by Annalise
He went back to the chained woman and tugged on her bonds. She moaned. “Nice and ready,” he said.
“What do you have in mind for our novice?”
He looked across the room at her. “I haven’t decided. Let her wait for a little while.” His deep voice still caused Evans to tremble inside, even when he was far enough away that he didn’t trigger the vibrator strapped to her.
Mistress approached Evans. “I saw you watching me,” she said softly. “You have a nice lift to your breasts when you work out.” She ran the whip handle over Evans’s neck and down her side, skirting her breast. “Soft. Not a single piercing. Totally unimproved.” Amazement sounded in her velvety voice. “Charming nonetheless. The master seems taken with you. If you play your cards right, Bliss6, you could become a regular attendant for Master’s visits.”
Sweet Sol, not if I can help it, Evans thought. And not with Angel, either. She contemplated at least three of the ways she knew to disable a man… or a woman.
Mistress left Evans, went to where Angel knelt, and lifted her chin.
Angel looked like the proverbial zombie. Her eyes were glazed, her lips parted, her jaw slack.
Anger seethed through Evans. These people had far too many credits. Why didn’t they work on the UV issue instead of catering to their libidos?
Kennedy came to stand behind Evans. His body radiated heat. Cloth rustled softly before bare flesh pressed against her back. He thrust his hard cock between her legs, rubbing back and forth below the vibrator. His hands trailed heat across her skin as he massaged her lightly, learning her contours.
“You entice me,” he whispered in her ear. She struggled not to stiffen in his arms. “You are unusual. So natural, so artless, a sensual delight.” Sensations roared through her, as he cupped her breasts. The vibrator going full tilt made it hard for her to think.
“Now, I shall give pleasure to those who prefer a man, and we will watch Mistress as she enjoys pleasuring those who want a woman’s touch. I plan to save you, the best, for last.”
Evans met Grace8’s eyes and shivered at the jealousy she saw there. Cloud9 might solicit her conversation, but this woman never would. When Grace8’s eyes flicked back to Master, Evans understood. Grace8 was no longer the favored one. She’d bet her last pay that Grace8 was usually the best saved for last.
Evans would have given anything not to be best. She would have given more to be somewhere, anywhere, else.
She watched as Grace8 stepped up onto another set of blocks and put her hands through the straps hanging above.
Mistress held up a soft puffball and looked to Master in inquiry. He moved Evans forward, away from him. Cold air washed over Evans, colder this time because of his withdrawn heat. Stepping around her, he took the cluster of feathers from Mistress and smiled.
“Yes. I want to hear her cry out her delight.”
He brushed the feather lightly over one of Grace8’s nipples, and she did open her mouth, throw back her head, and cry out. She also kicked and thrashed and cracked Master in the head with her knee. He stumbled back, knocking Mistress aside. The only thing for him to grab to regain his balance was Evans.
She reeled under his weight, straight into the path of one of the silver-blonde’s feet. It caught her squarely in the crotch. The blow drove the butterfly upwards, grinding against her clit.
Evans screamed.
So did Mistress, who rolled on the floor, cradling her arm against her ribcage and knocking Angel to one side.
Evans forced herself to her knees, eyes blurred with tears of pain. She headed for Angel.
Guards boiled into the room. One scooped Angel up and shouldered his way out the door. It took the guards several minutes to sort out the chaos.
Mistress was loaded onto a stretcher and wheeled out, her arm at an odd angle. Grace8, groaning and retching, was placed on another. One of the guards grabbed the puffball. Evans only had a moment to see him stuff it into his uniform jacket before they took her away.
Master himself helped Evans up from where she had doubled over in pain. He cradled her gently against his chest. As if from a distance, she heard him say, “Tomorrow, my pet, you will find a nice bonus for your trouble. We will meet again, perhaps next week. If you please me then, I will consider adding you to my household.” He handed her over to one of the guards.
Evans shuddered. That would really screw the mission. The guards escorted her to the cubicle next door.
She hobbled in to find Heaven4 waiting for her. With little sympathy, the older woman helped her up onto the massage table, inspected the damage and gave her a long, icy blast of the numbing spray. “That’ll take about forty hours to wear off. Fake it until then. You’re not bad enough to take off the rota.”
Evans insisted on having a medical professional evaluate her. She limped to the infirmary, a silent guard at her back.
To her relief, a woman with the tag Miller on her crisp, white tunic was on duty and not the cold Jennel. Evans saw a look of sympathy on the young med-aide’s face when she examined her.
“I think the S-11 spray was just the thing, although you will still feel it when the spray’s effects begin to diminish. Here’s a little something to take the edge off if you’re still uncomfortable when that happens.” She dropped a sealed pouch about an inch square into Evan’s palm. “Have you had a disease check lately?”
Evans nodded. “After my last encounter, yesterday… or the day before. I think.” Her mind was so hazy, she couldn’t remember the time.
“Well, if you can’t remember, I’d better do it. We won’t need you,” the woman said to the guard.
There was something about Miller’s manner that told Evans she craved conversation.
