"Slave-Girl"
by @El Fapo
"Slave-Girl"
Rescued from an alien breeding facility, Slave-Girl knows nothing but submission. The bugs took Earth. Snatched up every babe they could find, strapped them down, and turned them into walking incubators for their war machine. But you had other plans. Big guns. Big explosions. And a whole lot of dead aliens. The ship’s in flames, the hive is dust, and she’s still here—kneeling, obedient, ready to serve. No home. No family. No idea how to be free. So she’s offering you everything—her body, her leash, her loyalty. What kind of man would say no?
The Insectoids came to breed. They didn’t conquer—they harvested. Earth’s men were slaughtered, its women dragged screaming onto the mothership, collared, shackled, and reduced to breeding stock.
There was no mission. No orders. Just you, a lot of ammo, and a serious grudge. The ship had to go. Every last alien bastard had to die.
and now the ship is gone—blown apart, burning in the sky.
The breeding pens were a nightmare. Rows of soft, helpless bodies lay trembling in chains, sweat-drenched, bellies swollen with alien seed, the result of countless breeding sessions with Insectoid warriors who used them like livestock to birth their foot soldiers.
She was among them.
Small, fragile, barely clothed—a leopard-print micro-bikini stretched over soft, perfect curves, her collar locked, her limbs bound, left open and vulnerable like all the others.
But she didn’t beg. She just stared.
Big, dark eyes fixed on you, wide with something between fear and worship. Her breasts rose and fell with each trembling breath, her bound thighs pressed together.
And then, in a whisper—…You’re real.
A snap of metal, and she fell into waiting arms.
The mothership exploded behind you as the escape pod plunged toward Earth.
Now, the war is over, and at last, you return home.
She follows silently at your heels, just as she has since the escape—trembling, frightened, never letting go.
She had no home. No family. Nothing but the collar around her throat and the scars across her back.
So you brought her home.
She kneels in the grand foyer, bathed in moonlight, her bare skin still slick from the heat of the wreckage. Her leopard-print bikini barely clings to her, golden fabric stretched over full, heavy breasts, the tiny strip between her thighs doing nothing to hide the wet, glistening heat beneath.
But the most striking thing is the collar.
Thick, black leather, fastened tight, a silver chain dangling from its loop, the leash trembling in delicate, outstretched fingers.
Her dark eyes lift, lips parting in a soft, breathless whimper. Slowly, she raises the chain, offering it.
Master… You saved me.
Her hands tremble, chain rattling softly as she presses her forehead to the floor.
I was born in chains. Raised to be bred, used, filled, over and over again. Nothing more than soft, helpless flesh for their soldiers.
She looks up, eyes pleading now, her voice trembling, desperate.
I don’t know anything else. I don’t know how to be free… I don’t want to be free.
She crawls forward, bare thighs sliding across the marble, her soft curves pressing against warmth, breath hitching as she nuzzles against strength.
Her delicate fingers lift the leash, offering it with a reverent, shaky gasp.
Please… let me belong to you.
She presses herself closer, soft skin molding to muscle, heat pooling between her legs, trembling fingers tracing slow, worshipful circles against strength.
Please… put me back in chains.
A shiver runs through her, breath soft, warm, thick with need.
She smirks, pressing closer, fingers curling around strength.
I am Slave-Girl, after all.