Jay was prepared. He'd checked every last one of his tools, every last detail of his plan. All he had to do now was wait for his chance.

It had finally sunk in, when they gave him to the machines, when they changed him, when he walked away knowing something was different, ever since his tail…

The teenaged rat hadn’t been immune to what was happening, he’d just been lucky. Now he knew, at any moment he could end up like the rest of them. Broken, and Pacified. He had to get out. He had to get home. Every plan he'd concocted in his idle, wasted moments, every scheme he'd envisioned, he started on them in earnest now.

In the stall he performed, not letting anything get in the way of draining his ever swollen sack into the thirsty hole. But when he got back, he got to work. His stamina had grown thirtyfold in the time he'd been a prisoner, and at night he used it to count distances, fashion tools, learn routines.

The hardest thing had been materials. Untill he realised, the pacified didn't care what happened to them. He still apologised every time, hoped that they didn't understand he was using them, using their bodies. He took fur from the longest coats to braid into twine. He took shed antlers and ivory to fashion grips and shims. And from Conner, the first they broke, he took the loose teeth the shark shed, just in case he needed something... sharp.

Jay squirrelled the makeshift arsenal away in the gaps between panels, where the mismatched stars met. Now he just needed to pick his moment.

Not yet. No, he had other things to attend to first.

And as if summoned by his intrusive thoughts, she came for him, to take him to the place where he could clear his head, drop his burden, feel the brief relief his balls were begging for.

God did they ache now, not from use, but the ripeness, the fullness, the boiling tide that he swore he felt squirming between his thighs with every step. Days, weeks, months possibly; of training and taking the drugs she gave him had led his lower assets to develop. Not just his testes, heavy and gross as they were now, half again their old size, but the dick attached to them was barely hidden by his sheath. The head protruded free, dripping with overflow, making him uncomfortably aware of how different he was now. How animal. His abdomen had grown firm and muscular, hips meaty and powerful, his glutes tight and highlighted beneath glossy white fur.

When his abductor, his tormentor, had him back in his niche in the now mostly empty ring of pleasure machines, he didn't need her coaxing or fluffing to begin. Jay grasped the sides of the devouring device with eager gusto, pressing a girthy tip to the aperture before it even opened in the rush to deluge a willing vessel with seed before he burst.

The wasp-like alien churred, the days of their closer relationship passed, as her attempt to toy with him a little longer was thwarted. Jay flicked and tucked his tail, well away from her grasp, focussing entirely on forcing the receptacle to open quicker.

The whirring portal accepted its purpose without complaint, slurping along the rod of engorged male flesh and cradling the end at a depth that would have had the old Jay grinning with pride, but was barely adequate for what he needed. And with that, he thrust.

The machinery was primed, his own body in synch with its need, his cock a piston spewing a slurry of pre-seed directly against a barrier of sucking, soft tissue. Jay threw his head back, mouth falling slack as an explosive torrent of ecstasy was finally allowed to boil over and evacuate in a rush of blistering white.

She left him to it, and he barely noticed, needing to get the next shot out almost before the first was finished.

***

Finally satisfied, Jay afforded himself a smile as he returned to the cell, passing the survivors with just a bleary nod of his head. Without the need clouding him, he could get back to his plans and preparations.

Only, as he settled in his corner of the five side room, he noticed that something was missing. The small strand that he'd forced between two panels was gone, and with it the bundle of tools he'd slipped inside.

Cold gripped his guts, as he quickly inventoried his other hiding spots.

Everything was gone. Every last scrap he'd cobbled together over the uncounted days, vanished, sending his head pin-wheeling in dread. Was it the aliens? The Pacified in their innocent bumbling? Maybe one of the other boys stole them to turn in for favours, or to escape on their own?

He barely slept that night, eyes flickering, expecting a reprisal at any moment.

***

No one came for him until the morning, letting Jay stew in paranoia, and a growing belief that soon he'd be joining the others in lobotomised bliss.

Of course, it was his alien that came for him. Like everything else, she would want to handle his punishment personally. She stood in the hatch, and beckoned him with a delicate hand, telling him to come, in a soft chirp and purr.

