Go to the Shoal, they said. The birds are a bunch of damn suckers, they said.
You should have known your friends were full of shit. Probably trying to push you out of the market, get you killed on this deathtrap. And, judging by the three heavily armed, heavily armored birds blocking your way back to your tiny little freighter, they very well may have succeeded. How the hell this trip went so wrong, you're not sure.
It was a simple plan, really. Head by the vox Shoal, the biggest (and only notable) vox population center in known space. Unpack your goods, hawk some completely-legitimate, generic-brand supplements you'd come up with. Nothing drastic - you weren't pushing amphetamines, no, everything you sold was perfectly safe. A few tonics to subtly encourage talon and quill growth, proven to enhance keratin production in vox by a whole 1.4% under the correct circumstances taken on a daily regimented routine, not approved by the surgeon general (but really, who needs that guy anyways? Damn skrell, think they know everything...), and generally...
Well, you never said it was good at what it claimed to do. Just that occasionally it did. And really, it's not like you were hurting anyone. You shared the marketspace with a dozen people selling products far worse than yours - good lord above, the guy next to you sold stimulants that had plasma mixed straight in. Compared to him, you were a saint!
Not that the imposing vox stood in front of you seemed to care. They were all about equal heights - towering over your skinny five-foot-nothing ass at what must have been seven and a half feet with weight to match. They were like tiny dinosaurs - giant killer claws for feet attached to backwards, raptorlike legs, faces with something vaguely comparable to a sharp, meat-tearing beak at the front filled with a row of jagged incisors. All three of them had on full, dark black riot gear and tight, form-fitting suits. Two slightly smaller ones flanked the tallest middle one, who, unlike the others, wore no mask - only an angry sneer, with beady, solid-colored crimson eyes that looked down at you with unabashed malice. Whoever they were, they meant business.
"G-Gentlemen, if you don't mind, I've had a very long day and I desperately need to return to my ship and depart.", you stammered out. The middle one snorted through his beak, the only thing keeping the creature's hot breath from flowing over your face a lightweight nose mask that fed nitrogen into its nostrils.
The one with crimson eyes opened its beak. "Hrekk. Yareeka kuree hree-YAka, hakeera!", the thing cawed. The two birds on either side of it tensed up a little, like predators getting ready to pounce.
Then the big one in the middle planted its knee right in your stomach. It didn't just knock the wind from you - nor did you crumple to the floor. You flew backwards, knocked utterly senseless as you collided with the cold hard metal floor, and gasped as your lungs momentarily forgot what job they'd signed up for when they came into this world. You felt your lack-of-lunch trying to roll its way up your throat, dry heaving and gagging and gasping for breath on the floor with tears rolling from your eyes. You didn't notice the heavy footfalls of polymer-clad claws stomping downwards you - right up 'til one of them planted itself under you and rolled you onto your stomach. One of the masked birds bent over you and pulled your arms behind your back tight enough that they felt like they might snap then and there, then tied them together with a pair of cold steel handcuffs. After that, it hauled you to your feet, barely, and dragged you along behind it. If that kick to the gut hadn't left you feeling like you were about to asphyxiate, you would have gone kicking and screaming, but as is, you simply lied back like dead weight and tried to remember how to breathe.


The trio of security vox dragged you through a dozen different hallways, mostly avoiding the main arteries of the Shoal's outsider markets in favor of cramped, dark maintenance tunnels. Eventually, you ended up in something that, judging from the abundance of armed and armored, black-clad vox, was probably the local equivalent to a brig. The air around you was filled with bird-screech chatter and the sound of heavy clawboots thudding against metal as small teams of them tromped in and out of the brig, dragging unfortunates like you behind them in chains. Some seemed to be in your situation - a frog-like skrell sat bound to a chair in a small room all on his lonesome, his belongings strewn across a table next to him. He was confused and bruised, sporting an ugly purple patch just under his left eye where he'd obviously been clocked upside the head. Your eyes caught his, and those giant black orbs pleaded without words, begging for help. A giant, lanky ten-foot-tall bird coated in cybernetic kit stood next to him, one claw yanking on one of the skrell's head tentacles. You passed out of his sightline before you could get a better look at him.
