 |
|||
|
|
Alrik was a trader, a bounty hunter, or a smuggler, depending on who you asked. In any case, his Hermes IV, which he had named Iris, was fast, light, with a surprisingly good defensive system, and a top-of-the-line stealth system bought from a rather shady dealer. He had a small crew: a pilot, an engineer, and a couple of good fighters. Horst was a clever pilot, performing twisting (and uncomfortable) maneuvers that had thus far ensured none of the more destructive missiles fired at them had ever reached their mark. Chantal was a well-educated engineer, and had studied all the latest methods at the prestigious Vega University. Bernardette had the eyes of a hawk and was an expert with guns, whether hand-held or attached to the ship, had some basic first aid skills, and a special hobby for bow and arrow and thrown knives. Raymond, formerly a bouncer, was short, heavyset, and had won many a fight because his opponents lost their nerves before even starting.
It was not a slave ship. Sure, Alrik took the occasional bounty to capture a runaway slave, but only if the slave was clever enough to be worth a high bounty and the owner rich enough to pay it. However, he owned no slaves of his own. He preferred the challenge of wooing a free woman, and had no interest in trying to suppress revolts of male slaves meant for heavy labor, or for that matter for having a bunch of weeping women slaves in his cargo bay waiting to be sold on the auction block.
After selling off his inventory of methadone ore, Alrik was talking to Rambert, a ship and spare parts dealer. Chantal had told him their engine was burned out from their run with those Hawk Clan raiders. Alrik brought the error messages and a recording of the groaning sound the fusion engine made when he tried to start it.
"Well, what do you think: is there no way to avoid buying a whole new engine?"
"None at all, I am afraid. However, this is an excellent opportunity for you to consider an upgrade. The Prometheus 2401 is much more powerful than your old Prometheus 2325. You will go from cold engine to darting through the skies much faster!"
From behind Alrik, off to the left, a female voice cried, full of distain, "Believe me, you don't need a whole new engine. A new dyner coil or two should do it. And you don't want the 2401: the manuals are full of mistakes and omissions and hardly any replacement parts for it are for on the market." There was the sound like slapping and another, deeper, voice said, "Shut up, you little tratsch."
"How much?" asked Alrik, ignoring the the voice.
"A mere 5 million drackels!"
"Give me some time to think about it."
"Of course. You know where to find me. When you are ready, you will not regret your purchase."
Alrik waited for Rambert to walk away, the slow, dragging walk of one who is out of shape. Then he turned around to look for the owner of the female voice.
Both sides of the street were lined with female slave after female slave, spread-eagled, shaven crotches, for examination by potential buyers. Ones who were virgins, ones who were certified as never having been used for prostitution, and the ones who had not received genetic immunization were protected by thin, metal chastity belts and enough of a gag that even should a man climb up, he could not penetrate her mouth. The ones beautiful enough that merchants had invested in genetic immunization, and who were not virgins or certified never-prostitutes, were left fully exposed so that buyers could sample the wares. Many poor men who could not afford to buy a slave or rent a prostitute took advantage of this to get a quick orgasm.
Guards strolled casually along, making sure the wares were not damaged. At sunset, they would unlock the arm spreader bars from the hooks holding them up, allowing the unfortunate women to sit or lie down, and pass out soup and blankets. If any of them struggled, the arm spreader bar could be strapped to the slaves's ankles with rope. Potential customers were still free to check out the slaves at night, but most didn't. In the morning, the guards would pass out oatmeal, take away the blankets, grab each female slave's arm spreader bar and reattach it to the hook, forcing them to stand up, and give each slave a good hosing down.
The voice came again, thick with sarcasm, "So what is it: 500 drackals for a couple of dyner coils, or 5 million drackals for a whole new engine that will be much harder to repair?" It was from a slave with long black hair but surprisingly pale, almost ivory skin. Most of the front side of her could not be seen, for a rather overweight, tall man dressed in purple was busily thrusting his manhood in and out of her. "That's enough!" he said, slapped her across the face, and pulled out short, thin chain with clamps on each end out of his right pocket. Alrik could not see what he did, but it is safe to assume he attached one clamp to each of her breasts. She did not cry out, unlike other slave women Alrik had seen this done to. She simply kept staring at him, as if daring him to argue with her. Then the man pulled up on the middle of the chain. This forced the slave to stand on her tip toes and tilt her head toward the sky, but still she was silent. The man then continued working toward his orgasm, all the while moving his hands over every part of her body he could reach.
Alrik pretended to be interested in the other slaves until the man in purple cried out in joy, closed up his pants, and left. Alrik then slowly walked over to her, and stopped close enough to her that they would not likely be interrupted, but not close enough that he touched her.
