by John Ringo
She picked up the platter and stood up, walking to the door. It was only when she was through it that she realized she was the only one in the room who hadn't gotten involved in one form of sex or another and she was horrified to find herself regretting it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"How is he?" Christel asked.
"Sleeping," Megan replied. Mirta took the tray from her and she thanked the seamstress with a nod.
"He never sleeps here!" Christel said.
"He will for the next few days if I've got my ducks in a row," Megan said. "He needs the rest."
"He's supposed to be guarded when he's sleeping," Christel pointed out. "Did he ask about the accounts?"
"The accounts never came up," Megan said. "Although other things did," she added with a grin.
"He'll never stay," Christel said. "He has things to do."
"Look, when he wakes up, first he gets screwed then we feed him," Megan said, lifting her fingers in order. "We feed him heavily, lots of meat and carbohydrates; he's bound to be hungry after two bouts of sex. When he's fed, we get him to come again. Between the food and the sex he'll fall asleep again. When he wakes up again, we might have an argument out of him. But if we have to, all the girls strip naked and pile on him in a giant scrum of bodies. There's not a man on earth who will try to run away if he's got fifteen naked girls holding him down and begging him to take them."
"You have a point," Christel said with a grin of her own.
"This is really important," Megan pointed out, again.
"I know," Christel replied. "Should somebody else go in there?"
"You know anyone else who has the patience of Amber and Shanea?" Megan asked, raising her eyebrows. "Why do you think I'm not in there. It's going to be lots of fun watching him snore."
"What about guards?" Christel asked.
"What about them?" Megan shrugged. "He's got a PPF; what more does he need?"
"They don't activate automatically anymore," Christel pointed out. "He has to summon it. What if someone broke in and tried to assassinate him?"
"Who?" Megan said, exasperated. "They'd have to get through the Changed guards around the castle and then through us, which, admittedly, wouldn't be hard. But by then he'd be up and prepared. He's safe, Christel. The only person who is going to kill Paul is Paul himself. And that's what we've got to convince him not to do."
* * *
Megan was in the distillery when Amber came to get her and she hurried at once to Paul's room, pulling off the robe she'd used to cover her outfit as she went.
When she entered Shanea was already fellating him, stroking up and down hard. Paul looked up in annoyance as the door opened and then in something like shame when he saw who it was.
"I don't like being watched," he said, his face wrinkling up in worry.
"Then why don't I join in?" Megan said, stripping off the panties of her outfit and pushing Shanea aside as she slid onto him.
"Hey, mine," Shanea said, jokingly.
"Later maybe," Megan said, sliding up and down on him. Fortunately he'd been premoistened and she found herself rapidly lubricating the area. After a short time she rolled over and pulled him onto her, grabbing his buttocks and digging her fingernails in. He pumped at her hard and rapidly and, as always, came a bit too soon.
"I need to go," Paul said, getting to his feet.
"Not until you've had something to eat," Megan said, gesturing at his robe. Shanea obediently picked it up and put it on him.
"Come on out in the common room," Megan said. "The rest of the girls want to see you, too."
She cleaned up, put on her bottoms and led him out into the common room, settling him on some pillows with girls on either side. The she went to the dining room, dragging Shanea with her.
"Marlene," she called from beyond the doorway. She had already determined that a field extended out for at least a meter into the dining room. If one of the harem girls moved into the field she got a very unpleasant pain jolt. She wondered if it extended to the other side of the doorway as well. If not, it might be possible to throw yourself through the field. On the other hand, she had no intention of trying to find out.
"You rang?" Marlene said, coming through the door with a tray covered by a silver lid.
"Thank God," Megan said, taking the tray.
"And I've made up another with cakes and other goodies so the girls can eat, too," Marlene said as a servant came through the doorway. "He might not if they don't have anything."
"Thank you," Megan said, nodding at Shanea to take the second tray.
"I heard why you are doing this," Marlene said, looking her in the eye.
