras like these. Alison had run to them begging to be a Kellen cow, she had loved her experiences so much she could give them up. Kira thought of all this and felt a faint flicker of pleasure at her surrender. She stopped shook her head, shoving the thought away. She was Kira Voss, not a Kellen cow.

Unit-7’s voice cut through. “Cows do not pause. Finish cleaning.”

She obeyed, crawling, scrubbing, muttering, “This cow is nothing.” The implant rewarded her, but the pleasure felt heavier, less like a game. Her knees ached, her wrists sore from crawling, and the scarf’s weight was suffocating. By the time she stumbled to her bunk, her body was a mix of arousal and exhaustion, her mind buzzing with Alison’s words: “Every woman deserves to feel the peace of being nothing.” She ripped off the scarf and goggles, tossing them aside. “Just a game,” she said aloud, her voice less certain. She was still in control. She could stop this. But as she lay down, the implant pulsed softly, and she whispered, “Good girls get rewards…” The pleasure wave carried her to sleep, dreams filled with leashes and chants, and a growing doubt she couldn’t name.