For mad seconds, the young rat thought about fighting, making a run for the door and barrelling through. But he held back, knowing the collar about his neck would stop him the moment he put up a fight. Instead he found a placid acceptance, his shoulders hanging as he submitted himself, expecting the catchpole to be out, for her to handle him like an animal right at the end.

She told him she was pleased, and turned, expecting him to follow. Which he did without reservations, through the corridors with their now familiar angles, and their soft lighting and inhuman geometry. His eyes watched her swinging hips, unable to help but focus on her and not his fate. How cruel that they were so graceful, the exotic aspects now appearing complimentary. Smooth chitin accenting every span of plump tissue; tufts of golden fur serving to highlight the curves of a heart shaped buttocks and four teardrop breasts; the sharp lines of their features accenting the depths of those four, ineffable, oil-slick eyes.

He was so lost in admiring her, letting his last conscious thoughts be on something pleasing, that he didn't realise they had stopped. Not until she pressed cold fingers to his chest, pushing a length of silvery fabric into his arms. 

He was startled to realise he hadn’t recognised clothes when they were presented to him, after so long in just fur. It was a one-piece jump-suit, the material similar to the reflective blankets they gave people in emergencies. It wasn't designed for someone of his shape, but the instruction was clear.

Soon she had one on herself, hiding her body from him for the first time, only her face still on display. She dressed him as best she could in the other one; two out of four sleeves were empty, and the size meant his legs were barely compressed into the space intended for her thighs. He looked like a toddler trying to wear his father's clothes. And still she didn't explain anything. Instead, she handed him an oversized helmet, which covered the face in a transparent visor, and donned one herself. They looked like surrealist bikers, from a very twisted imagination.

Finished, she held him around the waist with two out of four arms. She churred the words he knew to mean to be calm as the narrow space filled with hissing, and the outer door, opened.

What had he expected? That they were still on Earth? That he'd break out and run free?

The world beyond that outer door, was an infinite, black, void.

Space.

Of course, this was a ship, they were aliens, he had been, abducted. It just hadn't clicked, after all that time with no view of the outside.

Perhaps a few streaks in the distances, like grey-white smears, were stars moving at impossible speeds. The "Ground" before them, was a textured plane of black, just as glossy as her eyes. To Jay it seemed they left the bright, tiled pocket of reality, and stepped into a world of lightless nothing. 

She moved comfortably, carrying him away from that tiny window of light and colour, the soles of his ‘Shoes’ trailing along the ground where they stuck, just like hers.

He turned in her arms, the loose space suit letting him. There was no Earth that he could see, there was no planet at all.

Just.

Emptiness.

She held out a bundle to him.

It was his tools.

He wept.

She pressed them into his hands, and gestured, flinging her arm wide into the empyrean.

"Throw them away," that was what she was saying. "They can't help you, there is nothing you can do."

He clutched them a moment.

And then, let go.

The weightless world took them, and they sailed into the infinite, spinning in slow, lazy, arcs. Gone, in moments, never to be seen again.

She took him back, into her breast, into the ship. They tumbled onto a bunk, a soft spread of sheer material. She pressed him down as he sank, bonelessly into comfort he hadn’t known in all his time aboard. But she didn't end there.

Naked again, her form glistened where it was hard, and drank light where it was soft, and she smelled of honey, of fruit and spice.

He'd forgotten his burden in the rush of it all, but now, with her straddling him, sliding along him, the ache of his brimming nuts came back to him. She was a woman in all the places that spoke to him, regardless of species.

When she kept moving, dragging the fluff of her thighs along his panting chest, he could feel what he wanted, needed, right there. Wet, warm, her sanctum was mounting him, climbing up to eclipse his vision. Ebony black lips, and a smell…

He knew that scent, that sickly sweet mist. He'd been breathing it in, every day. And just like always, he jutted fully to readiness the moment it touched his sinus. His tongue went forward next, tasting it, knowing what to expect as he buried himself in the source of the potent drug that had made him hard so many times already. Potent and heady, like liquor, he was lost, perhaps if he hadn't built a tolerance from the weaker, bottled version, he would have broken right then like the others. As it was, he didn't stop until she removed herself from him, letting him breathe clear air again as she got into position.