He looked at the card displaying basic information about her. This was her seventh day on display. She would be auctioned off on the tenth. Only the highest value slaves were displayed for that long: a minimum of seven, to ensure all the rich buyers and a chance to look, plus a few more to ensure the sale occurred on a Saturday, the day of the biggest auction. She had received genetic modifications for complete immunization (not only from sexual diseases), immortality (she could still be killed, but she would not age and injuries would heal relatively quickly), and no accidental pregnancy (her ability to conceive could be easily turned on and off with a simple shot). Perfect for a former prostitute. However, she was most likely being sold because in the five years her former master, the owner of a high end brothel, had owned her, bounty hunters had been sent to retrieve her three times. Alrik could only assume the reason for the lack of scarring from the punishment she must have received was the immortality modification. Nevertheless, she was sure to fetch a high price anyway. Many slave owners enjoyed a challenge, or assumed that it wouldn't happen to them.
Alrik looked at her face. He saw her breasts - somewhat on the large size for a woman her size - out of his peripheral vision, but out of respect, resisted the urge to stare at them directly. Had her ankles not been chained to metal brackets on either side, 3' apart, she would have been nearly as tall as he was, and he was 5'7". As it was, he had to look down at her. Her eyes were a lovely violet, but dull with bags underneath, as one who is exhausted. Were she happier and energetic, they probably would have been stunning. She smirked up at him and said, "If you don't want to waste your money, you'll get the dyner coils, master."
"Why are you telling me this?" Alrik said, his voice flat and his face stern.
"I hate Rambert, master."
"Why?"
"None of your business, master."
"Really?" According to custom, Alrik had every reason to slap her. First she admits to hating a master, and then she refuses to answer his question. But Alrik was secretly fond of her. Were she a free woman, he would have asked her out to dinner. As it was, he simply raised an eyebrow.
"If you know so much about engines, show me," said Alrik, leaning so far toward the slave she had to pull her had back to keep from touching him. She lost her balance and was held up only by the 3' spreader bar holding her wrists.
"You can afford a deposit on me, master?"
"Yes. Will you come?"
"NO! I cum for no man! Find a woman who has a choice to have sex with you or not!" She suddenly started struggling against her chains, hard enough that her wrists and ankles would surely bruise. Actually, looking at them, Alrik realized they already were bruised.
He pressed himself toward her enough that her legs and no room to struggle, and grabbed below both her wrists, trying to hold her still.
His face was now close enough to hers that he could have kissed her. "Stop it! You're hurting yourself! That's where you get bruises from!"
"Master, that's not where the bruises between my legs are from, or the ones on my ass and breasts, or the ones on my throat."
"Look, I'm not asking you to orgasm for me. I'm asking you to come back to my spaceship and have a look at my engine."
"Then let go of me, master. And stop pressing your leg into my crotch!"
"Will you stop struggling?"
"Master, let go of me!"
"Calm down. You're hurting yourself."
"Let go, master!"
"Not until you agree to stop struggling."
"Yes, master. I'll stop for the moment."
Alrik slowly let go and waited for the slave to catch her breath. She was surprised. In all the time she had been a slave, no free person had ever let go of her or stopped touching her because she asked them to. She was generally punished in one way or another for daring to ask. Finally, she looked up at Alrik with curiosity.
"Will you come to my ship and see if you can fix my engine?" he asked.
"You are asking me, master?"
"What do you want me to do? Drag you by a leash attach not only to your collar but also to clamps on your nipples and leave a ginger dildo in you until you agree to do as I ask?"
"No, master!"
"Will you agree to come to my ship?"
"Very well, master, but no nipple clamps and NO ginger dildo!"
Alrik called over one of the guards and negotiated a deposit of 600,000 drackals to ensure he would return the merchandise. The guard gave Alrik a bag full of restraints, warning him that the slave was likely to try to run, and came over to unlock the chains she was being displayed in. The guard let go of her right ankle first. She tried to kick the guard but Alrik held her ankle. He held a hobble, which had two thick steel locking anklets with a thick steel chain between them. The chain was about a foot and a half long.
"Master, No hobble!"
"I'm taking you to my ship, not giving you a chance to run away. Stay calm."
"No master!"
"Stop struggling. You're bruised enough as it is."
She didn't, but he got the anklet locked in place anyway. It was a thick, circular strip of metal, designed to be hard to cut through,
weigh the wearer down, and quite uncomfortable. Alrik pulled the leg closer to the one still attached to the display block, the guard unlocked her left ankle, and Alrik quickly locked in with the other anklet of the hobble, in spite of the slave's resistance.
At this point, Alrik was concerned he would need to use a leash. However, the wretched slave's neck was already bruised up, no doubt
from her masters pulling hard on leashes before. He locked chain snugly around the smallest portion of her curved waist. As he was doing so, it was sadly apparent to him she had not been fed well for quite some time. Her rib cage was sticking out a bit. He locked another chain both to her heavy steal collar and to the steel chain now around her waist. If he had to pull her by this, it would at least put less force on her neck. She squirmed all while he did this, but still being locked by the spreader bar to the hook above her, this did not help.
