The Cartel

by E G Manetti

  Encouraged by Rebecca’s bright attentive gaze, Lilian pursues “…your bond proof. How will you manage with so many bells devoted to the seigneurs?”

  As is common within the Twelve Systems, Lilian does not confuse passion with love, attraction with affection. Desire is as natural as hunger or thirst. It can be indulged to the extent that one’s means and inclinations dictate. Wedlock and children are serious commitments, not undertaken lightly. Among the warriors, who claim direct descent from the Five Warriors, it is even more so. A wedlock alliance is a carefully crafted mingling of genetics and wealth.

  Lilian knows that it is Rebecca’s duty to please the Cartel seigneurs as it is Lilian’s to please milord. That Lilian is shocked to her core to have found such intense pleasure in her duty is not something she is about to share. Deeply reserved, Lilian does not readily take lovers. Her unanticipated response to milord has threatened her equilibrium. She will not dwell on it. Lilian resolutely ignores the internal whisper that insists she could not meet the demands of Rebecca’s duty. She cannot help but wonder how it is possible for Rebecca to fulfill a bond that steals so many bells from commerce.

  For a moment Rebecca’s face is blank with amazement and then splits into a grin, “You don’t think this pace lasts?”

  I did until you laughed at me, Lilian thinks. Swallowing a hostile response, Lilian says, “I have no notion. I have only monsignor to attend.”

  Grin fading, Rebecca, responds, “It is only for the training period. While in training, nothing is more important than the seigneurs’ pleasure. Once I am engaged in Cartel commerce, I am limited to nine attendance requirements in a sevenday. Of those, no more than three may occur in a single day.”

  Lilian mentally reviews her contract. There are no similar limits on her attendance on milord, although nine periods seems an unlikely number. Rebecca resides in the Serengeti Associate Quarters. Other than tending to her personal possessions, Rebecca has few demands beyond the Cartel. Her schedule may be more manageable than Lilian’s.

  “You are fortunate, you have only monsignor,” Rebecca blithely adds. “You’ll have more bells for training and may complete early. I’ll have little sleep in the next eight sevendays.”

  »◊«

  Waiting for the midday chimes to send her through the scarlet door, Lilian is unable to control the wild tumult of her thoughts. Milord. Rebecca. Nudity. Assignments. Nickolas. Walking erotic dream. She did not voice that! Chrys. Milord.

  Seeking distraction, Lilian ignites her slate. The Associate Master has approved her first two interrogatives and the third is submitted. Agree to meet Chrys in the Archives at second bell plus thirty. Schedule some time with,-

  “Mistress Lilian!” the sharp call from Mistress Marieth startles Lilian out of her thoughts.

  “The chimes, Mistress Lilian, the chimes,” Mistress Marieth insists.

  Adelaide protect her. The chimes have ceased and Lilian is on the wrong side of the door.

  Midday nears as Lucius settles on the scarlet couch. Loosening his tunic fasteners, Lucius contemplates the imminent arrival of his new apprentice. Lilian knows she erred with her lingerie. She will enter the chamber early in the chimes eager to please him.

  Recall of her response the prior evening causes an enjoyable tightening in Lucius’ sex. That the reserved young woman proved so wanton is a surprise and a delight. Lucius spends several indulgent moments deciding precisely how he wishes to be pleased. At the sound of chimes Lucius shifts expectantly.

  As the final chime falls into silence, Lucius’ irritation spikes. Inattention or further defiance, it matters not. His apprentice is not two days into her bond and she owns multiple stricture violations. Does she think his carnal delight is license for laxity, she will soon learn her error.

  Honor knows not fear. Through the door. It was only a few moments. How severe can it be?

  Milord is seated on the red leather couch, his back to her. The reviewer screen flickers with data that dance and scroll. One arm rests on the back of the couch, fingers taping ominously.

  “You are late.” Milord’s silken tones send tremors of fear through Lilian.

  “Yes, milord.” He is angry now.

  “Have you an explanation?” It is clear milord considers that unlikely and he is correct. Distraction is not a valid reason for failing milord’s will.

  “No, milord.” Lilian forces the words past a suddenly tight throat.