They dragged you into a small room much like the one the skrell had been in, then left you alone, cuffed to a hard steel chair. The first thing you noticed was the conspicuous patches of crimson splattered across the floor, dry and flaky like old paint. They were, you suspected, not paint. The rest of the room was unremarkable - dingy grey walls, a cobweb in one corner, dim yellow lighting from a flickering lightbulb hanging bare from the ceiling.
You waited there for god-only-knows how long. There was no clock in the room. Occasionally you'd fidget with your cuffs, only for the guard posted outside to turn his head and squawk something at you that, even through the language barrier, was quite clear in intent - cut that shit out or he'd make you. So instead, you sat and felt yourself freeze in the chilly air. The vox were accustomed to colder climates than most spacefaring races and their giant, junkyard home was kept at an appropriate temperature of fuck-that's-freezing. Your only saving grace was the fact that you decided to put on long sleeves today - specifically, you'd worn your only nice set of clothes, a nice black business suit with customary red tie. You wouldn't be caught dead hawking your fine products without it. Your mind wandered from there, trying to kill time in the desolate, freezing cold room with any random idiotic thoughts it could come up with.
Somewhere in the middle of contemplating giving up your business ventures and going back to work for NT, the door clicked open, giving way to the Crimson-Eyed vox that'd started all this in the first place. The guard from outside followed him in and stood by your side. Crimson-Eyes didn't say anything to you, only gave you the stink eye as he came around behind you and threw your suitcase up onto the table, rifling through it.
"H-Hey! That's my merchandise you're manhandling there, bird!", you cried, watching him toss bottles of your precious, if ineffectual tonics out of the case. Eventually he got down below the first layer and started chucking out your personals as well. You watched your only other set of clean clothes fly onto the floor, followed by your laptop - it smacked against the floor with a horrifying crunch, and you yelped as every file you had with you turned into solid-state chunks on the floor.
After Crimson-eyes ruined your laptop, he stopped throwing things, instead humming to himself as he stared at something in the bottom of your case. You wondered for a second what he could have possibly been interested in; then your eyes widened as he pulled your gun out of the suitcase. The cheapo hunk of black polymer looked like a child's toy in the thing's giant claws. Judging from the mean grin on his face though, Crimson-eyes had found exactly what he was looking for. He slapped it and your spare magazine down on the table alongside a slip of paper written in an alphabet you couldn't begin to parse. From the looks of it though, it looked like a citation of some sort. The thing took out a pen and scribbled something onto the sheet, then looked you in the eyes.
"Hrrek, kayaki raKEE chayayakeya.", Crimson-eyes squawked at you, looking as though it expected you to understand. All you could do was sit there and stare like an idiot.
"What?", you said like the eloquent, intelligent merchant you were.
Crimson-eyes scrunched up his face and snorted, then said something else - something you almost recognized as being language, smooth and flowing if a bit scratchy sounding. It was Tradeband, or one of its many bastard-child dialects, and you...
Also didn't speak it. Oh, you'd had people offer to teach you - for a price. But that price always seemed a bit too high compared to just not dealing in tradeband; until now, you kept to human colonies, and generally it was a safe bet that everyone spoke a little bit of Martian or Terran.
The thing repeated itself when you tilted your head. "Mercante Scimmia, multa pagare." It lifted up the little pink citation slip and pointed to the one piece of writing on it that you recognized - a number with a Thaler sign next to it. You sat for a second as gears turned in your head - you were being fined, for something. And that number was far, far too large for your wallet filled with pocket change and lint. The gasmasked guard leaned in by your side and muttered into your ears, in fluent if halted Galcom, "Pay, human. You must pay the fine."
