Venus Rising

by Annalise

  Silver Girl rubbed the oil on the woman’s breasts, stroking her nipples, then her clit. The oil warmed when Silver Girl stroked it on his balls. The room began to smell like cinnamon and cloves.

  The client began to pant and moan as Silver Girl stroked her.

  “I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come,” the client gasped, riding him mercilessly. He closed his eyes as Silver Girl climbed astride his face again and pleasured herself inches from his nose, but when he closed his eyes, he felt every slide of the redhead on him. He shut his mind to being used for stud.

  Anger filled him. It nestled in his gut. It didn’t stop the eruption of his semen or take away the shudder of the climax as it ripped up from his balls, but it did make it distant and cold.

  “When will he be available again?” the client whispered as she climbed off him.

  “You’ll have to check the menus. Now, you are due in the resting chamber. We don’t want you to loose any of the goodies you just received.”

  He heard a door click open. Then he felt a hand on his belly. He hated the way the silver nymph hummed and caressed him as she bathed him clean with some liquid that had a sharp, antiseptic smell.

  “I’m sorry this is so stinky,” she said. “But we need you germ free for the next client.”

  He stoked the anger when several hours later the silver nymph led another woman into the room. He didn’t see this one. He kept his eyes closed. But he knew Silver Girl from her smell and voice.

  This client hung by the door and when welcomed to climb astride him, said, “No. Not yet. I… that it. I’m not ready. I think I’ll just… watch.”

  The nymph said, “I’ll just get him ready for when you’re ready.”

  She knelt between his thighs. “Enjoy looking at him. He’s a treat for the eyes, isn’t he?” She licked his balls with a warm, agile tongue. Her fingers were slick with something warm and she had no qualms about sliding them inside him. He felt like he was smothering again, his breath unable to move freely from his lungs as she took him deep in her mouth, licking, teasing the head of his cock.

  “Can I do that?” the new client asked.

  He felt new hands on him. Rougher. Harder strokes, harder squeezing. He willed himself somewhere else.

  One of them nipped his nipples with her teeth. One of them took his balls into her mouth. He groaned within himself. If he could, he’d kill the old man. Maybe rip his aged, rotting heart out of his chest and roast it.

  He willed himself impotent. His traitorous cock didn’t respond to his commands.

  The nymph whispered to the client. “Come, don’t be reluctant. Climb on. If you play too long, you may make him come. That would be a waste, now wouldn’t it?”

  The client touched his erection while Silver Girl said, “Isn’t he huge? Hard? Lovely?”

  The nymph licked up the column of his throat while the client groaned.

  “He is a magnificent specimen. Imagine a son by him.” The nymph’s voice dropped even lower to a husky whisper. “Imagine all of this inside you. Imagine your climax.” The nymph helped the client to climb awkwardly across his hips, holding his cock upright so the woman could sit on him.

  He wanted to buck her off, but she shimmied her hips and mewed a sound of satisfaction as she slid down and took him completely.

  The nymph rubbed his balls. “I imagine your mate is not so large, or gets so hard. This man is as nature made him. Natural. Unenhanced. Sperm teeming in his seed. Enjoy.”

  Link closed his mind to the words meant to entice the woman, not him. That was left to her hot tongue, her invasive fingertips.

  He came with an inner groan. The woman kept working on him. How could she have missed the eruption? But she rocked and moaned.

  He opened his eyes. The nymph had climbed up and put her pussy in his face again. Only this time, she kissed the woman’s breasts and rubbed the woman’s clit.

  “Your husband neglects you here, doesn’t he?”

  The woman panted and rode his now wilting cock. In a few moments, she probably didn’t care if he was hard or soft. She was in the throes of the nymph’s ministrations, enjoying a climax, riding the nymph’s clever, slick fingertips.

  * * * * *

  For two days his life was a nightmare routine.

  The woman, Jennel, bathed him and saw to his needs. He was hooked to some kind of dripping liquid thing at night. It was something out of the dark ages. Something from history books, seeing a snaking tube attached to his arm. He suspected the fluid contained a drug to make him more compliant. And his sleep was filled with nightmares.

  Dreams of an endless maze of corridors and doors. And Evans somewhere behind them. He ran like a rat from hall to hall, opening and closing doors, but never finding her.

  He woke each day filled with grief. What had happened to her? To his Sara? Was she safe because as Evans, she knew how to take care of herself?

  He remembered the look on her face as she had dropped into the PF. A look of fear for him. Evans afraid? It twisted his gut.

  Pain lanced through his body as he strained to move, to break the bond of the device in his ear. He tried to turn his head and brush it off, but nothing happened. Inside, he fought like a madman. Outside, he lay inert. Like the dead.

  Except for the parts of him the doctor needed agile and useful.

  Clients visited him every few hours. He thought the ones at the end of the day must be getting cheated. How could he have any sperm left? As each day waned, Silver Girl had to work harder to get him to stand at attention. But good soldier that he was, he always did his duty. They saw to it with their clever arsenal of drugs.

  The nymph enjoyed her work. And he got to know every tuck and fold of her crotch as she shoved it into his line of vision with boring regularity.

