Indian housewife and her superb goodies

Not when you’re a slave. 26 - Processed The ankle bracelet containing my fake DNA information is first to go. At the start of my mission, I was dreading a lifetime carrying that badge of shame linking me to Rosila Volati, Ilushin One. Who’d have thought its absence would be a bad thing for me and not a good one – a signal that far worse things are coming? They’ve strapped me into a chair – the wide foot stirrups making it much like the gynecological ones used at home for the breeding insemination, only with those there were no restrains to secure the sitter. Today I’m as good as paralyzed. I’ve been buckled into place at my wrist and ankle. A heavy belt around my waist pins me back against the seat. There are two more bracelets encircling my knees to keep my thighs apart - as though my genitals weren’t already exposed and defenseless enough. A band across my forehead keeps my skull back against the padded rest. I saw the small hole I saw in the headrest while they buckled me down. I know what it’s for, that hole, as I’ve already seen the matching tool among the medical paraphernalia on the counter. That’s where the implanter gun goes. The medic about to end the life I know is a young fellow with a neatly trimmed beard. For a moment when I walked in I thought he was going to be more professional than the other Slavers, but when Gara was led into the room behind me he indian said, “Twins… Nice!” and I knew he was as heartless, and male, as the rest of them. Gara and I had five minutes whispered conversation last night and we’d agreed to try and break away and end ourselves during the walk to processing, but that too we were denied. Klink arrived in our cell with a large escort of Slaver guards. There wasn’t the least chance of escape. “Gaianesians,” Klink tells the doctor once I’m safely secured, although it’s probably unnecessary to state my species - my markings have returned during the night. I saw my haggard sorry reflection in the surgery mirror and also noted the first signs of their color beginning to shift. This catastrophe shocked me less than I would have believed. I suppose that’s because it doesn’t matter now if I’m shamed in the eyes of my own people or not. It’s not as though I’ll ever return to my home. “Gaianesian man haters,” the doctor smiles. “Let’s give them hell.” “Absolutely,” smiles Klink. “And let’s start that hell making sure they never lose their revulsion for us. I want them to be psychologically repelled by men, but have to follow our orders anyway.” “That’s no problem,” says the doctor, typing configurations into a data pad. “But just to make things even more unbearable,” continues Klink, “I want them mentally repelled, but physically addicted to the cocks they hate so much. You know - disgusted by dicks but need them inside anyway.” “No!” my sister and simultaneously plea and I can hear the terror I’m feeling echoed in Gara’s fractured voice. “Silence, cunts,” Klink says with a dismissive gesture of his hand. “Nanotech is our usual method, as you know,” the doctor gives as his professional opinion. “We inject nanobots around the slave’s hole, desi and the tech stimulates her nerve endings. The tingling builds up and drives the slave insane until she gets a real penis in there. You can specify how frequently you want them to need it. It’s tricky to reprogram once they’re in though, so best not change your mind.” Klink rubs his chin with his hand. “One prick a week should do. So long as it was with my sexy, older futa-sister, I could do anything. ‘Well great!’ I’m not sure if she’d just look fat but in my head I pictured just a more pregnant looking belly. Then he managed to slip from my grasp; he stumbled trying to pull his pants up. She giggled and I cracked up. With the hand that’s not supporting her against the window, she lets go of the glass. The desi two women looked at each other, then at me, then at each other again. Lilly pressed her lips to Sarah. We have each gone through many, many generations of cloning indian as we traveled through space searching for a new home planet. As this is her favorite holiday after all. Did I see I see a basketball hoop over by the pool?” Her body was currently telling me to get my ass up and start packing.