Your mind raced as you thought of the consequences. What would they do if you didn't pay? You didn't even know what they had decided you did, aside from technically carried a gun into their home without checking if you needed a license. Would they just chuck you and your ship out on your ass and shoot you down if you ever came back? Or would they throw you into some decrepit little prison with all the rest of their undesirables and captured merchants? Or worse, would they clasp you in chains and sell you as livestock? The vox of the Shoal were known as many things - but their reputation as slavers and flesh peddlers reigned supreme. The last thing any ship wanted to encounter in the depths of space was a raider crew; the vox cared not for gender, age, or ability, if you were alive by the end of things, you would be going back with the raiders in cuffs.
Oh god. You were going to be a slave. You convinced yourself as you sat there panicking that yes, that was the most likely eventuality - you'd never see Earth again, never even get the chance to quit your peddler's life now. You were screwed.
Utterly, hopelessly fucked. And judging from the look on Crimson-Eyes' face, he knew it, too. A low, guttural chuckle rose in his throat as he realized what you were thinking.
"Scimmia non puo pagari, kyeh?", the great big ugly bird-raptor-thing said. "Sarebbe terribile se scompari!", it growled through that awful, smug, toothy grin it had plastered across its beak. You knew that grin - the grin of a man who had someone stuck between a rock and a hard place in a deal. You'd worn it a few times over your career, and you hated seeing it used against you. You didn't know exactly what it said, but you didn't need to, either - you knew the way this worked. 'A shame if something happened', yada-yada, give me everything you have and I'll look the other way. Crimson-eyes looked to Gasmask and chuckled, then said, "Tareeka, keeYA suhkiREE, reeka yara-yara?" At that, Gasmask and Crimson eyes both chuckled at whatever had been said - it was a disturbing, hacking kind of laugh. Gasmask leaned in front of your face and put the two green eyes of his mask up at eye level for you.
"No money?", it said. You shook your head. "Pay in flesh, then." It laughed to itself over some unknown joke, then stood up and uncuffed you from your chair. It wrapped your hands behind your back and sat you up before pushing you out the door behind Crimson-eyes.
Your trip through the Shoal's... brig, prison, what-ever it may have qualified as, took a few minutes, and you picked up a third guard along the way, the giant cyber-bird that had been in the skrell's room. Purple liquid the shade of skrell blood stained his half-metal beak, and he looked down at you with soulless blue cybernetic eyes, analyzing you in the way a wolf might size up a deer for it's lunch. You shuddered.
Maybe they were about to kill you, and this big guy was your executioner. They dragged you into one of the ever-present backalleys that riddled the shoal, a dark and musty room that was even colder than the main halls. The only lights in here were dark blue strips that lined the floor and barely let a person keep their footing in the otherwise pitch black shadows.
They tossed you to the floor - you hit it face first and felt your nose smash up against the metal grating below you, hard. You try and sit up, only to fall over flat on your side as your head spins. Blood dribbles out of your nose. Behind you, you could hear the sounds of clasps and zippers coming undone. The air filled with the scent of sweat and flesh trapped within heavy, tight-fitting clothes for the better part of a day. Something else wafted through the air - something distinctly male in nature, tangy and salty. The only thing you had to compare it to was, well, dried semen intermingled with salt and sweat and pheromones.
Crimson-Eyes appeared over you, stripped down to his undersuit, which was rolled down his torso and unzipped enough to give you a good luck at his stomach and underbits - he bore numerous scars across his chest, criss-crossing his jade-colored feathers with ugly grey flesh. Protruding from a spot just between his thighs was a tapering blue penis that curved just a little near the tip, and seemed to be the source of the musky scent. If you had a ruler with you, you'd be afraid to size him up with it - it was fat and twitched in the open air every few seconds. Under the surface, a deeper, darker blue vein throbbed with every twitch, and a few dribbles of something clear and viscous dripped from the tip.
You screamed out in terror and pain as you realized what was going on, only for him to jab you in the throat with one of his giant, taloned feet.
"Hrekk, kurrah hareeka yeerAKA!", he grunted. His expression had gone from angry to evil - his grin only grew bigger as he felt you struggle under his foot, and you couldn't help but squirm as his claw compressed your windpipe further.
