The white skinned male alien sat calmly in his chair, his body relaxing back against the crystal it was made from. It was one of the few things in this room that came from his home world, and he found it rather useful in helping with his patience. His lack of it was what had gotten him assigned the disgraceful task of having to make deals with inferior species, and as vital as the task was it was one given to those who had disgraced themselves. He had lost his patience training a slave four years ago, and still carried the shame of allowing a slave to bring forth his temper. The slave in question had been killed, of course, as had the other witnesses to the event. The Midrozi left nothing to chance when it came to their reputation. And considering what he had done earlier today, he expected to need all the calm focus meditation could bring that he could get.

Normally the slaves he purchased from the markets were picked out weeks before he ever saw them. With everything about their body and mind being studied in complex detail to ensure they could be turned into a perfect slave with minimal fuss. But the human who was being brought to him was not one of those. Instead she had been as close to an impulse buy as Midrozi ever came. He had only studied her for three days before deciding she would be worth purchasing. He didn't see her as a massive potential profit for the clan, she would have been selected by a spire lord for purchase if that was the case. Instead she was something cheap, an unbroken mind in a fairly good looking body. He would break that mind, and teach her how to serve. She wouldn't be worth anywhere near enough to be branded as a Midrozi slave, but he could still sell her on in a few weeks, or a month or two, and make a tidy profit for himself.

And keep himself amused watching her suffering of course. The Jarri were a sadistic race after all, and nothing helped them get over being forced to deal in such humiliating circumstances like releasing their pent up anger on something helpless. No doubt she would prove useful in that regard, at least till she grew boring.

As the door beeped the alien smiled ever so slightly, waving to cause it to unlock and slide open. Inside the office was fairly sparse, the door opening up to reveal a polished stone floor that glistened black and seemed to suck away thoughts of escape and resistance, as if the stone itself spread dispair through unguarded minds. The table and chair that K'Larim was sitting on were both made of a deep blue crystal that had been shaped like humans did plastic, smooth and seamless to touch. In the center of the table was a large black disc, a holo-projector that acted as the user interface for K'Larim's computer, and next to that was a crystal goblet fashioned like the holy grail of earth legends, although K'Larim didn't know that particular fact.

He let his gaze run along the body of the one brought to him, the warrior and pair of hunters that had been sent to pick her up ordered to not harm her ... at least not visibly. Her outfit would be whatever she had been wearing in the slave pens when purchased, although there was no visible chains binding her. For if she ran, where would she go? All that the streets promised was uncertainty, and the public punishment, and rapes, that she would have witnessed happening to any human found without an owner to protect them should have subdued any attempt to escape. At least before she knew just what she was in for as a Midrozi plaything.

She looks fairly well kept, compared to the typical, abject filthiness that the pen girls are subjected too. She had spent a night there and that was it. This was the scared straight bit, of course. The Shokushu administrators had found out her game and they had used it as an excuse to punish her, because that's what they did. Rules existed as a means to punishment. If you failed the rules, it meant you succeeded in the eyes of the staff and you were worth keeping around. So they interrogated her, they talked a big game about her future life as a slave, then a few nights in a pig pen. Surely her "purchase" had been arranged. She would be subjected to rape, to humiliation, but this was something she had learned to handle. At least, with the knowledge that she'd be returned to Shokushu, a horrific place but a horrific place who's rules she understood. And her friends would be there, wouldn't they?

Clean for the most part, hair still fresh and with the vague strawberry scent of the school shampoo lingering in it. She's not bruised, barely dirty. Those "pen" antics were about as real as a haunted house. Right....? She's dressed in her school uniform, neatly pressed, a glib bit of irony from her torturers, something about bidding her farewell in the uniform she never wore. She accompanied her private guard with an undeserved swagger, a pride that drew sneers from every single person or creature she had passed on the way up, had chatted up her guards with glib pop culture comments they neither had reference for or any desire to understand. She smooths her skirt over her knee before clipping up to the desk, head tipped just slightly to the side, smirk insufferable, eyes settled squarely on the man behind the desk.

"I never knew Johnny Winter had so many brothers." Lashes batted. She hides any doubts of her own confidence, any suggestions that this might not all be grand theater for the sake of her ego, and buries them deep deep down in the pit of her stomach. "Are you the headmaster? Did you request a naughty schoolgirl?"