  “Come here,” the silken voice instructs.

  Honor endures. Rounding couch Lilian deposits her slate bag on the end table.

  “Abandon your jacket there, as well.”

  He is very angry.

  At milord’s instruction, Lilian is kneeling on the floor between milord’s spread knees. Her blouse open, her head bowed. She is carefully not viewing milord’s face. One glance at the dark expression was more than sufficient.

  She has erred. The briefs were a mistake. Honor endures. It will be painful. The moments drag as Lilian waits. Five Warriors’ take it. Be done with it.

  Milord cups Lilian’s breasts in his hands, thumbs stroking back and forth across the tips until they harden into peaks. At a quick twist of his fingers a sharp, momentary pain rockets through Lilian catching her breath and causing her eyes to tear.

  “Do not to be late, again. The severity of correction increases with repeated offense.” Milord’s silken tone masks neither his anger nor the threat in the instruction.

  “Yes, milord, I beg milord’s pardon.” Is it over? Lilian ventures a glance at milord’s face.

  The anger has dissipated. Milord’s countenance has returned to what Lilian is beginning to consider its normal, impassive line. The only animation is the fast moving intelligence behind milord’s eyes. Dropping her gaze, Lilian awaits milord’s will.

  “I believe a demonstration of your contrition is in order,” milord instructs.

  Lilian was expecting pardon or further correction. Milord’s words are confounding. Milord clearly expects her to understand. Think. Oh.

  Nervously licking her lips, Lilian tentatively places her hands at milord’s knees and strokes up his thighs. The heat and tension in milord’s legs communicates clearly through the crisp, expensive fabric of milord’s trousers. Tilting her head to cast a sidelong glance at milord’s face, Lilian watches warily for any slight change in expression.

  There is a slight swelling behind the closure. Lilian traces it with her fingers. There is no change in milord’s expression, but the organ moves, stiffens beneath the fabric. Lilian reaches up and loosens milord’s belt. Carefully, using one hand to continue the stroking, Lilian unfastens the trousers. Parting the cloth, she reveals black silk barely restraining milord’s swelling shaft.

  Reaching in, Lilian releases the burgeoning flesh into her hands. She slips one hand low to gently cup the sack while the other explores the silken texture of the rapidly hardening rod. Wetting her lips, Lilian gently kisses the swollen head. She carefully licks around it before sucking as much she can hold into her mouth. Slowly she moves back up the shaft until naught but the head is contained and then down as far as she is able.

  Milord is thick and long. Wonder that this heavy length was within her causes Lilian a brief moment of hesitation before she returns to her duty. She must please milord.

  Hands grasp her head, holding her, silently urging her to suck and lick the thick flesh in her mouth. Responding to the unspoken command, Lilian works the swelling flesh with her mouth. Milord is breathing hard. His thighs are iron hard with reaction. Emboldened by milord’s pleasure, Lilian works the stiff shaft with squeezing palate and flicking tongue.

  Milord’s hands shift, indicating desire for her attention.

  Lilian carefully releases milord’s sex, and risks another glance at milord’s face. Milord’s eyes are heavy lidded with passion. “Mount me.”

  The startling command requires obedience. Lilian lacks the least sense of desire. This is ill. Honor acts as duty commands.


  Lilian attempts to place her knees on either side of milord’s while collecting the material of her skirt around her waist. It is impossible. There is too much fabric.

  Dwell on passion. Recall what pleases.

  Stepping back quickly, Lilian releases the fastenings and the skirt drops to the floor. Stepping free of her fallen garment, Lilian returns to milord.

  Milord has not moved. He waits, his arms spread across the back of the couch. Has he lengthened?

  Involuntarily licking her lips, Lilian struggles to recall thoughts or memories that will arouse as she straddles the waiting man. She carefully positions herself as milord’s hands come up to clasp her ribcage. She grasps milord’s stiffened rod and gently presses down onto the tip.

  She is tight, dry. She cannot discover a pleasing memory. It burns as bit by bit she eases the tip into her opening. Pausing, waiting she allows her body to adjust. Think of naught. In a few moments, she softens, loosening inside. Soon she is able to accept more and more until finally she has milord fully encased.