He squawked something to the two birds behind you and pulled his claw off your throat. Two giant arms picked you up by the torso, and you felt yourself lifted into the air and planted firmly on top of something that left your pants feeling sticky and damp where they met the rest of your body. You looked down - the blue light revealed that you sat on top of a blue, fleshy rod that was the size of your arm. You could feel it bulge and throb and pulsate beneath you even through the suit.
The thing that dick belonged to put a single, giant claw around your back, and tore open your pants from the rear. The cloth split in half with an ugly ripping noise, and just like that, your best - and only - suit, was ruined. The gas-masked lackey popped up on your left side and pulled the ruined pants down off your legs, leaving you clad only in your shiny pink My-Little-Birdy boxers and your cheapo suit-jacket and tie. The three birds, even the freakishly huge cyberdemon one, all paused for a second, started, and cackled as they took in the view. Not only were they about to brutally violate you, they'd be laughing at your underwear while they did it. Awesome.
Gasmask knelt down in front of you and your giant robo-bird steed and lifted up his mask, revealing a... vaguely young-looking vox, judging from the lack of scars or wrinkles. His quills were done up in a short mohawk and his eyes were a solid silver color - almost pretty, in a way. He licked at his beak as he stared at the enormous cock that held you up. He stuck his tongue out and ran it down the side, wrapping the long, snakey blue thing around cyber-bird's length a few times, humming under his breath. Cyber-bird rumbled up above you in the clouds and lifted a claw to the back of Gasmask's head.
Then you felt crimson-eyes yank you back off the cock, grabbing you by the throat and hauling you up against a wall, smashing your head against it with a solid ka-thunk. You felt one of his claws go down and pull off your embarrassing undies, letting them fall to the bottom of one ankle. A second claw grabbed a handful of your ass - Crimson stared you straight in the eyes, licked his beak, and then slithered his long tongue down your throat. Crimson grinned at you and stuffed his tongue far enough down your throat that you felt like you'd die of asphyxiation from the disgusting kiss on its own.
Then, he shoved the tip of his cock straight into your rear. You squealed as the foreign invader penetrated your defenses, tears formed in your eyes as he stabbed you with the long blue spear he had between his legs. It throbbed in your ass and sent a searing pain shooting through your body; you kicked your legs and tried to push back against him with your still-cuffed arms, only for him to tighten his grip on your throat. Now you really couldn't breathe - you gagged on his tongue as your body pleaded for air. He just grinned and chuckled to himself, his eyes wild with delight as he watched you squirm the further in he pushed himself. Your muffled protests only seemed to make him tighten his grip and put more force behind his thrusting.
He only got in a few thrusts before something tapped him on the shoulder and he stopped - Gasmask stood behind him and squawked, "Yeeraka, yura-yura Tareeka Hrekk?", then pointed at you. Crimson glared at him for a second, then shrugged. Just as you thought you were going to black out, he pulled his claw and tongue from your throat - you gasped and coughed for the air that had been denied to your body, trying to stifle a few sobs as the tears ran down your cheeks. Crimson-eyes lifted you off the wall and held you up in the air with both claws, spreading your asscheeks as wide as he could. His schlong was still half-lodged inside of you, but - something else prodded back there. You flipped your head around to see Gasmask behind you, his only slightly-shorter slick blue baton in his claws, slowly slipping himself in alongside Crimson.
"S-Stop! Oh, god, stop, that hurts it won't fit itwon'tfi- gyuh!", you cried, just before Crimson dropped you just enough to let Gasmask firmly lodge himself in there. The flanking maneuver had been successful, and the two invading phalanxes joined up and conducted a joint assault on your ass. Gasmask grabbed you by the shoulders while Crimson had you by the cheeks, and the two of them hammered themselves inside of you together, one going in while the other went out, a steady rhythm of slapping punctuated with the sounds of choked, stifled sobs and involuntary moans that came every time one of their tips poked something sensitive inside of your rear entrance.