K'Larim glanced up with a sigh, before remarking something in his own language to the ex-student's escorts. Both chucked at the words, before the alien turned his gaze to Elise. His eyes locked with hers, and for the briefest moment Elise would feel waves of malice and spite rolling off him, enough to make the monsters and teachers of Shokushu seem like boy scouts. Even when the psychic warning faded, those eyes twinkled with sadism, a desire to see the student screaming and writhing, to see every layer of her mind and body stripped away till she was just a bag of meat. First, you will refer to me, and any other male for that matter, as master. Oh and don't think I can't see your doubts of confidence. Your stay at Shokushu is over, and I'm sure you'll be screaming and begging to be thrown back in the toddlers pool within a few days. He is a member of the trainer caste, and reading the mind of Elise is child's play. He brings up her darkest fears, parading them in your mind and searching for those nuggets of confidence and pride, trying to find the keys to break you apart completely.

Elise has always been strong, in her way. She came to Shokushu sheltered, sexually prudish, a virgin. The first few trials had been the most difficult things she had ever faced, but she had an analytical mind, had a survival instinct that found shoals of solace and clung to them. She discovered the rules to the game quickly. Rules existed as a means to exact punishment, would be ignored or exacted at the whims of the sadists. So, for the girls, they weren't worth following. The monsters could use you, but they couldn't hurt you, not in a way that would make you untenable for a play date the next day. There was no subversion too great that would make your threat outweigh your value as a plaything. You could learn to suffer the trauma as long as you could cling to the rules. She had never considered they might ever grow tired of her. But as this demon lays his eyes upon her, she knows immediately that she's been let loose. Worse, she knows her friends are doomed by her ego. They've been set adrift among real monsters for the sin of trusting in her brazen, cocky self.

Her head spins. She can't tear her eyes away from this beast. She's hypnotized. Images flash through her head: Airi and Revi, their perfect, lean, athletic bodies stripped down, on their knees beneath the master's desk. She suddenly knows, with absolutely certainty, that they're there. Wait, did she just think of him as....? Her head spins, and for a moment, her mind's gone. Two seconds, maybe three lost, and she finds herself leaning on the desk, her knees weak beneath her. The two best friends she's ever had are on all fours, mounted by great fire-breathing hell dogs. Their tongues down each other's throats. No pleasure in the act of kissing, only in the approval of master. He sits before them on a great throne and their eyes are turned upward, not daring rise above his boots but hoping desperately for some sign of approval from him. Bile rises in her throat. There's the sudden, irresistible urge to puke but only the knowledge of disapproval keeps it down.

Leaning on the desk, her legs given way, supported only by her elbows. Every muscle in her face reflects a horrifying, existential despair, but as her eyes meet his, there's only rage in them.

That was disappointingly quick ... I suppose that's what I get for believing a xenos had even a sliver of honesty when he said you were fiery and hard to break. And your already on the edge of sobbing, just from the thought of two other sluts rutting like the fuck toys that all those students are being trained for. He paused letting his powers into your mind, grasping your fears, and then corrupting them even more. You would see your two friends expressions change to ones of bliss and joy as the alien's crude rough voice says "good pets." and moves to pat the two fucking hell-hound like pets, your mind locked watching the scene as they cum just from hearing that the ones fucking them are doing a good job, a primal urge to prove their master right.

Your anger is ignored by the Midrozi, the fact that you can't do anything to him fuelling his confidence. But that doesn't stop him from feeding your desire to lash out, to take one wild swing, to prove that your not broken, that you will fight. You don't know anything of pain and suffering, of just what K'Larim can do with no tools other than the tips of his fingertips. Or even with just his mind making you think you can feel nerves being stimulated when they really aren't.

Come on, Elise. You're better than this. Rationalize your way through it.

He opened with a sucker punch, a psychological hit no more advanced than any stupid cop sadist. The Sho interrogators planted the concern in her head, left her to stew over it for days, then he wallops her with it. The fact that he opened so bluntly should tell her something about his supposed professionalism, right? And now, trying to rile her up... No, this is good. The rules may be different but in the end, they're all the same assholes underneath. And with a quick, moralizing train of thought, she reconstitutes her expression rapidly, flash in keen eyes directed, smirk climbing back across pink lips.

