“You will get accustomed to it,” the Yithian said. “Tkish ror.” One of the guards licked his lips as he studied Alex then both left. “Come with me, Alexandra Novona. There is much to do before you are ready.”
Alex planted her feet wider apart. “Ready for what?”
The Yithian smiled lightly. “We pride ourselves in placing our escorts in fields of operation they will excel and feel comfortable in. The large one in your group, for example, will serve on a security detail, the dark female as a consort. You have been placed—”
“What about the young one? What happened to her?”
The Yithian’s face tightened for just a split second. She batted hairless eyelids. “She is to remain with Drokesh. As I was saying, you have been placed within the gaming element of Drokesh’s enterprise.”
Alex shivered. Poor Kim. Her lungs tightened, felt too small for the air she tried to breathe. She tried not to snarl when she said, “I don’t play games.”
The Yithian female approached and toyed with a strand of Alex’s hair. “We can make this as pleasant or unpleasant as you wish. We cater to every known taste and can accommodate quite a few more.”
After that, Alex kept her mouth shut.
She was shown where she’d stay, the lavatories, the gymnasium, the pool. She wanted to scream. What else had she expected, though, when she’d spent the last four years selling slaves to places like this one? She’d kept telling herself how these escorts would have the good life. Now, when she viewed things from the other side of the fence, she suddenly supposed it would be all bad?
True, some of the others she’d met didn’t seem fond of the place or the silver band around their necks, but others looked quite satisfied with their lives. Just when she thought life was black and white with a very thin gray strip in between, things became complicated. Lots more gray than she ever realized. Too much.
“You are to wait in your room until someone fetches you. After your health check, you will be given new clothes and a chance to bathe. Then I will speak with you at that time to discuss your involvement in the games. Meanwhile, you may visit any place you wish. If you try to leave this building, you will be brought to a much less pleasant place than this.”
Alex snorted. “You Yithians have a way with words. So you mean, if I try to escape, you’ll slam me in your brig and beat the shit out of me.”
The Yithian smiled. “I will enjoy our association.”
When she was finally allowed some privacy, Alex sat on the bed and rested her head on her knees. Around her, the room felt as though it was closing in on her, suffocating her. She punched the mattress.
Captain Steel on a brothel-ship, but not as a patron, as an escort. A slave.
“Yeah, I’ll call them that from now on. ‘Slaves.’”
* * * * *
Sekmeth watched as the shadow of a very well-endowed female Mers squatted right on top of a thick rod fastened to an ornate table. It disappeared deeply inside her. The “dancing shadows” as these shows were called on Gorgosh had always pleased him. A thin screen of polymer membrane glowed yellow from the bright light behind it, while the dancer performed her, his—or their—routine. He enjoyed the element of mystery, of subtle detail only keen eyes could detect. There was always something special for those who knew where to look. This Mers female, for example, wore anklets, which rolled up and down her thick legs as she performed her dance. He watched for a while longer then walked by the club’s façade. There was something important to be done. Excitement made him lengthen his pace.
People seemed to melt to the side as he cut a swath in the crowd, marching toward his destination with apparent resolve. He had hunted well, and the symbol would crown the day with the usual ecstasy. When he rounded the corner of a marble and steel court, the small, silver sign he knew well shone as a beacon.
Sekmeth removed his gloves. Pushing the door, he stepped into the tattoo artist’s workshop. Not many could afford her, and those who did would not come back repeatedly. But he was a Hunter. Her fees were not above his credit status nor her skill matched anywhere else in the system. A hunt’s symbol was a personal, highly stimulating act, one he wouldn’t trust with anyone else.
“It has not been long since I marked your skin,” Jall said from behind the copper-studded draperies shielding her work area.
Sekmeth smiled in spite of himself as she parted the curtain and poked her head out. In typical Naray fashion, she wore very little, her scales as rows of tiny sapphires. Milky eyes, though blind to the world, shone with intelligence and not a little cunning. She beckoned him inside.
“Please sit,” she said, her forked tongue stretching the sibilants.
