I Won A Spaceship

by Harrision Park

  I was also fretting about how to handle things after the meal. Last night had been a spontaneous reaction to the situation and the fact that it had really been an absolutely outstanding meal. Unfortunately it had set a precedent. Would tonight’s chefs feel slighted if they didn’t get a standing ovation? On the other hand special recognition should only be given for something special and, while I appreciated the skill that had gone into the preparation of this meal, I hadn’t really enjoyed it very much. I decided to consult Jarmasin, in part to try and draw her out of herself.

  “I’ve got a problem,” I said as we sipped our tea. I would have preferred coffee but tea was what we were offered. “You know what happened last night? With the chefs?” She nodded. “Well, I don’t know whether I should do it again. What do you think?”

  She thought for a moment. “I wasn’t there last night so I don’t know what the meal was like but, if I was just an ordinary diner here, I’d pay the bill and leave. Oh, I appreciate what you said about the time and effort but, honestly, I didn’t like it much.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it like that. I agree. If I’d’ve been an ordinary diner last night, I’d’ve said or done something or left an exorbitant tip… it really was that good… but tonight wasn’t. Okay, here’s what I suggest. We ask the head chef to come to our table and thank him for a wonderful meal. D’you think you can do that?”

  “Yes. They have done their best, haven’t they?”

  “Good girl.”

  I waved at the restaurateur who came hurrying over.

  “Have you enjoyed your meal, Sir and Madam?”

  “We have indeed,” I said heartily. “Would it be acceptable to thank the chef personally for all his hard work?”

  He looked concerned. “If you’ll forgive me, Sir, the chef is a very private person. He’s not a great one for public displays, if you take my meaning.”

  “I do and I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing him. But he has gone to a lot of trouble for us and we appreciate it. A quiet word was what I had in mind.”

  “I’m sure he would appreciate that, Sir.”

  He went off and came back with a rather apprehensive chef. I quietly and, I hope, eloquently thanked him. Jarmasin added her thanks and sounded sincere. He left, smiling. A few other diners stopped him and exchanged words. The restaurateur returned.

  “Thank you, Sir and Madam, that was graciously done.”

  “He deserved it. And you, Sir, our thanks must go to you, too, for an excellent meal in a wonderful setting.”

  We left to more applause from the other patrons. The crowd outside had thinned somewhat although the hecklers with placards had seem to increase in numbers. Hlawch had discretely disappeared but our protectors kept a wary eye on them.

  In the car, Jarmasin snuggled up to me.

  “I’m sorry, Crawford. I didn’t do very well, did I?”

  “You were fine. I have to psych myself up every time and I’ve been doing it for several days.”

  “It was the crowd and the noise. They took me by surprise.”

  I stroked her hair. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It’s over and you won’t have to do it again.”

  “You were wonderful. So calm and poised and masterful. And you said and did all the right things at the right time. The way you spoke to the restaurateur and the chef. I could never have done that. So commanding.”

  A light bulb went off in my head. She was submissive. She wanted her man to be dominant and commanding. I wondered if her society was male-dominated. It was something I had no experience with but, if I wanted the rest of the night to be a success, I’d better learn quick. I tilted her face up to kiss her but she turned away.

  “Not yet. Please. There’s a… ritual we must follow before… Then it will be all right.”

  Oh, well. So much for that bright idea. Now I had no idea what she wanted.

  In the suite, she turned to me and put her hand lightly on my chest.

  “I know this is frustrating,” she said earnestly. “But it is very important. Will you be patient just a little longer? Will you do what I ask? I promise you it’ll be worthwhile. Believe me I want this as much as you.”

  If she wanted it as much as I then we were in for a quiet night for the last thing on my mind right now was sex but I nodded and agreed to follow her lead. She told me to have a drink or something while she got ready. Then she would hide. I wasn’t to see her while I made my preparations. I was to get naked and call her with the words ‘Jarmasin Yongsam, I call upon you to present yourself’. She would coach me through the rest of the ritual as we went along. It seemed very bizarre but I agreed and sipped a large scotch while I waited. After some time she called me. With a sigh, I downed the rest of my drink and went to get ready. I noticed, in passing, that she had stripped the covers from the bed.

  Feeling slightly foolish, I stood, naked, in the middle of the bedroom and said the words she wanted. While showering I’d decided that this was no dafter than other things I’d been asked to do and, as it was obviously important to her, it would be churlish not to take it seriously so I said the words with as much conviction as I could muster.

  She’d been hiding in the wardrobe. She stepped out and my breath caught in my throat. She had changed and was wearing a length of the finest ivory mesh shot with gold. It was wound loosely round her so that the outline of her figure was tantalisingly suggested. Her face was veiled in the same material. There were long ivory skewers in her hair. Gold filigree earrings dangled from her ears and on her feet were little gold slippers. She had her arms out in front of her and a fine gold chain was looped around her wrists.