She hefts herself atop the table, lifted to all fours, pert little rear in the air, sex kittenish in schoolgirl skirt, pretty mouth tipped towards his ear, ironic smirk suggesting she doesn't take him all that seriously as she purrs. "Maybe I'm just jealous they're having all the fun. I'm not going to be here forever, Daddy. I'm eager to see what you have to teach me. You big, bad, slave master."

K'Larim adopted a bored expression as the human recovered and came back with a taunt, the alien waiting until she had moved close before one hand slid out. He rested slender fingers against her neck, stroking smooth soft skin and down her arm. But the moment his fingers slid off her uniform and touched her arm that changed. His expression was still as bored and dull as ever, but his fingers found a nerve cluster with practiced ease before digging in hard against it with two fingers. Instnatly it would respond, waves of pain that made anything the human had ever felt before feel like nothing.

I never said you could climb onto my desk, and you will fuck what I want you to, when I want you to, and not a moment before or after. His voice was vicious and cold, echoing inside your mind as the pain lanced through everything, his psychic powers slamming against the doors you had locked that guarded your true emotions and reactions, testing you to see if you would snap easily, or if he would have to go further.

Her head tilts up at the touch, mouth parting, likely about to make some other mocking comment, when he closes his grip over the nerve cluster. Distantly, she recognizes the casualness of the motion, like a master swatting its dog with a newspaper. Every muscle in her body tightens at once, every inch lit on first by the pain. Teeth grind together, refusing to scream, but a whimper escapes her throat still, eyes locked on his even as her vision blurs with tears. Knees and elbows lock, then give out, the way in which he controls every inch of her body with two fingers humiliating, but she won't give him the satisfaction. Slumped on the table, muscles jumping, jaw tense, bladder gives out, beyond her control, like an untrained puppy, staining panties, soaking skirt, then puddling shamefully beneath her body, dribbling down the edge of the desk.

She continues to stare, even as his thoughts echo through her head. Her mind concentrating solely on the pain, as if its purifying, as if in mantra, desperately and stubbornly trying to fend his probing rape of her mind through will of singular thought.

His eyes are emotionless and dull as he puts Elise through the worst pain of her life, a searing agony that robs her body of control. His expression is dull, that of someone who isn't even paying that much attention. He breaks the gaze first, but the motion isn't a sign of weakness or being unable to look into your eyes. Instead he just turns to face one of the other Midrozi, soon getting into a disscussion in their own tongue, ignoring you as you lost complete control over your body.

He holds the pain on for a few seconds after that before his hand moves back, gaze shifting back to you as his face wrinkles. "Ugh. No better than a feral animal ... still what else could be expected from a human. Strip her and clean her ... she's got to be marked still." He orders the other two, psychic tendrils reaching out and grabbing you, carrying you away from the desk and out of the room. On the way through the corridors you see another human women rushing past, perhaps even recognise the face as someone who was at Shokushu a year ago, but then graduated.

((Sorry about the delayed response! I was busy all weekend))

Beneath the noble mask of worry for her friends, there's a more insidious level of terror, that those broken shells of bimbos she always derided on campus weren't so different from her. That her own breaking point wasn't that far beyond reach, perhaps even that she'd had it easy, not as desirable as the girls with the huge tits and the big doe eyes, spared the worst of the suffering. That somewhere, within the grasp of some unforeseen devil was that push needed to send her over the edge, whereupon she'd cease to resemble anything human and instead sink into the depravity of drooling, eager pet, all semblance of identity gone, some bitch begging to be bred, begging for any attention, no matter how vile it might be.

The pain fades slowly and she snaps back into reality with a gasp, the foreign chatter of her captors dull background noise. She doesn't need to hear what they're saying to know what they're saying. Still, she's surprised at the sudden lash of the tendril, snatching her by the throat and ripping her from the desk's surface, gurgling around the choke as she's slung to the floor. Wrists yanked behind her back and together violently, shoulders aching as blades are pressed together, and the two tendrils drag her efficiently from the room. Knees bump and scrape along the floor as she's pulled through the halls, the vaguest semblance of a sneer as she sees the girl rushing through the hall, eager to serve her Master's orders, some phantom figure half remembered from classes months ago, years ago, maybe. "Quick, hound! I left a mess for you to clean u----rrrkkkk!!!!" Words choked from her as the invisible shackles briskly hurry her along.