"Just my duty to help my lord and master," Megan replied, smiling.
"Mirta says more with a glance than you do with a sentence," Marlene grinned. "Paul might like a couple of those cakes as well; make sure the girls don't stuff themselves silly."
"I will," Megan said. "Later."
Megan walked back to where Paul was listening to Ashly tell about her latest triumph in backgammon. It was apparent that he was trying to be interested and failing miserably.
"More food?" he asked, as Megan sat down and opened up the cover.
Marlene had outdone herself. There was some sort of meat covered in a red wine sauce and beautifully sculpted portions of potatoes, lightly grilled tomatoes and a green mash that had been shaped into the form of a flower. Shanea had opened up the other tray and was distributing small, glazed cakes to the girls, one apiece, and whispering that they were supposed to make them last.
"More food," Megan replied, picking up a fork as he reached for it. "Ah, ah, you don't do anything for yourself."
"I can feed myself," Paul said, but he let her section small bites of the food and shovel them in his mouth. When a few crumbs fell off the fork, Ashly helpfully leaned forward and licked them off of him. By then Christel had turned up with another carafe of chilled wine and fed him sips between bites.
"What are you doing to me?" Paul asked, looking at Megan.
"Pampering you," Megan said. "We'll stop when you learn to take care of yourself."
"Okay, I promise not to learn to take care of myself," Paul said, laughing as the last of the food was served.
"Good," Megan said, honestly. Having him here a lot worked perfectly. She unbelted his robe and kissed his chest, licking at it lightly.
"Megan, not here," he groaned.
"Here," she said, reaching over and pushing Ashly's head towards his crotch. She would have grabbed Shanea, not knowing how Ashly would feel about it, but Shanea was just out of reach.
Suddenly she found a breast in her face as Karie sidled up on one side and she backed away as the rest of the girls closed in on him.
She stood up and looked at Christel who winked back at her. So there was more than one plan afoot; good.
Megan backed away from the pile and gestured with her head at Christel.
"How do we get him back to sleep?" Megan whispered.
"Oh, I think when they're done with him he'll sleep," Christel chuckled quietly.
"I think they'll all sleep," Megan said, turning her head to the side. Paul wasn't the only one who was having fun in the pile. Ashly, who was still stroking for all her neck would bear, was sitting on Shanea's face. And there was no way that Shanea had been forced to the position; she'd been on the other side of the pile to start. But Shanea wasn't lacking as somebody's hand was down in her crotch and that led to . . . maybe Velva . . .
"It looks like an erotic M.C. Escher painting," Megan muttered, shaking her head.
"Good work." Christel chuckled again.
"Sure, laugh," Megan replied. "I've got distillation to attend to."
"Go for it," Christel said, stripping off her clothes. "I've got better things to do. All this needs is a half a ton of whipped cream and five more males."
Megan shook her head as Christel writhed into the group. She fully intended to just go back to her, lonely, workroom and keep distilling the various substances s
he had concocted. But the more she thought about it, the more she watched, just standing there as the pile writhed in a tangle of limbs like some giant fleshy amoeba.
But far more attractive.
"Oh the hell with perfume." She sighed, aware that she had reached a point where she wasn't about to go to her workroom. Although the bath had some interest. Finally, she took a deep, shuddering breath, stripped off her clothes and dove into the pile.
Christel was right; it needed whipped cream.
CHAPTER NINE
Paul looked slightly shamefaced when he woke up in a pile of female limbs. But the first thing he saw was Megan, leaning on one arm, watching him.
"Was it just my imagination, or did I see your face in the middle of . . . this," he asked, gesturing at the girls, most of whom were still sleeping.
"It wasn't your imagination," Megan replied, shrugging.
He watched the way that moved her breasts and shook his head.
"I . . . didn't figure you for this sort of thing," he said, carefully.
"Neither did I," Megan admitted. "But it was pretty fun once I got over the idea."
