Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2012 Thayer King
ISBN: 978-1-927368-39-8
Cover Artist: LF Designs
Editor: JC Chute
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WHIMSY
Thayer King
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One
Whimsy Featherstone stood in line with the rest of the women, trembling and trying to hold back tears. She did not want to fall into hysterics as the woman with blonde hair had done. The guards had hauled the woman away so roughly, there was no doubt she was to be punished.
Whimsy had been kidnapped by the Gogath while at the Colony 9 mall along with a group of other women. The Gogath were an ugly group of Colony 13 dwellers who occasionally enjoyed making life miserable for those around them. They were all big; it was nothing for a Gogath to be seven feet tall. And they were all ugly. Perhaps they wouldn’t be so ugly if they gave a care for hygiene, but to a one, they did not. They all had long filthy black hair, rotted teeth, and grime-streaked faces and hands. Their clothing was always made of things they had stolen, but never washed. To the Gogath, the clothing they wore was a trophy. One of them wore a vest to which he’d sewn a billowy white sleeve cut open at the wrist to fit over his thick forearm. It looked to be a woman’s sleeve. The front of the vest held hoops of gold and silver earrings. Another of the Gogath had tacked loops of hair down the entire front of his shirt. The back of his shirt had been a patchwork of different bits of cloth.
Sure, the Gogath were a grumpy, thieving and unpleasant lot, but they’d done nothing of this caliber in a long time. They’d raided the mall, taking everyone unawares, and kidnapped women of every age, shape, and race in a short period of time. Those who had tried to stop them were brutally beaten and tossed aside. Sheer pandemonium ensued for several minutes, with everyone running and screaming as the Gogath had come pouring in from every entrance, waving crude weapons. At first it was not obvious they were taking captives, but in the midst of the commotion the Gogath steadily pulled women from the fray.
Whimsy had run just like everyone else, but was caught while stopping to help a man who’d been beaten trying to protect his daughter. Strong arms had lifted her body from the floor and tucked her under one malodorous arm like she was a sack of flour. Momentarily stunned, she’d done nothing.
Before she could gather her wits or get a headache, she was passed off to another member of the troop. This one bound her hands with cuffs made of a soft cloth, but which proved to be surprisingly restrictive. The material did not give at all. After that, she was herded off with a group of likewise bound captives into the belly of a large waiting craft. The hovering ship was already more than half full with women.
"Oh, blessed Myrna," Whimsy had whispered, speaking to the soft pink moon of her own Colony 7, "Will I ever see you again?"
The craft had been swift. They were only on the ship for a few hours before they were docking and the women were herded off the ship into a building of arena-sized proportions. Other ships docked and spilled their contents. More women. All women. It was then that Whimsy realized they were to be sold. She vaguely recalled a news story about these auctions, but in the safe world of Colony 7, she had dismissed the stories as sensationalism.
The place they were in now was probably a temporary facility, to be used only once or twice, but not so much that they would get caught in the illegal trade of women. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Her mind recoiled from the ugly truth.
Despite her mental withdrawal, everything else seemed to be speeding up at an alarming rate. As the Gogath sorted their bounty, the older women were separated from the young. Those deemed too old would be ransomed or just dropped off on a nearby colony. Once the sorting was done the women were shuffled about again and separated into classes. Of the young, some would become servants and some would become pleasure slaves.
Whimsy stiffened her spine when it was her turn to be sorted. She didn’t know what a Gogath’s tastes leaned to, but she hoped he found her extremely unappealing. Her sorter was perhaps eight feet tall, but he had all his teeth. His smell was fetid, his hands and face caked with filth. When he raised his hand to touch her cheek, she flinched but didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. Another of the Gogath stood at her back, prodding her forward, ready to pull her aside once the decision about her class had been made.
Her sorter smiled. Whimsy bit her lip, praying frantically. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Pretty," he said at last. His eyes, a light shade of brown, dropped to her chest and then narrowed.
Whimsy wore a pink zip-up sweater, zipped to the neck, over a simple tank top. When he reached for the zipper, she backed up. She was immediately shoved forward. "I’ll do it," she said. She grasped the small metal catch with the heels of her bound hands and quickly unzipped her sweater.
The sorter took the edges of the sweater and spread them apart so he could look at her. His smile widened to a grin, and Whimsy felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. He said some words in his native language to the Gogath behind her and she was pulled away.
Whimsy shivered as she sat in the belly of the ship. She had only to look around to know into which class she’d been sorted. All the women around her were beautiful. She wasn’t sure how she’d made the cut.
There was nothing extraordinary about her features, in her opinion. Her long hair was black, her eyes were brown, and her skin was the color of cinnamon. She’d struggled for years to be as skinny as some of the other women here, but always consoled herself with the knowledge that she carried her hourglass figure well and had always had the same figure. No matter how much weight she put on, that didn’t seem to change. Her hips were well rounded, her waist was unbelievably small, and her breasts were more than a handful. Whimsy supposed it was the latter that had swung the sorting choice in her favor. Or rather, against her.