"Stop! God, stop, pleas-please!", you begged as they stretched you to the brink. Behind you, Gasmask leaned in and opened his beak, slithering his tongue into your mouth for a second before retreating.
Then, he spoke, in scratchy, barely-recognizeable common, a few words. "Commander likes your squeals, ape-thing. More." Your blood froze as the malice-tinged words flowed into your ears and etched the thought that the things weren't just getting off, but getting off specifically on your pain. It made your stomach turn more than it already was.
"S-Stop! It hurts....", you moaned inbetween sobs, "Stop, stop-stop-ss-s-stop! Stop it! Please, god, I don't want th-this!" Every time one of them rubbed against your insides in the wrong way, you squealed and squirmed trying to free yourself from their grips, only for them to tighten down on you and hammer you twice as hard as punishment. Your wailing turned to shuddering sobs and moans as they fucked you harder. Their rythym sped up, the two cocks sliding up against eachother in tandem now, battering at your butt. The both of them were groaning and growling, and muttering strange things in pidgin under their breaths.
Crimson stopped and buried every inch of his curvy bird dick inside you, and it throbbed and pulsated as he screeched, an ear-piercing noise that Gasmask quickly joined him in - together, the two of them delivered their payload, what seemed like gallons of smelly, salty, gooey bird spunk directly on target, deep into your guts. Their grips tightened, and you felt claws pierce your skin, drawing little beads of red. The influx of hot, gooey cum on top of the constant pounding your prostate had taken was too much for you to bear - even when your mind hated every second of this, your body was programmed to feel pleasure, and it loved it. Your cock spasmed and drooled cum, splattering little white globs inbetween you and Crimson-Eyes' chest. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your squealed as the pleasure and pain wracked your body.
They sat there with you held between them, pressed against your back and chest as you felt the cum seep inside of you. Then, as quick as it started, it stopped - they pulled themselves out of you and dropped you to the floor on your ass. You fell back and clanged against the cold floor and lied there, panting, weeping, desperately wishing that it was over. It had to be over now, right?
A metallic claw stepped in front of you, a firm thunk sounding against the metal. Your eyes rotated up to see Cyber-bird standing there, hunched over and looking at you with those hungry glowing eyes. A single arm bent down, picked you up by your torso, and slammed you down on your knees, your head at eye level with the monstrous dong it possessed. It was insane. It had to be.
It surely didn't think you were capable of even getting your mouth around that thing, right?
A claw wrapped around the back of your head and forced your lips around the first inch or so of forty-millimeter goo mortar, then the second, third, fourth - it poked against the back of your throat, and you realized that this thing didn't need to lay hands on you to kill you. You were going to die a death by dick, your airway cut off by cock. The thing pulled itself back a little, then shoved itself forward again - five inches, now. Your tears had dried, but your body itself still cried out in pain as it found itself with its air supply once again cut off. It hammered those first five or so inches back and forth, occasionally getting another inch or two down, forcing most of its length down your esophagus.
While it slammed your head back and forth like a cheap pocket pussy, your eyes wandered and noticed the scene going down behind it - Crimson and Gasmask hadn't left or put on their clothes. Instead, Crimson had Gasmask leaned against the wall, cawing and squawking as Crimson pulled on his tail and shoved his cock into Gasmask's genital slit. Apparently the first load they'd left inside of you hadn't been enough for them - Crimson's head rocked backwards and Gasmask's tongue lolled out as Crimson hammered away at the bird's cockslit.
Cyber-bird, more or less quiet throughout the whole debacle, grumbled and growled louder and louder the longer it facefucked you. It didn't take long for you to feel the giant, bulging veins in its wang expand and pulsate in time with the thing's heartbeats - but it never got louder than that. It stopped, shoved your head down on its cock, and held you there, the tip poking at something deep in your throat. It simply sat there and rumbled and gave you a creepy, toothy, metallic smile as it gave you a direct injection of cyber-semen. The gooey strands shot down your throat and right into your stomach - once, twice, - you lost count of the time it had you held down, letting its meat-stick fill you with cum. But you could feel yourself filling up - your belly stretched and you could feel something making its way up your throat even against the monster meat that occupied most of the space in there.