"I have to get up," Paul said, trying to figure out how to crawl out and disturb the least number of people.
"You are staying here at least one more day," Megan said, sternly. "You looked like death-on-a-cracker when you came in and you still don't look good."
"I've got things I have to do," Paul said. "Besides go to the bathroom."
"It's over there." Megan gestured with her chin. "But you'd better come back out, too."
"I will," Paul said.
When he came back out he was wearing one of the standard robes and he sat down on a pillow, turning his head to the side as he contemplated Megan.
"What are you doing awake at . . ." he paused and obviously consulted the Net, "three a.m.?"
"I get enough sleep in the harem." Megan shrugged. "I wasn't tired. I was watching you."
"Watching me sleep?" Paul asked. "Or watching over me?"
"A little of both. Watching and thinking."
"How easy it would be to kill me?" Paul asked.
"Damage you, yes," Megan said. "Kill would be for all practical purposes impossible. And if I even tried, well, the best that might happen is that I'd wind up like Amber. And, hell, I don't want to kill you. I did at first, but I don't want to anymore."
"Do you know why?" he asked quietly.
"No," Megan replied, sitting up. "Tell me, O Wise One."
Paul smiled and said something softly.
"Have you ever heard of the Sabine women?" Paul asked.
Megan thought about it for a long time and then shook her head.
"I think my mother mentioned the term," she said. "But I don't recall anything about it."
"Very old legend," Paul said, taking a sip of wine. "The Romans were short on women so they invited a neighboring tribe, the Sabines, to a festival in honor of the gods. Under a binding truce of course. At the height of the party, the Roman young men took off with the Sabine's wives and daughters while the older men held off the Sabines. Then they raped them and took them as their wives. Quite a few years later the Sabines had built up enough force to fight the Romans and, hopefully, destroy them. But the Sabine women convinced them not to kill their new husbands. After a while the Sabine tribe was absorbed by the Romans."
Megan frowned. "It's a legend."
"A legend that has had a ring of truth to this day." Paul sighed. "Because the psychological basis of it started to be understood in the twentieth century, starting with something called the Stockholm Effect. People tend to bond to their captors in personalized imprisonments. Most of the real-life examples have faded over the last few millennia but there are tens of thousands of them that have been studied. And the psycho-physiological effects, even the evolutionary bases, are easily traceable. Women who have been kidnapped and imprisoned tend to bond to their captors even more readily and to fall in love with them. Tend. Not always, humans are individuals. But it's the majority."
"I've fallen in love with my kidnapper," she said, hanging her head.
"You've fallen in love with your kidnapper," Paul confirmed. "It's not nice, it's not the way that things are 'supposed' to be. But it's very real and it's very human and it's something that I counted upon when I set up this . . . group. It probably goes back to prehuman conditions. Young female chimpanzees that are thrown out of their packs are often found by males from other packs. When they are, they are forced back to the area that the females stay in and are brutalized until they stay there of their own free will. To the point of preventing new females from attempting to escape. I have not brutalized you girls, but do you think Christel, for example, would support any plans to escape?"
"No," Megan said.
"I could postulate a race which is different," he paused and chuckled grimly. "Actually, I don't have to. The elves are different. Attempt to rape or imprison an elf and you'd better have lots of chains. And a gag."
"You haven't . . ." Megan said, her eyes wide.
"Never," Paul replied, definitely. "But some have tried from time to time, especially in the years when they lived among humans; elves were always beautiful. But the elves have no submit in them. They do not change their . . . emotions under stress. Put them in an imprisonment situation and they will always try to escape. They will tend, very hard, to try to kill their guards, even if it means their own deaths. Humans, though, tend to make the best of a bad situation. Even to the point of falling in love." He looked at her tenderly and smiled. "I take it you're human?"
"Very," she admitted.
"Amber, though, seemed to be part elf," Paul sighed. "She never would submit to this necessity and when she plotted to kill Christel and escape I was forced to make her . . . more compliant."