Sekmeth lowered himself onto one of the sleek metal chairs and crossed his legs. “I have a special request, Jall.”
One of the female’s hairless ridges arched above a white eye. She cocked her head.
“The hunt yielded four preys, but I wish for one to have her own symbol. A special one. Here,” he indicated his chest, knowing Jall would, somehow, sense where he pointed.
“She is prized, this one, yes?”
Sekmeth nodded.
A smile stretched Jall’s taut face. “It will be my honor to mark your skin for one so esteemed.”
He wasn’t sure if she referred to him or to the human female for whom the symbol was meant.
From behind the curtain, a pair of Naray females, both in their middle cycle, swayed in. One bore a tray meant for Jall, while the other brought what implements they would need to make his visit enjoyable. They removed his clothes while Jall prepared her tools, the clicking of her nails against the metal a soothing music to Sekmeth. Escorted by the Narays, he made his way to the chaise where he would spend the next few hours. About four foot high, the supple polymer membrane adapted to his frame as he lay on it. Already his member stood erect. Sekmeth licked his lips.
Jall dipped the steel-tipped pen into the ink, producing a musical little chink as she tapped the excess off. Simultaneously, the other two Narays positioned themselves on either side of his thighs. With hands both dexterous and firm, one grabbed his member while the other cupped his testicles. When Jall pierced his skin for the first time, both of her attendants squeezed what portion of him they had in hand. The mixture of pleasure and pain made him hiss a breath.
Grinning, Jall murmured something in her tongue, which Sekmeth couldn’t understand. Her attendants nodded, and he was left to wonder what had been said. When one of the assistants reached into the tray and produced what resembled a length of chain, Sekmeth found his mounting desire hard to control.
Each one of the links was in fact a separate ring held to the next by magnets. Several magnetized rings were slid to the base of his shaft. Sekmeth closed his eyes and let them work their magic. Soon, Jall’s precise stabs had dulled from acute burning to a diffused throb, which radiated from his shoulder down his whole arm while the pair’s ministrations awakened parts of him hard to control. Mental images involving himself and the two seductresses danced in his mind. Knowing he, like some so-gifted Yithians, could convey images into others’ minds, Sekmeth made sure his arousal was shared by the two. He was rewarded with renewed vigor.
In his mind, he rose from the chaise and bore down on one of the Narays, raking his teeth along the resilient scales on her neck. Turning around, she offered her barely covered behind with all the nimbleness Narays were known for. Her spine curved into a tight C, which accentuated the bristled quality of her scaled skin. Sekmeth gripped her by the hips and rubbed his member along her entry. Without further ado, he drove in. Heat seared his flesh, made him moan.
Jall jabbed particularly hard then, producing exquisite pain, which contrasted with the Naray’s delicious admittance. While he thrust his full length into the deep Naray, her companion began to flick her forked tongue along his spine, then down his thighs and up the other female’s belly. They kissed, both dark tongues entwined as dueling snakes. Reaching out, the one receiving his ardor
retrieved another tool from the tray. Shiny, opalescent, it looked too thick to be used on any body orifice but a Naray’s. As he continued pumping into the increasingly wetter female, her counterpart put a foot on the chaise, biting her purple lips when the shiny rod was rubbed along her own entry. Then it went inside.
Pure ecstasy swelled his muscles, filled his senses. Matching him thrust for thrust, the Naray holding the tool undulated under his assault, moaned and pumped her arm to pleasure her companion.
But abruptly, the Narays in his mind began to change. The one receiving the other’s attention faded, until she disappeared completely. Sekmeth slowed his enthusiastic drive when the other female began to dissipate as well. Mentally, such changes were normal, even for a Yithian. But they usually occurred when he wanted it, not like this, as if he was a mere spectator inside his own mind. The Naray’s skin lost its scaly quality and was replaced with smooth ivory. Her red hair darkened, lengthened, became curly. With his member still inside her increasingly tight sheath, he stared back at a human female, one he knew too well. Without his meaning to, his seed surged out of him.
“Alexandra Novona.”
Sekmeth heard his voice, knew he had spoken outside his mind.