  He found he could only leave it all behind if he closed his eyes and focused on Evans… Sara. He wanted to know if she’d gotten safely away. Wanted to know so badly he could not sleep without the wash of chemicals that a woman sprayed near his nose.

  She was kind, at least. An attractive young woman, without a hint of satisfaction that he was powerless. Not like the older one, Jennel, who saw to his other needs. Jennel took joy in his helpless state, her expression one that said, Ah ha. I’ve got you at my mercy and you’ll twist with embarrassment over this for years.

  No, the kindly one did linen changes and saw him to sleep each night. He fought the sleep. Each time it stole over him, it was like a long, slow slide into the dark maze. Endlessly lost, he was powerless there too.

  Each morning, he woke to the cruel med-aide standing over him, the old doctor next to her, running his diagnostics.

  Finally, Link had a day of respite. Not from worries about Sara, but from being milked repeatedly. The kind med-aide had noted some tiny broken blood vessels on the head of his penis and suggested he be given a rest.

  If he’d been capable of speech he would have told her the red marks were from an over-enthusiastic nymph who liked to draw on him with enough power to suck-start a blocked fuel line.

  His balls ached as well. The last client had ridden him facing backwards, massaging his balls, leaning over to give him a vertical smile. He didn’t even bother to close his eyes anymore. He watched from outside himself. It was some other man’s penis being sucked and stroked.

  Only pain brought him to the surface.

  Pain… and the powerful orgasms. He couldn’t pretend they didn’t happen.

  Chapter 22

  Evans sat on the edge of her chair across from Secretary Martinez and tried again.

  “He went beyond the call of duty, sir. We can’t leave him in there. He could be subjected to UV torture—”

  “We’ve been over this, Colonel. I will agree he did his duty. As he should. It would be counter-productive to our program to take any retrieval steps.”

  Now that your daughter is safe. Colonel Taylor is an expendable asset, sacrificed to keep you safe from blackmail.

  The HSS reached into
a drawer and pulled out a flimsy. He glanced at it before sliding it across the desk to her. “Your orders and background files. Your flight leaves Friday.”

  “Yes, sir.” She rose, picked up the data sheet, threw him a sketchy salute, and left the office. “Counter-productive,” she muttered once the door had sealed behind her. “You mean it would be injurious to you.” She tore at a hangnail on her pinky. “And you’re sending me to the Asian Confederacy to get me out of your hair.”

  Back at Link’s hotel room, she stood before his open closet and ran her hands over his uniform tunics and off-duty clothes. All as she had suspected, of a general color scheme to limit his choices. She lifted a tunic sleeve and to her intense shame, bent her head and breathed in his scent.

  Shame because she was supposed to obey and couldn’t. Link Taylor was not expendable.

  Moments later, fighting tears, she dug in her pack. After all this time, the weapon felt unfamiliar in her hand.

  She worked undercover with the weapons of intellect and cunning. She glanced at Link’s tunics, hanging with military correctness in neat rows. She hadn’t been so cunning.

  Angel was home, at least. Or Angel was in a private medical center somewhere, detoxing from the drugs and working out her issues with her family.

  Evans went to the firing range and practiced for hours. Her hand-eye coordination was rusty from disuse. Link needed her in the best of shape and although she feared the time he spent in The Palace, she knew she was going in alone and had better be sharp. Very sharp.

  While she practiced and improved, she made lists in her head of what she’d need and where she might get it. She had a few contacts who would help her out. With a little digging, she’d undoubtedly find Link had friends, as well. There were those who owed her favors. This was a good reason to call them in. Come to think of it, Link’s freedom was the best reason she’d ever have.

  The next day, she requested and received three days of leave before her departure.

  * * * * *

  She knew from her weeks undercover that The Palace was quietest in the morning. Guests didn’t as a rule have early-morning demands, and the attendants needed to sleep sometime.

  Early on the second day of her leave, she donned her “costume” and loaded her pockets. Reviewing her appearance in the mirror, she had to approve.

  The robe she had worn out of The Palace didn’t show gathered up beneath her outer clothing. The oversized jacket and shabby leggings wouldn’t get a second glance from anyone. She would look like every other worker heading for her job.

  Indeed, no one paid her any attention. She exited the public roller a few blocks from The Palace. As she made her way down the street, her eye was drawn to a tiny shop wedged between two huge office buildings. It looked like a mushroom had sprouted in the shadows the towers cast. How could the place survive, with the few pedestrians found at street level?

  She quickened her pace, slipping from shadow to shadow as the other workers did to avoid the morning glare. For once, the anonymous swathing of clothing, deep brims, and covered skin served her well.

  The Palace loomed above her, its walls of windows turning blind eyes on the world.

  “I’m coming, Link,” she said aloud.

  When she reached the alley she sought, her heart began to thud rapidly in her chest.

  The doors where they’d sent her out with Link after her sunning were as wide as she remembered, to allow the passage of rolling rubbish bins.

  She waited and was rewarded. Trash must go out. And out it came. The man who dragged the sealed rubbish containers out for pickup wandered to the end of the alley and stared up at the heavy morning air traffic. She slipped into the dark corridor.