Cum bubbled up out of your mouth and nose, and the thing almost chuckled to itself as it watched squirm and tremble as the salty white jizz flowed out of all three holes in your face.
After what seemed like forever, the thing finally decided it was done turning you into a cum balloon and pulled itself free of your mouth - the thing's dick exited your mouth with a loud wet schlorp, then swung in the air. It was glazed with a sticky white coating that almost covered up the blue-raspberry tint of its flesh. You fell back onto the floor, your arms still behind your back, and coughed up a few globs of jizz. The two smaller birds had finished fucking at somepoint during cyber-bird's throat abuse and stood over you. Gasmask and Crimson were both half-hard now, and Gasmask's bird-dick-pussy-slit thing slowly oozed white droplets onto the floor - and onto your face.
Crimson looked you up and down, chuckled, and rubbed his claws together.
Then he planted a talon on your throat with enough force you thought your neck was about to snap in two. Your legs kicked out, your arms struggled against their cuffs, your head shook as agony wracked your body one final time, the life draining out of you and your vision going dark as what little air was left in your lungs got used up.
The last thing you saw before blacking out was another droplet of jizz splatter against your face, courtesy of Gasmask's creampie.


You woke up dazed and confused, lying on a bench in the area that served as the Trader port's concourse, fully clothed with your suitcase buried underneath you. Well, mostly fully clothed - your pants were ripped in the back and gave the world a good view of your favorite Birdy - so what, you liked the stupid, purple-feathered ultra-capitalist bird. It had some good ideas about the place of laissez-faire in the galaxy at large, and anyone who thought it was just because you liked her thighs could bite you. 
Your ass hurt. Your legs hurt. You could feel the scratches they'd given you all over your skin. Your mind - you didn't want to think about what just happened, regardless of the physical evidence. 
You got up, gathered your suitcase, and headed for your ship, a small, raggedy courier that you'd bought off a friend for a thousand creds and a bag of chips. The thing was your home. 
As soon as you sat down in the cockpit, a tiny little holographic display flicked on, presenting a tiny, cartoonish purple vox that wandered across the instrument panel. 
"And where were you, Anon A. Mouse?", the thing squawked in a tinny, synthesized female bird's voice. 
"I... would rather not say. I got into some trouble with the authorities." You rubbed at the back of your neck. "That's all." 
The little purple bird huffed at you and stomped a claw on the console, holding her arms crossed against her chest like an angry mother. "You are gone for an entire day, and all you can say is you got in trouble with ShoalSec? You absolute buffoon, what did they even get you for? You did not start a fight with one of the locals, did you?"
You shook your head. "No. They, didn't tell me what I did wrong. There was a bit of a language barrier. Look, Quasar, can you just tell me what the hell this says so we can get out of here?" 
You pulled the pink ticket from your pocket and dropped it onto the dash for your ship's computer to look over. Quasar wasn't a full-fledged AI, so much as a consumer-grade personal companion program jury-rigged to the rest of the ship. She was still smarter than you were. The little purple bird hologram walked up to the ticket and hmm'd at it for a second before popping her head up and saying, "It's a parking violation with an additional citation for not registering a weapon with ShoalSec while in the trader's port." She glared at you. "You know, I TOLD you you were approximately five meters off from the airlock. That's more than enough to put you outside your designated space! You're lucky it was just a ticket, they could have scrapped me for this! And didn't I tell you to take some damn Tradeband classes? It's the lingua franca of the trading world, but no, you'll get by with Martian, won't you, you pig-headed stuck-up no-good ape, I ought to..."
Her tinny voice kept up, but you stopped listening as her words swam through your head.
A parking ticket. You just lost your butt-virginity to vicious birds over a fucking parking ticket.
Edit
Pub: 30 Dec 2020 13:36 UTC
Views: 634