After opening his eyes, his embarrassment was deepened by the fact all three Narays grinned, the two assistants seemingly nonplussed at his indiscretion. He looked down at himself to inspect the tattoos and nodded. The first one wrapped his left shoulder, three distinct patterns interwoven into a curved seashell pattern. The other, the special one, was directly over his heart and represented a black flower in full bloom. Perfect. No one could surpass Jall’s skill and perceptiveness.
While her attendants cleaned him of his seed, Jall placed the pen back in the tray. “She is special,” she commented, dabbing his pectoral with a cloth.
Skill and perceptiveness.
* * * * *
Music thundered louder than a vengeful storm when Sekmeth stepped into Drokesh’s exclusive club and scanned the place. The incident at Jall’s had left him tight and cross. The human was intruding into his mind, breaking down barriers he’d worked a lifetime to build and years to master. Hunters were never caught unawares, especially in their own minds.
The tattoo over his pectoral itched. He was no longer sure it’d been such a good idea to come here. And he had work to do, the little ship to take care of. Perhaps he should auction it off. Yet the thought of getting rid of it didn’t please him. Keeping it would probably be the best choice since he suspected the Femme Metal was worth more than it looked. And it did remind him of her. Sekmeth shook his head in frustration.
Several species rubbed shoulders here—when they had them. He noticed only a handful of humans, mostly males. The beige and brown skin tones looked drab compared to the rest, but for their lack of luster, humans moved with grace and agility. Plus, they had hair. He’d always been fond of species with hair.
Shiny bodies, some sporting jeweled scales, others mottled skin or even the odd feather, pressed to find a spot on the dance floor. Around it, a high balustrade afforded a stunning view through the giant glass panels of the floating city sprawled below.
In every corner of the bar, a dancer perched on a thick silver disc performed for the crowd’s delight. As he entered the mass of bodies, one of these dancers spotted him and beckoned. He shook his head but smiled when she let her prehensile tail graze another Yithian on the shoulder. This one took the invitation and climbed on the disc with the dancer. Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed them both together, with the Yithian enthusiastically grabbing at her many breasts. They were mating in a matter of moments.
Someone brushed against him. He turned to find a female Naray, shiny scales painted gold and blue, staring up at him. Her slanted eyes closed rhythmically. He’d always found this species charming, in every sense of the word. Yet his encounter of the afternoon had made him acutely aware that for all their qualities, Naray females weren’t as enticing as humans. He’d demonstrated his penchant explosively enough.
She slipped her limber arm under his. “Drokesh requests you join him.”
His skin felt hot through the clothes, and he’d much rather sit in a corner and watch people than play at being nice. He was a Hunter. He should be hunting.
“Of course, lead the way,” he replied as he enfolded her hand with his own.
She smelled nice. Some kind of flowery scent he could detect even here. It wasn’t as nice as—
He’d been about to think of her again. That human female with the scar. Alexandra Novona. Sekmeth shook his head and focused on not stepping on anyone. He climbed the steps behind his companion, admiring the way multicolored lights hit her red hair and the ridge along her back. What little she wore hung perfectly over her toned body.
In a corner occupying practically one whole side of the club, throned Drokesh’s personal table and his entourage. The Yithian sat with two females on either side of him, one of which Sekmeth recognized. He tensed. The Naray at his arm looked up questioningly when he squeezed her hand too hard.
“My apologies,” he muttered without taking his eyes off the woman-child on Drokesh’s left. She wore garments fit for someone three times her age and half her size. Ribbons, mostly of shiny blue gauze, wrapped her tiny torso and shoulders. Her plaited hair matched in color. She stared hard at him as he approached the table. The inhibitor gleamed like a snake.
“A fine evening, Hunter. Sit down. Enjoy yourself, you look so glum.”
Sekmeth nodded to the human then pulled a chair for his companion. She slid in it with her species’ typical grace. He sat on one opposite Drokesh.
The owner leaned back in his seat and wrapped his tattooed arms affectionately around each female sitting beside him. While one looked about to swoon with delight, the other just glowered. Though he displayed no aggression toward the woman-child, Drokesh had the reputation of being demanding of his companions. Of any genders, from any world.