  Milord has not moved or spoken. A quick glance from beneath her lashes reveals the heavily lidded eyes are all but closed. Milord’s lips are softened and slightly parted.

  Slowly Lilian begins to move, circling her hips, continuing to loosen her core. The hard rod inside her is no longer intrusive. Shifting on milord, Lilian begins to moisten, slicken. Relaxing into her position, Lilian works her hips. Her circular movements shift into a pleasant rocking up and down.

  The slow, hypnotic movement eases Lilian further, desire flickers. It is offered no chance to flame. Milord grasps her hips, alters her rhythm. He sets the pace and motion, increasing speed and power in her now readied sheath. Finishing abruptly, milord holds her still across his loins. Long moments pass as Lilian waits with head bowed, milord’s sex softening inside her.

  Lucius shudders in pleasure at the hot wet pull of Lilian’s mouth on his sex. The eager passion of the woman kneeling between his knees turns Lucius’ mind to his original intent. Discarding the ridiculous skirt, Lilian straddles him. Her long elegant fingers close around his shaft, hardening him further. Settling his hands on Lilian’s ribcage, Lucius holds his breath waiting for her hot, wet chamber to enfold him.

  Socraide’s Sword!

  She is tight, dry, completely unexcited. Clenching his teeth, Lucius resists the urge to force Lilian onto his shaft. For long moments Lilian carefully works her way onto his erection. She is so tight, Lucius can barely hold himself still. Once he is fully encased, she softens, moistens. The gentle movement of her hips is too much. She can take him, he will wait no longer. Shifting his grip Lucius sets the pace and rhythm that rapidly brings him to completion.

  Lucius considers Lilian, her head bowed in contrition as she kneels astride him. He wonders irreverently if the prescribed posture for contrition was designed for this specific situation. Lilian may not have been eager to please him. She proved determined to do so. It is sufficient.

  Lilian tenses as milord’s knuckles gently caress one lowered cheek. “You have my pardon.”

  »◊«

  I am the sum of my ancestors. I am the foundation of my family. It is impossible. He did not hurt you. Not truly. Honor is my blade and shield. The penthouse was an exception. Honor endures. You are a convenience. Reconcile to it. Honor acts as duty commands.

  Given duress, Lilian could not voice what transpired between milord’s freshening closet and her worksite. It has been little more than a day and the sterile gray square has become a haven. For over a bell Lilian has stared at her reviewer, training assignments ignored as she struggled to overcome the humiliation of midday. A sharp chirp from her slate pulls Lilian from her internal turmoil. Chrys.

  The Archives chamber is hushed and empty except for Chrys who is seated at one of the long reviewer consoles. Bright after midday sunlight filters through the windows placed high in the walls. A stray band of light touches Chrys’ head striking gold and red highlights from what Lilian had judged non-descript hair.

  Easing into the next chair, Lilian offers a quiet greeting, “Well met Master Chrys.”

  “Well met indeed, Mistress Lilian,” Chrys greets her with a smile. “Have you truly finished all three interrogatives?”

  “I believe I mentioned I excel at analytics and problematics. All three were in my area. Show me where you are in difficulty,” Lilian returns.

  A half of a period of quiet discussion and occasional reference to the reviewers ensue. With a pleased smile, Chrys sits back. “This is excellent. It works for all situations?”

  “It is the standard set of primary checks for all purchase evaluations. Should they produce exceptions, the next level evaluations are more complicated. As a technologist, you will not be required to execute those,” Lilian assures the young man.

  Releasing his fascination with the reviewers, Chrys turns to Lilian. After a moment’s hesitation he says, “Mistress Lilian, is it well with you?”

  At an unmistakable stiffening of Lilian’s features, Chrys stumbles on. He refuses to allow his gaze to rest anywhere near her blouse. “Not to pry, but with all changes in your life, I would not blame you if you were a little … disconcerted.”

  “Disconcerted?” Feeling more than disconcerted, Lilian continues, “Master Chrys are all within the Cartel fascinated by the state of my lingerie?”

  “Well, it is difficult not to note it when you move,” Chrys acknowledges and quickly evens his expression as his companion’s features stiffen further. “Truly, I was referring to your aspect when you entered.”