The exam room had a small desk in one corner, a wall comm unit, the cabinet from which Miller had taken the anesthetic pouch, and a door in each wall. As she slid her feet into the examining table’s stirrups, Evans whispered. “Can we be heard?”
“No. There’s a regulation about eavesdropping on non-paying clients. Doctors wouldn’t allow it. Not after the malpractice and privacy revolutions in ‘56 and ‘61.”
“I guess not.” Evans relaxed as the med-aide probed and checked her inside and out for any sign of disease.
“Clean and sweet,” Miller declared.
Evans thought about the implications of Kennedy’s words. Many clients had unlimited wealth. Shit. What if one of them buys Angel?
She strove to keep the concern out of her voice. “That guest said that if I please him next week, he will add me to his household. Can he do that?”
“Attendants sometimes choose to leave The Palace, when their contracted term of service is up,” the med-aide replied.
Evans relaxed against the table once more.
Miller looked up from her datapad. “Of course, a few of our attendants are here to work off significant debt. Any of those may be purchased and criminals, of course, can have their time purchased. So, if you’re one of those, yes, he can purchase you, with or without your permission.”
Double shit. Then she’d better work fast.
There was a possibility Miller didn’t really know if they were being monitored, but Evans had to take the chance if she was going to get results on this catastrophic assignment.
“The young girl in that scenario was injured. Will you be treating her?”
Miller cocked her head to one side. “Probably. If she was hurt, they’ll bring her in when I’m done with you.”
“I think her name is Angel.”
“Angel?” The med-aide paused as she helped Evans into her robe. “You mean one of the Angels? There must be dozen or more.”
Shit. Evans remembered she was Bliss6 to this woman. “No, I mean that’s her real name. She looks childish, but she’s really twenty.” Evans held her hand to her chest.
A shuttered look came over the woman’s face. “We don’t have any underage attendants here.”
“I think there are. And I really need to spea
k to her. We’re friends,” she lied.
Miller licked her lips and glanced around. She walked to the examining table and the stretch of poly that covered it. Slowly, she used her fingertip to write a few words.
Nothing to be done.
Give her a message? Evans wrote with painstaking slowness.
The med-aide shook her head.
Someone wailed in the background. A disembodied voice said, “Miller, I need your assistance. Stat.”
At the same time, the guard who’d stolen the dildo poked his head in the door. “You’ve got an assignment. Let’s go.”
Evans cringed at the thought of servicing some guest while she had a numb crotch. Then she brightened. Maybe it would improve the experience. Feel nothing inside. Feel nothing outside.
And now, she knew Angel was here. She’d met a sympathetic med-aide and she knew one guard who was corrupt. All in all, that was more progress in an hour than she’d made in weeks.
“May I come back later, if I’m still sore?” she asked Miller while the guard hovered.
“Absolutely. Any time, if they deem it necessary.” No need to say who “they” were.
Double shit. She couldn’t even use her own discretion to seek medical help.
She made a big deal about fastening her robe and peered over Miller’s shoulder as she exited through a door opposite the one where the impatient guard stood, hoping for a glimpse of Angel Martinez.
All Evans saw was another short corridor with several doors, but she added it to her mental map anyway. Who knew what scrap of information might prove useful? This infirmary was only about fifty feet from the maintenance stairs she’d seen earlier.
On the short walk to her next appointment, she ignored the silent guard and thought about the Angel Martinez she’d seen in the fetish scenario, who was very different from the young Angel Martinez she’d seen in the family vids. Yes, the girl had appeared drugged, but what if it was more of an addiction to the experience than to drugs The Palace had administered?
Her appointment was in a chamber stenciled with a crescent moon. A chamber for straight fucking.
Evans drew in a deep breath, placed her robe over a hook, and took her place on the soft bed. The room’s color shifted to a golden glow. She rolled to her side, strategically drawing up one knee and arranging her hair in a tantalizing pose that exposed only the rise of her breast and cast her gaze down—just as she’d been taught to do.
The door clicked open, the guest slid his card into the slot.
“Look at me.”
Her guest was Link. Lovely, wonderful, gorgeous Link.
He dropped his robe.
She even thought she detected a quiver in her very numb crotch as he stretched out beside her.
* * * * *
Link knew she was faking her orgasm. She couldn’t fake her nipples tightening or the rosy blush she got across her breasts during a climax. Right now, those signs were absent.
He was pretty low in credits again. He was down to a simple face-to-face screw. No frills. Timed. He’d almost chosen fellatio by itself, but he wanted to be in her, to be able to touch her and kiss her. He wanted a real, mind-numbing orgasm for both of them, not a faked climax.
“That seemed less than genuine,” he said and climbed from the bed.
* * * * *
The two attendants came for her at about the time the spray wore off. They escorted her to a guest cubicle in an area she’d not visited before. One glance told her it was bare except for an examining table.
Dr. Owen, the very elderly physician who’d done her med checks, greeted her with orders to climb up on the table and spread her legs.
Wondering what was going on, she did as he directed.
He parted her lips and examined her clit. She gasped at his touch. Damn. The spray had worn off, and time hadn’t done much to heal her.
“A guest get a little rough?” he asked. There was a tremor in his hands.
“Yes. Very rough.”