Sekmeth let his gaze scan the club again, trying to avoid looking at the woman-child. The couple on the disc were now a threesome with another female, this one a Yithian, enthusiastically lifting her shirt so the other two could get access to her breasts. She arched back when they both began to suck on her nipples.
A pair of thick glass cylinders landed beside Sekmeth’s hand. He slid one to his companion who smiled graciously and flicked her forked tongue at it. Holding the glass tighter than necessary, Sekmeth brought it to his lips while he stared at Drokesh.
“Have you placed your bets yet?”
Sekmeth shrugged. “On what?”
Drokesh laughed jovially. “The games, Hunter, the games. Your latest acquisition will compete. The one with the delightful temper. She tried to escape not even halfway across Lajinia’s hall.”
Sekmeth grinned noncommittally while he tried to swallow his drink. “Not the horrid spectacle of a few years back, I hope.”
Drokesh shook his head. A wave of relief flooded through Sekmeth. He still remembered the last game he’d attended and didn’t wish to repeat the experience. Some things weren’t meant for entertainment.
As he toyed with the human female’s hair, Drokesh grinned happily. “These new games will be much more entertaining, much more profitable.”
“Even more so for you, I wager.”
Drokesh raised his glass in mocking salute. “Of course. These games, Hunter, will probably please you. I came up with it a few months ago, while…but never mind. The games are such—a slave is offered as combatant, the highest bidder wins the chance to enter the dome with him or her. Then they must fight to first blood. Nothing serious, of course.”
“Of course,” Sekmeth echoed, his heart sinking by the second. He found it hard to ignore the woman-child’s accusing stare.
“If the slave wins, he or she returns to me. If he or she loses, the opponent wins the slave. In case of a tie, the second-highest bidder decides. What do you think?”
If ever Sekmeth sensed a loaded que
stion, it had to be this one. “What if the slave refuses to fight?”
“That, my dear Hunter, will not happen.”
Sekmeth glanced at the woman-child. She looked ready to sink her teeth into Drokesh. Or ready to cry, whichever would come first remained to be seen. A sigh struggled inside his chest, but he could not afford to let it out. Some things had to remain hidden, guarded.
A loud cheer came from the corner where the threesome had succeeded in fitting another member into their party. Sekmeth wasn’t too sure who was doing what to whom. The crowd seemed to enjoy it. He turned his gaze back to his table. “How many have placed bets on the human female?”
Drokesh could not be fooled. He left the little human aside and leaned forward over the table. A wide grin pulled his lips tight. “You mean to fight her. I should have bet on that instead. Ha!”
Beside him, Sekmeth’s companion excused herself. He barely registered her leaving. Excitement burned through his veins. His last encounter with Alexandra Novona had left an ashy taste in his mouth. He’d been forced to punish her, yet ended up punishing himself instead. No doubt she’d want to skin him for what he had done. The possibilities excited him. Sekmeth’s grin matched the former Hunter’s, only for different reasons.
Drokesh shooed him away. “Go. Hurry. Place your bet. I am delighted to report the waiting list to face her is growing by the minute. I put pictures beside each of the combatant’s name. Hence, the wait.” He chuckled and resumed toying with the human’s hair.
Sekmeth swore she would fly into a rage. As surreptitiously as he could, he shook his head at her. If she noticed, she didn’t let it show. The scowl could surely kill someone fainter of heart.
Adrenaline pumping his muscles, Sekmeth left the club and hurried to the games house so he could place his bet. His hands already tingled in anticipation. He was a Hunter. The whole idea of the hunt wasn’t the outcome, which unfailingly meant victory. No, the core objective of hunting a prey resided in the changes it triggered, the journey it represented. The tattoos on his skin represented such passages, not merely a symbol of the prey. And the one presently burning his chest represented a lifetime of victories. It also meant much more. He’d come to the realization after his mental fantasies had turned without his meaning to. The human had found a way in.
Femme Metal Page 9