The guard let her right wrist go, and Alrik quickly locked it in a heavy steel manacle. This manacle was attached by a thick, heavy chain about 4 inches long to a second manacle. Alrik forced her right wrist close to her left wrist, and finally, the guard let her left wrist go and Alrick locked it into the other manacle, the slave struggling the whole time. The guard left them alone. Alrik grabbed the slave's forearms to try to stop her from further bruising her wrists.
"I thought you agreed to come to my ship?" he said, gentleness and confusion in his voice.
"I'm not merchandise!"
"Well, actually, you are," ignoring as always her breach in protocol of failing to call him, a free person, master. It was not a custom Alrik much cared for, and if the woman did not say "master" each and every time she smoke to him, he was not going to say anything about it. Many others would have, as a minimum, slapped her for that alone. Actually, the mildly distainful tone this slave used for the word "master" was far preferable to Alrik than the usual respectful tone he heard from sex slaves, most of whom seemed so broken that he didn't expect they were ever honest about their feelings except when screaming in pain.
"That's all you think of me as, master!"
"I'm sure many have thought of you as much worse than that."
"Then you admit it, master!"
"I didn't say that! Look, what's your name?"
"I don't have one, master. People generally call me Tratsch, Trix, or Dawlie." (Dear reader, "tratsch" is this story is basically an insult somewhere between "bitch" and "slut", "trix" roughly means "whore", and "dawlie" is a demeaning word for a female sex slave.")
"Then I will call you Artemis. In ancient mythology, she was a goddess of the Earth moon."
"Master, I'm no goddess."
"Would you rather I call you that or Dawlie?"
The woman looked away.
"Do you want to help me with my engine, or are you going to fight me every step of the way."
She looked up at him. "I'll help, master."
"And when you are done, you will let me bring you back here to the display block and you will let the guard chain you up again without any more resistance?"
"No master."
"Then you can go back on display now."
"No! Master! No!"
"Then promise."
"Very well, master."
"What do you promise?"
"Master, I'll do my best to help you fix your engine, and when that is done, I will come back here and let the guard chain me up again, and from now until then, I won't resist as long as you don't hurt me much."
"Come this way, then, Artemis." Alrik gently put right arm around her shoulders and held her left upper arm with his left hand to guide her.
"Master, please don't touch me like that," Artemis plead. (It is worth noting that at this point on, Alrik began to notice a change in the slave's tone of the word "master". Rather than being particularly distainful as before, or respectful like that of other sex slaves, they seemed to generally adopt the tone of whatever sentence they were in.)
"I don't want to pull by your leash if I can avoid it. Your neck is too bruised as it is."
"Master, I won't run away until you have your deposit back."
"Forgive me if I still don't trust you."
"Then attach another chain to my wrist chain and pull me by that, master."
Altrik sighed but did as she asked, attaching a short, two foot chain with a leather loop on the end to the chain between her manacles.
"Come now, Artemis, walk next to me. Better."
"At least I'm 600,000 drackal merchandise," Artemis commented, more to herself than to Alrik.
"You are also a very intelligent woman, if you can fix my engine."
Male passerbys stared at Artemis. Why not? Lovely shape, muscular ass, lovely breasts, visible crotch. Her face was lovely too, with large lips, large eyes, and a well-defined nose, but few paid attention to those details.
One passerby briefly groped her crotch with one hand and her ass with his other hand. Artemis pulled closer to Alrik.
"Have you had a change of heart?" he asked.
"Don't take it personally, master. Someone just groped my crotch and ass."
With Artemis at his right, Alrik let go of the manacle chain, held her upper left arm with his left hand, slipped his right arm around her waist, and began to gently stroke her belly. Artemis was less than happy about this, but said nothing, as she hoped he would at least be able to protect her from being groped by more passerbys.
"Haven't men been groping you, having sex with you, and slapping you for six or seven days now?" Alrik asked.
"Master, I would a break."
Men still stared, but after a time, Artemis pointed out a dealer who had cheap dyner coils.
"Those are used. They probably aren't any good," Alrik commented.
"Master, people often throw out perfectly good parts because they replace engines that could be repaired. I can examine them, master."
Alrik lead her over. "Master, you have a standard engine repair kit?" Artemis asked the dealer. He looked at Alrik, unused to being addressed by slaves, especially female slaves as beautiful as Artemis.
"Well, do you?" Alrik asked.
"Yes, of course," replied the dealer.
"Well, give it to my slave here so she can examine your dyner coils."
"Master, will you please remove these manacles?" asked Artemis.
"No." replied Alrik.
"This will take much longer with so little mobility, master."
"So be it."
Artemis went through the twelve dyner coils carefully, obviously struggling with having to perform so many delicate, complicated tasks without being able to move her wrists more than four inches apart. Four dyner coils were set aside in less than a minute. Five received a detailed exam. Eventually, she selected the best two. Alrik paid only 200 drackals.
|
|
|