He shook his leonine mane of white hair and clicked his tongue against his large teeth. “Well, you seem on the road to healing now. I’m done with you, but you’re to report to Block L.”
She went to Block L, an area she remembered from her induction. She’d been trained here. When a set of double doors slid open at her approach, she knew she was being monitored even without an escort.
In Block L she stood at attention before a beautifully carved desk of what looked like mahogany. Link would love its age and the soft patina of the leather top. She focused on the painting in an elaborate, gilded frame—the Rape of the Satyr—over the mantel while a tall woman with very improved breasts chastised her. Was that a thoroughly modern dildo being inserted into the half-man half-goat’s ass? She looked down at her hands.
“Attend me,” the woman said sharply. “Your numerous lapses of manners are not mitigated by the compliments of one of our most prized guests. An attendant must be perfect at all times. Your ridiculously fake orgasm with your morning client has been noted. You will have to work on it. Immediately. Before someone else selects you.”
Oh, Link. She felt the heat rush up her cheeks. The one man she really had never faked anything with, not her emotions, her love, her joys, nor her sorrows, had gone on record condemning her.
“Lie down on my couch and pretend you’re aroused.” The woman indicated a long, black satin-covered bench. “Take it from the top and all the way to the orgasm.”
Evans remained in place. How could they expect that of her? By herself? In front of this cold woman? Her temper got the best of her. “I can’t. I’m still sore as hell. I’m no good at faking stuff and I was numb, damn it.”
The woman stood even taller. Her short spiky hair quivered with indignation. “Are you refusing?”
“You bet I am.”
The woman pressed a button on the desk’s raised keypad. “You’re free to go.”
Back in her cell, Evans wondered at the ease with which she’d been let off the hook, both for faking the orgasm and for losing her temper.
Chapter 10
The next morning, Evans saw she’d not been let off any hook. Instead, she was firmly impaled on it. The screen detailing her duties for the day was filled with entries. Usually, only one or two clients a day wanted an over-thirty, unimproved attendant.
Today, it looked like she’d be getting a client once every hour.
Every one of them was coded with a Q. She asked for an explanation of the Q.
Her disembodied companion thanked her for her question. “The Q designation is a training code. You will not be receiving any guests today. As is noted on your schedule, you will remain in chamber 82. There, staff members who have volunteered to assist in your reeducation will be given free access to you. They are instructed to stimulate you to orgasm while you, in turn, will stimulate them.
“The better the quality of your vocal and physical reactions to the stimulation, the shorter the training period. Some of our volunteers may be disappointed by the cancellation of their appointments if your reeducation goes well. So, enjoy each orgasm. Or enjoy the simulation if you are unable to enjoy the real thing.”
Chamber 82 was empty except for a bed in the center of the room and a large monitoring screen that showed the list of appointments. Evans was shaking with rage when the first volunteer arrived. It was the man who mopped the floors in the cafeteria. He was a gentle soul with the thought processes of a child.
He pulled out his cock and shoved his hand beneath her robe.
This was her punishment? She slapped the man’s groping hand. He yelped and danced away from her, banging on the door when she stuck out her tongue. When it clicked open, he disappeared through it as if he were on fire.
The next volunteer was Grace8. She glided into the cell, opening her robe to reveal her very improved breasts.
She whispered. “You think you’re hot. You’re never taking my place again. I want you on your knees, your face in my crotch. Now. And lick nice.”
Evans wrapped her robe around herself more tightly. Saturn’s rings. She raised one hand and clenched her fist. “Don’t touch me, or you’ll be licking the empty spaces where your teeth used to be.”
The door clicked open again. This time, two men stood in the entry. “Go back to your chamber, Grace8,” one said.
The woman hugged her robe close and sauntered off with a backward sneer. The two men entered Evans’s cell and shut the door.
“You’re not being very cooperative,” the taller of the two said. He licked his lips.
Fear slicked Evans’s palms. “I don’t deserve this punishment. I’ve done everything required. I can’t help it if Heaven4 numbed my crotch. Did the client complain?”
“He remarked that you’d faked an orgasm. You know all encounters are recorded for quality assurance.”
“But did he complain? Did he put in an official, written complaint?”
“No,” the second man said. “But he expressed displeasure. So you need to be re-educated.”
“The guest made an observation, nothing more. I won’t accept ‘reeducation’ when I don’t need it.”
“Then you’ll force us to take other action.”
“What action? At least let me know what my options are.” Were they going to beat her? She could disable them before they took a step, but then, where would she be?
“Options?” He indicated the list of clients still showing on the screen, “If you won’t accept the retraining, then you will be punished. A counselor will decide on what is appropriate.”
She looked at the monitoring screen and the twenty odd employees who’d be doing whatever they wanted, playing with her all day, and she chose the counselor’s punishment.
Hopefully, it would be peeling pseudo-potatoes for a month. Even a beating might be better.
* * * * *
Link couldn’t find Evans in the scores of attendants. He slapped his hand on the view screen and howled. A real, honest-to-God, primal scream.
Someone had bought Evans. Someone had gotten to her first. Someone had taken her home and was able to fuck her anytime, anywhere. He punched the wall at the thought.
