The year is 2050. An asteroid hits Earth and causes a massacre on a planetary scale. Then comes a climatic change and the result is Chaos. Civilisation breaks down. Governments fall, power stations come to a halt, communications stop, there is no transport, no food ... The survivors organise themselves in tribes and begin a deadly struggle for survival.
Only one colony, Copernicus Penitentiary on Mars, remains intact. It is first human colony in space and it houses the worst criminals, sent into perpetual exile and sentenced to heavy manual labour.
When news of the catastrophe reaches them, the prisoners mutiny and take over the Martian settlement. They have spacecraft, sophisticated technology, weapons and an almost completed city. But they need one other thing: females.
A group of prisoners returns to Earth to hunt for the women who will be their slaves. These are violent men, criminals by nature, bitter men who satisfy their long-repressed instincts and quench their thirst for revenge by attacking the terrified survivors, the survivors of a society that once condemned them.
This story is full of sex and violence, a story in which the "splitasses" - as they call their sexy young catches - are mercilessly hunted down among the ruins of the cities and taken like cattle to Copernicus for the pleasure and solace of the new masters of the world. And the Masters are not satisfied with physically possessing the women ...
After a few weeks the prison cells hold a new kind of prisoner: scores of young women naked and shackled like cattle, trembling horrified waiting for their terrible destiny, a destiny far worse than death ...
FROM THE BOOK:
The young girl, who was trembling like a leaf, started to cry silently. A wide plaster sealed her lips and something fat was filling her mouth, but nothing held back her tears.
Hunter noticed this and looked her in the eyes...
"We will have a great time tonight, won't we, splitass?"
The girl instinctively shook her head. She was paralyzed with terror.
Killer twisted in the armchair trying to accommodate his throbbing erection. He was enviously imagining the night that the guide was going to have with the prisoner.
A torrid voice behind him made him jump.
"Atira the slave-girl begs permission to kiss her Master's balls..."
Killer hadn't seen, nor imagined, nor even dreamed of anything like this in his life.
He gaped open-mouthed, stupefied. This couldn't be true...
Hunter, observing the effect on his client, smiled...
"It's my personal slave-girl, at least for now. Unlike the majority who feel ripped off if they don't catch a blonde, white 'splitass' with blue eyes, I still like our women..."
Killer could manage no more than a nod. His eyes, his libido, all his attention was concentrated on the sumptuous ebony buttocks that were alongside him. Atira was a twenty-four year old black American woman, five foot seven tall with a thirty-nine inch bust and thirty-seven inches around the hips. She was a real erotic dream and she moved with the grace of a panther. Her hair lightly waved and very curly, was thick and reached to halfway down her back and her face was unusually finely chiselled for one of her race. She was a true beauty with slightly slanted black eyes, high cheekbones, a small slightly snub nose, a big mouth and lips that drive men wild. Her skin shone with the oils that had been rubbed into it and it looked as soft as silk. Her breasts were superb, high and strong. Swollen like two balloons that are about to burst. The bottom, like most black women's, was rounded, large and firm, with a perfect shape, a temptation for a sadist like Killer. Her long and strong legs were perfectly straight and well turned with thighs that promised sublime caresses. And her outfit was the final touch to complete this erotic dream. A silver studded leather collar with a two-foot long leash hanging between her naked breasts, two little bells, on rings that pierced her nipples! And a fine golden cord around her hips holding up a tiny golden curtain that barely covered the pubis it was supposed to hide. The slave-girl was wearing golden sandals that hid none of her foot but raised her heel a good four inches off the floor. Two chains around her ankles held two more little bells that tinkled with every step she took and, imagined Killer interpreted whole symphonies in bed.
That was all.
What kind of fool would want to cover such satin skin, such splendid contours?
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