  Chrys hesitates, seeking words. “It is difficult to give it voice. You appeared absent. After we worked for a while you seemed to return. Is it well with you?”

  Chrys is correct. Working has steadied her, centered her. She is able to restrain the wild disorder of her thoughts. “Master Chrys, you are correct. Working does ease me.”

  “That is because the work is real, the rest is not, and it will not be for be for much longer.” Chrys voice is low, gentle and insistent.

  Chrys is attempting to convey something of import, but Lilian is unable to grasp it. “Master Chrys, I do not take your meaning.”

  “Lilian - if you have no objection -,” at Lilian’s nod agreeing to the familiarity, Chrys continues, “I have been apprenticed to the educational elite for ten years. Now I am here for three more. Then I am done as an apprentice. But the work, that will continue for at least another sixty years. It is real, I am good at it, and I enjoy it. You seem to enjoy your work and you are very good at it. Hold fast to that.”

  Nodding her acceptance of her new friend’s wisdom, Lilian turns her attention to her assignment queue. After a period, Chrys takes his leave. After another two periods, Lilian stands and stretches. She is satisfied that her work on the operational analyses is sound and will withstand scrutiny.

  Sixth bell chimes as Lilian returns to her worksite. There is box in the center of the console. Inside are a dozen sets of lingerie in a rainbow of colors.

  To Lilian’s intense relief, milord’s preferences do not include minuscule scraps of fabric held together with strings. The items are cut high on the thigh and lower across her cleavage than she would have chosen. They provide sufficient coverage to count as real lingerie, although much of the fabric is lace rather than solid. There is a handwritten note with four words, “Don the blue tomorrow.”

  Sevenday 1, Day 3

  It requires all Lilian’s discipline to stand quietly beneath milord’s intent regard. Even with the aid of Chrys’ counsel, Lilian finds confronting milord difficult. There is no acknowledgement of the previous day’s traumatic events. It is commerce as usual.

  Honor endures. Dutifully reciting status, Lilian waits for milord’s instruction. The considering regard over the steepled fingers has caused experienced and highly ranked warriors to quail. The intense, searching gaze lasts only a few moments. To Lilian it feels as if eons are passing. Honor acts as duty commands.

  “Continue
as you are. I will expect you at midday,” milord dismisses Lilian.

  Relieved at the briefness of the interview, Lilian is not surprised at the command for midday attendance. It was to be expected after the prior day’s debacle.

  In the quarter period that Lilian passed in milord’s office, the halls of Serengeti have filled. Posture ramrod straight, chin high, Lilian refuses to acknowledge the person width of empty air that surrounds her in the crowded riser carriage. They may take up their disdain with milord. She serves his will alone.

  Lilian has discovered that the Commons riser bank she used First Day is dedicated to the thousands of Headquarters servitors who have not achieved cartouche designation or associate status. In addition to the Commons risers, each cartouche has its own, dedicated bank. The Blooded Dagger riser banks are far less crowded, if no less hostile than the Commons.

  Exiting the carriage at the twenty-eighth storey, Lilian’s ankle encounters an object, quickly withdrawn. Her athleticism allows her to compensate for the tripping foot with only minor stumbling. Face forward, gaze unwavering, the young woman continues to her worksite without a backward glance.

  Lilian’s worksite commands a small modicum of privacy in the teeming hive of Serengeti. Set on the main corridor, it is one worksite back. In a standard configuration, there would be two more worksites directly at her back, the configuration echoed across the section walkway. In this corner, the wall is at her back. The worksite across the walkway is empty.

  The two associates occupying the front set have not acknowledged her. She does not expect them to. Even without the scandal, it would be unlikely. Associates commonly address apprentices to give instruction and for no other purpose.

  Settling to her work, Lilian begins her preliminary review of the Desperation Vistrite Refinery. The precious commodity is central to the advanced technology of the Twelve Systems. Small pieces of the semi-liquid crystal can hold trillions of instructions to direct technology as complex as stellar transit or as simple as the access controls at milord’s penthouse. Without it, the Order of the Five Warriors would quickly devolve into primitive cultures lacking stellar transit or even simple communications.