This second journey was proving to be longer than their first. Some of the women were still crying, others like herself she supposed were in a state of shock and denial.
Whimsy thought of her family and wondered if they knew she was missing. Were they already worrying about her? Did anyone know what had happened on Colony 9?
Exhausted from the day’s events, she fell into a troubled sleep on the floor. The Gogath had given them not so much as a blanket for comfort.
She was awakened by more screaming. The Gogath had finally landed and were roughly hauling the women to their feet. Whimsy gained her feet with no time to spare as she saw one of them heading her way. Her hands were still bound, throwing off her stability and making her quickly scramble to stand in a less than graceful position. The Gogath propelled her towards the exit with a hard shove. She whipped her head around to glare at her assailant for the unnecessary roughness. She received a nearly toothless grin in return.
The light outside was blinding after the long trip in the windowless belly of the Gogath ship. The building they were led into was a dome made of glass. It was very similar to the first one—large and open, but this one was teeming with men from other cultures. Once again, she was placed in a line with the other women.
Whimsy shivered and kept her arms close to her body. Her sweater was taken before she was allowed to disembark. This room was cold. The men openly ex
amined the women, which led to much screaming and crying on the women’s part and much laughter on the men’s. The entire spectacle was degrading, to both sexes.
Anger simmered hotly inside of her, but Whimsy wasn’t stupid enough to raise a protest. After all, what could she do?
Whimsy was not overly harassed. She thought it was because there was nothing special about her looks. Perhaps the sorter had been wrong––quite a few men did look at her, but their glances were quick and furtive. They didn’t linger.
One man did try to feel her breasts, and Whimsy growled at him and given him such a glare the timid little thing had almost run away. She heard the Gogath behind her laugh. She’d turned to glare at him and found the same man who had sorted her before.
“Keep this up and I will buy you for myself.” His eyes caressed her curves with heated interest.
Whimsy’s eyes widened. He spoke her language far better than he’d let on earlier. She discounted his statement of wanting to purchase her. She didn’t think the Gogath race mated outside their kind. She hurriedly whipped back around anyway. “Keep what up?” she hissed.
“You are scaring off potential buyers with your glare and your posture.”
“My posture?”
“It is very royal.”
“And if I am royalty?”
“It does not matter here.” She could hear the shrug in his voice. He took a lock of her hair in his hands. She froze. “If you are not purchased, I will buy you for my own. I do not mind a royal bedmate.”
Whimsy gritted her teeth and lowered her eyes. It seemed that no matter what, she would be purchased this day. For the first time, tears of frustration and fear ran down her cheeks. What would become of her? Would her family ever find her? Or would they forever wonder what had become of her?
“This one, what color are her eyes?” asked a deep male voice in her language with only a hint of an accent. Her chin was grasped firmly and lifted to the light. Whimsy’s eyes snapped open. ‘This one’, indeed. Indignation dried her tears.
“This one’s eyes are none of your concern,” she snapped, nearing the end of her tether.
The man, tall and good-looking with long blonde hair and chocolate-brown eyes, smiled at her. An elderly woman at his side let out an outraged gasp at her comment. She was almost as tall as the man, a fact heightened by the way her graying hair was piled atop her head. She wore all black, the severity of which competed with that of her expression. “This one,” she said with venom, “needs discipline and punishment. Let us move along, Chaldor.”
“This one––“ Whimsy’s angry flow of words was cut off by the Gogath. He gripped her shoulder, applying enough pressure to be just this side of painful. She shut her mouth and settled on a glare hot enough to sizzle.
Chaldor shook his head at his companion, his eyes flickering over Whimsy with obvious approval. “Editha, she is perfect.”
Editha cast a dismissive glance over her. “She is different,” she agreed with blatant hesitance. “But she is nothing compared to the two others.”
Chaldor clearly disagreed. “How much?”
“Chaldor, I suggest we move on and find better.”
“Editha, we do not have long to tarry––or have you forgotten?” At that, the older woman’s pale skin colored.
“How much?” she repeated through tight lips.
The Gogath uttered a sum that had the woman gasping again. “No. Chaldor, we will find another.”
Chaldor stared hard at Whimsy. “No. We will take this one. He will enjoy her most of all.”
Whimsy bit her lip and trembled. “No,” she whispered. This couldn’t be happening. Nothing like this ever happened to boring little Whimsical Featherstone, second child of King Raul Featherstone of Colony 7.
Chapter Two
Lest she have any idea about running, The Gogath didn’t remove her cuffs as they delivered her to their waiting craft. It was a small craft with just enough room for their five passengers. Whimsy assumed this meant they would not have far to travel.
“We shall never know what could have been,” Gadgor said, flashing incongruous white teeth in a dirty face as he handed her over into the care of Chaldor.
Chaldor buckled her into a harness once he had her seated. “Made friends with your captors, did you?”