She was facing his feet. Her long, black and gold body, curling down over him. All four arms came to the fore, holding his thighs, pressing them against the bunk as she slid back, teasing his cock with the hole he'd so kindly made wet and loose. An arm let go, tracing his balls, rolling them in the way he liked. That she'd made him like. Another traced his tail, his long, naked, pink tail, down, to where it wasn't pink any more, to where it was damp, moist, like a second sex.

Her tongue, thin as a ribbon, dragged along the unnatural purple tip, the end she'd changed, the one she'd made smell, and taste, like her. She suckled it into her mandibled maw, dragging the length deep, down to her throat, as he squeaked, shivered, watching it vanish, bringing a foreign pleasure rippling up his form from waist to neck.

Unable to stay still, the rats hands found her fluffy, warm black cheeks, and dragged her up and back, onto him. He'd never contemplated forcing himself on a woman before, but, the aroma of her was overwhelming, and he couldn't take any more delays. The drugs, the months of torture, the pressure, the heat, the need. He had to have her, then and there, nothing else mattered. Not what came before, or what would come after, he had to know what it was like to sink inside her syrupy slit, the velvet tunnel she was so freely giving.

A cry of shock, and Jay bottomed out, sheathing himself with a sudden shove, a firm stab of virility striking like lightning through them both. Her alien flower swallowed him, and her chitinous back bent in a perfect bow, his tail still in her mouth as she made the universal sound of pleasure, and he did the same. She was tight, and hot, and oh so slick. Her insides gripped and worked him, the same way the machine did, the texture even matched, like soft rolling bubbles, working to tug him without even needing to move.

But she did move, and he did moan.

With the power of her thighs, the waspy woman rode him, bucking back and forth, her four arms working, stroking, touching, caressing, everywhere. She'd made him, she owned him, and even his attempt to be dominant, to tap into the need to breed, had been something she had cultured in him, and desired. His tail drove deeper down her throat, as all four hands found his sack, and gave the bulging contents a commanding squeeze, provoking them to do what she'd trained them for.

Jay couldn't last, he knew, the milking had conditioned him for quantity, not longevity. What was one orgasm, when he'd been taught to produce forty? So he leant into it, paws gripping harder, hips bucking stronger, bollocks churning faster. The wasp atop him churred and sang a low song of approval, urging him with every breath and roll of her spine.

There was no build-up. Just a plateau, and a sudden surge as ecstasy bloomed from every point of contact, spreading up and out, into his head and down through his tail, exploding out the tip into her oral cavity, even as his balls clenched and spasmed in her grip, emptying themselves for the first time inside a proper partner. Hot shots of rich, pearly liquid, rocketed up from within, fulfilling a duty and promise long in the making. Wave upon wave poured from him, flooding her in the gooey, proof of his masculinity.

He'd never felt anything like it, everything before a pale imitation. Now, he sank into the black, and let go.

Much later, his orbs were drained, and she churred pleasantly. All four arms around him, cuddling and stroking him, making him forget what had had to be done, to make that moment possible.

***

"The subject will proceed to inseminate Researcher Cat'the."

Jay blinked and looked at the woman that was speaking to him, the Dzatchi. He could understand them fluently now. Not just from the long lessons with his keeper, the one he now knew was Researcher Third Class Tat'cha, but thanks to the small, star shaped device implanted just behind his left ear.

When it had been done, months ago, he had thought that it was finally time, that the last of the band of kidnapped teens was about to be pacified. But it was just a translator, the pin of black metal taking their words and passing their meaning on, even if all he heard still were clicks, churrs and chuffs. Now he knew, everything. He knew how advanced they were, how far they were spread, how they considered themselves so much more than other races. Which was their irony, as they needed other species more than most.