Megan shuddered and shook her head. "Paul, do me a favor. If I ever go insane and do something that makes you have to do that, just kill me, okay?"
"I truly hope it never comes to that. You can't kill me, you know," he added, looking at her. "And if you even managed it through some miracle, it would be worse than it is now. That is part of this effect; faced with unpalatable choices humans choose the lesser of the evils and live through them as best they can. But you don't want to anymore, do you?"
She thought of all the nights that she had cried for her loss and the pain. And of all the times they had talked. She probably knew more about the inner workings of the New Destiny faction than anyone not a part of it. And she knew that she no longer wanted to kill him. It didn't mean she wouldn't, but she didn't want to.
"No," she answered honestly, dipping her head again and fighting not to cry.
"If it helps you at all, I love you, too," Paul said. "You're . . . very precious to me. Sometimes when I come here it is only to see you. I can't talk to other people as I can with you. I certainly can't to anyone outside this group and of all the ones in it, the only other one that had your clarity of mind and ability to listen and make useful comments was Amber. And in the end, I had to make her safe."
"I won't force you to do the same to me," Megan said. "At least, I hope I never do."
"Do you know why the caged nightingale won't sing?" Paul asked.
"You said that before," she said, looking up with unshed tears in her eyes.
"It is because it knows that it is supposed to fly free," Paul said. "When you can't sing anymore, I'll know that it is time to release you . . . or know that you will never sing again." He looked at her sadly for a moment then stood up. "I have to go."
"Paul, you are not going anywhere," Megan said. "You're still not strong enough."
"I have things I have to do, Megan," Paul said. But when he stood he swayed on his feet.
"There," Megan said, triumphantly.
"Blood flow, that's all," Paul said. "I stood up too fast."
"I'll wake everybody up again and we'll start all over," Megan warned. "Where do you have to be? What can't you do from right here?"
"I n
eed . . . I don't have to be anywhere. But I need to recall my avatars and find out what they have been doing while I've been . . . busy."
"You've got projections running and not monitoring them?" Megan asked.
"They're sentient avatars," Paul corrected. "For all practical purposes they are me. It was proscribed pre-Fall, but it's the only way to keep track of what is going on. I need to recall them, soon. They're not . . . fully stable. I need to recall them and then send out new ones."
"Well, you can do that here," Megan said. "Right?"
"I need to be undisturbed," Paul pointed out.
"There's an empty room right there," Megan said, pointing at his chamber. "And I'll make sure you're not disturbed. And when you're done, I'll make sure that you're fed and comforted and cosseted and . . ."
"Okay, okay." Paul laughed, hushing himself as one of the other girls stirred and snaked a hand across the body next to her. "I'll go in there."
"And I'll watch. Is there anything I should be aware of?"
"No, it's a harmless procedure," Paul said, walking to the room. "Mostly."
Paul reclined on one of the pillows and closed his eyes, appearing to go back to sleep or into a trance. But almost immediately he began to twitch as if hit by some invisible force. And he muttered.
"Bloody hell . . ." Pause. "No, no, no how stupid can one vacuous bitch be? Released?" Pause. "Ekmantan." Pause. "Ships? Dragon-carriers?" Pause. "Damn them." "Talbot." A hiss of anger.
It went on for what seemed like hours and he became drenched with sweat, the increasing anger boiling off of him like a vapor.
She rose after a while and left quietly. All of the other girls were still in sodden slumber so she picked through the detritus of the orgy until she found the remains of the carafe of wine and a jug of water. She carried both in and resumed her vigil.
Paul finally settled down, stopped twitching, mostly, and appeared to dream. He muttered from time to time unintelligibly. She listened as closely as she could but there was nothing that was understandable. Finally, he opened his eyes, looking wan and pale.
"Harmless, huh?" she asked, sitting him up and propping pillows behind him. She held a glass of wine to his lips and then followed it with water.