“He’s only teasing. He is not truly interested.”
He eyed her, dubious. “Do you doubt your appeal?”
Whimsy shrugged.
“Had I not purchased you for my friend, I would keep you for myself.”
Her mouth dropped open. He smiled in response and moved on to harness the other two women purchased that day. The woman nearest her had exotic, slanted green eyes and a thick mane of white-blonde hair. She was likewise cuffed. Her lids, swollen from crying, did nothing to distract from her incredible beauty.
The third had hair the color of spun sugar, cut in short layers, and sultry blue eyes. She fluffed her locks with her free hands. Whimsy watched in amazement as the woman batted her lashes at Chaldor.
“Why aren’t you cuffed?” Whimsy asked when he left them.
“I’m from C15. This isn’t my first auction. Believe me, if you lived on C15, you’d be happy to be auctioned by the Gogath.”
The small craft landed in the bay of what could only be termed as a palace. It was larger and grander than anything Whimsy had seen before. Her father’s palace was humble in comparison to this soaring edifice that seemed to scrape the clouds.
They disembarked swiftly and were whisked through an entrance guarded by two burly men. Editha, Chaldor, and two guards escorted them through the palace, moving at such a clip that Whimsy doubted she would be able to find her way back out. They might as well have been leading her into a maze, the twists and turns were so convoluted.
Their small party stopped outside of two large doors. “Inside,” Editha ordered. “Do not think of escaping. The guards and I will remain here. Chaldor, go to him.” At her words, he gave a terse nod and excused himself.
As soon as they were inside, each of them was surrounded by a group of servants. The room was lined with bathing pools on one side. Each pool was separated by a stone wall. A curtain could be used to further close off the area. The servants expertly divested them of their clothes and led them to separate bathing areas.
Modesty made Whimsy prickly with the women who attempted to bathe her. “I can do it myself.” Of course she couldn’t really, since her hands were still bound. They ignored her and she suffered through their groping with grumbles, but became quite vocal when one of them suddenly thrust her hand over her mound. Whimsy shrieked and backed away, sloshing water over the sides of the bathing pool. Her displeasure was so obvious she was surprised when the woman followed and attempted the intimate touch again. She was still fighting the woman’s attentions when Editha came marching into the room, pulling aside the curtain that sectioned off her bathing area. The woman’s glare found Whimsy.
“I should have known it would be you. Cause any more trouble and you will regret it.” She left the threat open, but didn’t really have to be specific. Editha’s eyes spoke volumes. Whimsy knew she didn’t like her, one little bit. That Chaldor had insisted on purchasing her hadn’t helped matters.
Editha nodded to the servants. “Finish the cleansing. He awaits.”
Whimsy glared at the servant, but this time noticed that the woman had applied a lotion to her hand before plunging it into the water. She smoothed it over Whimsy’s mound with expert strokes and then washed it away. With it went her hair. Whimsy gasped in outrage, but did not say more. Nor did she protest when the woman applied the same cream over the rest of her body, removing all of her body hair.
They dried her after her bath and applied sweet-smelling oil to her skin. They brushed out Whimsy’s hair to its full length, complimenting her on its rich color and texture. It fell in thick shiny waves, almost to her waist.
Each of the women was given a gown: The woman from C15 was given a gold on
e. The woman with the silver hair was given a pink gown. Whimsy’s was black. Though the colors were different, they were each made the same: just a simple gown, essentially little more than a robe. It was sleeveless and held together by a clasp beneath her breasts. The material was particularly sheer. In the proper lighting, they would be as good as naked, as they’d been given no undergarments.
“I don’t believe this,” Whimsy muttered as the women arranged her hair about her face. “This is not happening.”
Editha inspected each of them, pausing as she looked over Whimsy. Whimsy saw a brief moment of surprise grace her stern features, but it was quickly hidden. “Come,” was all she said. Lest they decide not to follow, the guards were soon there to lead them forward.
Whimsy bit her lip in a bid to hold hysteria at bay. Once more they were led to a set of wooden double doors, which were large and ornately carved. She had never seen the like. On either side of the hallway, there were benches set against the wall.
Chaldor came out to meet them.
“How is he?” Editha asked anxiously.
Chaldor shook his head grimly. “The sooner this is done, the better.” He looked over the women, his gaze resting on Whimsy. “Which one first?”
Editha pursed her lips, noting the direction of his gaze. She motioned to the guards to take the woman from C15. She watched as they led her through the doors. “Hopefully, that will be the end of this.”
Chaldor nodded, but did not appear convinced. “We may as well get comfortable. It is going to be a long evening.” He waited until Editha was seated on one of the benches before sitting himself.
The blonde sat, as did Whimsy, reluctantly. She was very uncomfortable in the thin gown. She felt bare and panicky. Smoothing the dress over her thighs, she attempted to put some distance between the material and her all too bare flesh.
Whimsy Page 1