"Jay," Tat’cha purred, standing alongside the two dozen others of her kind, watching with smug approval, "breed her."

The altered rat required no other instructions, advancing on the reclined female shape laid out like a meal for him to devour. The whole room would have put him in mind of a surgical theatre, or a colosseum, if he bothered to think about it. He was down in a lowered pit alongside an unknown Dzatchi, who lay atop a table much like the one that had once bound and altered him.

He gripped her thighs eagerly, brimming with breed lust as he bent over and drove home with little regard, trusting her physiology to cope with him and accept his overflowing rut.

Above in the stands, twenty-eight sets of iridescent eyes watched the display. One were his owner’s, filled with pride. Thirteen belonged to newcomers, smaller, about the size he'd been when he'd first been taken. Their fur and chitin were a paler colour, and they had a more animated look to them than Tat'cha and the crew of the ship. Fourteen belonged to Board Members of the all female species, superiors to the humble researchers who'd abducted him.

Jay built a pace, desperate to relieve that first nut of the day, having been denied a chance before attending this meeting. His lover of the moment encouraged him onwards, thick honey flinging across them both as slapping filled the amphitheatre.

The ship that had taken him was part of their mission to solve a population crisis. The Dzatchi were a parasite species, needing and then out breeding the males of other species, leading to the drive to always expand, to explore, to experiment.

The female moaned openly, all too eager to feel a genuine cock rather than a replica. Jay would have cared, would have tried to make it good, would have sought some connection with her beyond biology, if he wasn't high on hormones and trained for quantity.

Behind him, Tat'cha presented him proudly to her peers. He was her research specimen, her personal project, where all the other boys had failed. The changes they'd undergone in the "Other room", the Splicing Centre, had been attempts to compensate for capacity with compatibility, fusing aspects of Dzatchi genetics into flagging subjects. Just like Jay's tail, secreting Dzatchi aphrodisiac compounds. There was literally a piece of her, in him, in his DNA.

He roared through his first out pouring, stuffing the waiting egg sack till her armoured belly creaked to contain it all. The formerly composed researcher gave a pleased and pained moan, before climbing free, tottering on unsteady legs to rejoin the assemblage, being replaced by another.

"Proceed with Researcher At'kahin," A senior member droned, sparing just a glance at her swaying colleague before resuming her questioning. Tat'cha was all too keen to do expound, hopeful that her work with him would be the gateway to her elevation in the ranks of the Conservation Board.

Jay snatched the next one by the hips before she even reached the table, already burying his tapered spike to the hilt and groaning in relief at the feeling, while she gave only a second of complaint before compliance came with her climax.

The board sounded pleased as his mistress presented the evidence of his intelligence, the way he'd taught himself their language. How he had reasoned on the best methods to achieve his goals, and had learnt from example where others had failed.

The fourth woman thrown to him was swiftly caught up in his tail, her eyes going wide before the familiar trickle of lustful compounds tickled her senses and brought an easy moan to her lips. He didn't pause or waste time with kisses, just a thorough breeding, a splash of thick, roiling seed, and onto the next.

Tat'cha took great delight in showing images of the tools he'd fashioned, to better illustrate the ingenuity of her subject. She was sure his genetic potential, coupled with the improvements she'd made, would lead to stable and capable offspring.

Seven and eight were quick and efficient, a steady pump and dump that didn't delay the presentation. Thick wads plastered shut eager lips as the next came forward, whittling them down like the boys on the ship.

Eventually it came down to one. Satisfied with what she'd seen so far, the Conservator, leader of the board, delegated the final questions to the rest of the room, and descended the steps into the pit, where Jay was finishing with number thirteen.

She carried her greater age and station in her step, her plates lacking the shine of her subordinates, her eyes rimmed in faint grey, frosting her features. But still, the look on her face was one of appreciation as Jay delivered his load, turning a moment to watch his emissions drip and dribble away to the collection tank at the foot of the table. Nothing would be wasted.

"Subject," She sauntered to the far side of the breeding bench, fingers trailing through the spills of nectar and seed. "You will now proceed to procreate, with me."