  Beautiful. Clearly, The Palace staff was not terribly worried about someone trying to get in.

  Getting the two of them out would be the problem.

  * * * * *

  Link woke with a start. The room was empty. He’d had a vivid dream. Evans in a long, dark hallway, the sound of her heart beating so loudly he could hear it here in his cell. The smell of flowers. His heart began to pound.

  The door opened and a med-aide entered. It was the young one, the nice one.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Jennel is busy this morning so I’ll take care of you.”

  He shut his mind off from her efficient tending to his needs. He tried to conjure up his dream, but the woman’s voice intruded.

  “Stars, your pulse is fast this morning. I’m going to give you a little sniff of vitamins now.”

  The spray might be vitamins, but it smelled strangely like roses.

  She patted his arm, pocketed her spray and shifted her attention to his groin. “Looking back to normal here. The doctor will be in shortly. He’ll probably clear you for action.”

  Get me out of here, Evans.

  * * * * *

  It took no time at all for Evans to remove her outer garments and stow them behind a crate just inside The Palace’s outer doors. For the first time, her long hair was an asset. It helped conceal the mesh of her sensory enhancement helmet. The left earpiece felt odd for a moment until she got it seated properly. She’d probably not need the vision attachment, and it would call attention to her, so she tossed it into a bin of refuse.

  She patted the arsenal she’d strapped beneath the robe, making sure nothing had dislodged in transit. The rasp of her hand over the fabric roared in her ear, and she adjusted the volume. Leaning her head against the inner door, she tried to determine if there was anyone on the other side. Nothing.

  A scrape of a footstep alerted her that the man who had dragged out the trash was returning.

  Taking a deep breath, she revisited the map of The Palace she’d built in her head before ducking through an inner door. The waste compacting area was deserted though hardly silent. She further reduced the volume on the helmet to block out the sudden cacophony of noise that buffeted her like a physical blow.

  Huge chutes conducted eruptions of refuse from the floors above into large bins that moved along a conveyor belt into a machine that compacted the contents of each bin, sealed it, and deposited neat bundles into the smaller rolling rubbish bins for pickup. Never had she imagined such a volume of trash.

  She remembered riding in a maintenance lift when she’d been escorted out with Link, and found it without difficulty.

  Have to love technology, she said to herself.

  Outside of the maintenance floor, she readjusted the volume of her earpiece while she scanned the lift buttons.

  There was one floor that required a code to reach. That had to be where they held Link… if he was still in The Palace. She refused to consider the idea that he might have been moved.

  Smiling grimly, she ripped off the cover to the control panel. The robust comm unit she’d tucked against her lower back had four wires that fit into one of the connectors. In a moment, she had the code.

  The lift rose smoothly, without any stops at other floors. She hoped the code overrode any calls for service from the unrestricted areas. The Palace executives wouldn’t want their secrets revealed to the staff in general. She couldn’t see any cameras on the lift, either.

  Their paranoia was to her advantage.

  Before the lift stopped, she had concealed the comm unit and palmed her dart gun. When the doors slid open, she was in a crouch, sweeping the area with both her eyes and the gun.

  A med-aide stood waiting in the hall, intent on her data pad, not even looking up when the lift opened. Evans caught her in the neck just as she stepped toward the lift.

  The tranq load worked even faster than she’d expected. Evans barely had time to leap across the six feet to reach the burly woman. Evans dragged her behind a desk, stripped her and donned her uniform. Tucking the woman away in a cupboard, she snatched up the woman’s data pad and used it to conceal the dart gun.

  Following her mental map, Evans headed toward the area that, in the parts of The Palace she’d been, held the rooms offering the most
expensive services. She hoped construction was consistent from floor to floor.

  She had to stun four other staff members. None of them were known to her, which reinforced her belief that she was in the right area. She avoided the corridors that could only lead to the prison cells and possible guards who would know her.

  The corridor she wanted stretched away from her, with the doors spaced as she expected. Each door was identical, nothing identified any of them.

  The little ID plates she’d seen on the other floors were absent. She knew she was definitely on the client side of the hallway as bare and functional gave way to lush flowered carpets and fine wall coverings in shades of gold and copper. Long tables with real flowers were spaced at intervals. Their lush beauty reminded her of the garden outside. Maybe that was where these blooms had come from.

  She turned up the volume on the enhancement helmet. She’d have to try one door at a time, to see if she could hear anyone inside. Perhaps fortune would smile on her for once and she’d hear Link’s voice.

  She moved from door to door, nervous that someone might come, afraid that there might be another floor like this, another forbidden floor not accessible from the maintenance lift. She paced, frightened that she would be out of time. After listening at each door twice and touching each knob to verify it was locked, she stood in the center of the hall.

  A wave of dizziness overcame her. The scent of roses spilling from a nearby urn nearby sickened her. Then she realized it was not roses that filled her head, but something medicinal and unpleasant.

  Her heart stuttered in her chest. For a moment she felt as if her limbs were frozen. It was hard to breathe. She willed herself to move, but couldn’t. Suddenly, she realized she was living her nightmare.

  And she knew Link was near. Unable to move. How she knew, she didn’t want to examine. In her head she heard his voice.