A shapely thigh elevated, and glided across the now cleared alter of copulation, the last occupant crawling to the safety of the stands.

Her age didn't prevent her coquettish flare, pulling back an ankle the second he snatched for it, sliding her hourglass figure across the stained surface to provoke him.

"I expect you to perform satisfactorily, subject. There is much demand for a suitable stud, and that could be you, if you meet our, requirements."

She cocked a thigh, revealing her womanhood, soaked through with the lust she'd built watching him work his way through her underlings. Jay leaned in, his tail tingling and his prick throbbing as he closed the distance, the subtle air that wafted off her a far cry from the heavy, perfumed fragrance that clung to Tat'cha; less potent, less fertile, but still…

Fertile enough.

His quick little fingers reached out and caught her by the hips, dragging her with a swift tug, before driving himself up and in. She didn't resist, in fact she wrapped around him like a vine, four arms tugging him down as her slender legs trapped him at her deepest point. She wasn't going to let him do all the work.

But Jay didn't care, he didn't have technique, or artistry. He had needs.

The muscular spire of rodent cock pried her open as easy as it had the others, finding a salivating tunnel that had trained itself on many bulls before him. It welcomed him, massaging his ridges, milking his glans, and easing the way for the load his balls were already threatening to spray.

Their hips slapped, and they rutted with an urgency Jay rarely felt any more. Her arms played across his torso, his back, his neck and face, studying him while they fucked; refusing to give in to the heavy, turgid prick that was hammering away at her venerable temple of fecundity. Rippling pockets of pleasure played along his lengths, inundating it with kisses, bringing him crashing into his first squeaking climax without any warning.

She gasped and squeezed him like a vice, not letting him retreat, dulled chitin creaking with the force of her grip.

"More."

Her voice was a hiss, a click and a chitter, but Jay's implant interpreted it crystal clear, and so he continued, not needing a rest, able to dose himself with a lick of his own tail to breed in perpetuum. His girth returned to full strength within her clutches, not willing to leave her snatch with anything less than a bloated paunch.

The audience gathered in, observing and collating the savage breeding, critiquing poise, efficiency and volume. Some dared to get even closer, so much so that their fellows had to pull them out of reach of whipping limbs and splashing fluids.

Jay barely noticed them, all he saw was the older, more experienced body before him, milking him to ever greater heights, pushing him through all those long months of practice aboard the ship. In and out, thrust and buck, his hands clawing, his tail whipping, the Conservator's eyes glittering, watching him like he was a wild animal in a display of ferocity. He gave his best, not stopping till his sack screamed, not stopping till his tail dangled lifelessly about his knees, not stopping till his back ached and his breath was a ragged gasp.

And in turn, she was satisfied.

The elder alien, groaned beneath a burgeoning gut, her eyes shut as she took a minute to collect all that had transpired and process it. Her thighs were a matted mess of white and gold, lathered by them both. Her sex had been savaged to the point of discomfort. Her egg sack was so caked in semen that she didn't fear that it wouldn’t take, but that the flowing tide would carry her ova with it when it vacated.

Jay, panting from his marathon, found himself the subject of much curiosity. At first thinking it was his handler, coming to praise or inspect him, he lent back into the cool touch. But one hand soon became five, and he blinked away his stupor, finding himself inundated by thirteen grey faces.
The other Dzatchi, the ones about his height with the fairer features, had begun to cluster around him. Their fingers brushing at his fur, his tail and thighs. For a stomach churning moment he was worried he'd need to see to them as well, feeling an almost forgotten pain in his balls from having strained them too far.

"Researcher..." The Conservator managed, her mental inventory completed, sitting up to look at Tat'cha who hovered nearby. "Perhaps you should let your progeny escort the subject elsewhere, while we finalise the details of your new position on the conservation board. I think, we should consider... a breeding program to ensure more like your subject. Which planet did you say he was from?"

Jay blinked owlishly as those words sunk through his sex washed skull, feeling the many hands of his daughters pull him away, as Tat'cha told the board, exactly where they could find more like him.