  She began to dance. It was at once graceful and erotic. She didn’t so much move as undulate. Slowly she came towards me then circled me, almost touching but not quite. I realised my mouth was hanging open and closed it with a snap. It was like a scene from the Arabian Nights. I folded my arms across my chest and tried to appear impassive although my visible reaction gave lie to that. She spotted it and her dancing became more intense. She stopped in front of me, her chest heaving, and looked up from lowered head with lust filled eyes.

  “Take the chain and pull it gently,” she murmured, holding her arms out.

  I did so.

  “I, Jarmasin, daughter of the House of Yongsam, present myself. I swear I am of age and pure of heart and mind. I offer myself without restraint for the pleasure of Crawford of the House of MacAdam. His desire is mine. His lust is mine. Nothing is forbidden. Nothing is taboo.”

  I found I was breathing hard. Did she really mean what she’d said or was it an old ritual from which age had leached the meaning, like marriage vows?

  “Is there… Is there a response?” I said huskily.

  “Yes. If you accept me you say so. There’s supposed to be formal words but they don’t matter. Then you undress me; first the veil, then the hair. And you’re supposed…” she swallowed, “…to describe all the things you’re going to do to me. The chain comes last. If you want you can use it to… tie me up.”

  “And the words you said… you meant them?”

  She nodded. “Every one.”

  “Whew.” I knew I had to be careful. “I, Crawford MacAdam accept Jarmasin of the House of Yongsam to be my…” I searched for a suitable word, “…consort. I will use her for my pleasure and hers. Nothing is forbidden. Nothing is taboo.”

  I checked to see if what I’d said had been acceptable. She was trembling and her eyes were hooded.

  I removed her veil. “Your lips are mine. With them you will kiss wherever I desire. Your tongue is mine. With it you will taste my desire and my desire will be yours. Your nose is mine. It will smell my desire. Your eyes are mine. They will look upon me with love and lust. Your ears are mine. They will hear my desires and obey.”

  As I spoke the words, I touched each of the parts in turn. She murmured something under her breath. I pulled the pins from her hair and caressed her head.

  “Your mind is mine. It will t
hink always of ways to please me.”

  “Now the dress,” she whispered.

  I tugged at the chain, making her lift her arms. “In your arms I will find love and succour. Your hands will always be gentle and add to my pleasure.”

  I found the edge of the cloth and started to unwind.

  “Please fold it,” she said.

  I walked round her, unwrapping her like a parcel and carefully folding the material. It was awkward while holding the chain but some instinct told me it was important to do it right. When I had unwrapped her to her waist I stopped and ran a hand over her back. Her skin was as smooth as silk and, despite her small size, I could feel firm muscles beneath.

  “Your silky skin is mine,” I breathed in her ear, “to touch and caress as it pleases me. I may even put my mark on it.”

  She let out a strangled sound that was almost a sob.

  “Your breasts are my toys. I will hold them and squeeze them and caress them and kiss them and suckle on them.”

  I continued unwinding, revealing a small, round bottom and slenderly muscular legs. I folded the rest of the material neatly and placed it on a chair. I turned and studied her trying to maintain an aura of calm and control though, in honesty, I wanted to throw her on the bed and ravish her. There was something about her… her posture… her demeanour that almost demanded ravishment. But the ritual had to be completed.

  “You please me greatly,” I said, taking in her small waist, trim hips and delicately rounded belly.

  I touched her sex. “I will take you here.” I touched her bottom. “I will take you here.” I touched her lips. “I will take you here. I will take you whenever, however and wherever I want. You are mine.”

  Somehow I knew I’d said enough. I glanced at her face. Silent tears were streaming from her eyes. She was trembling so much she could barely stand. I started to speak but she shook her head.

  “No words. Please. Take me now. It’s… necessary.”

  I scooped her up in my arms and deposited her on the bed. She wriggled round till she was on her front then pulled her legs up so she was on her knees with her bottom in the air and her face on the bed. A wave of uncontrollable lust swept over me.

  I only have a hazy recollection of the next bit. All I was aware of was the need to impregnate my woman. Exactly why this was so important was a mystery but I knew it was. I was dimly aware that she was crying and shaking and responding. We reached the end together then I must have passed out momentarily for the next thing I was aware of was that I was lying over her back.

  I groaned and rolled off. She wriggled round and pressed herself tightly against me. I put my arms around her and realised she was sobbing.

  “Jarmasin, what’s the matter? Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

  She shook her head against my chest. I tried to prise her away but she clung even tighter.

  “Jarmasin. Dearest. What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

  “I’ve been very, very silly,” she managed and started wailing again.

  I held her gently and made comforting noises. She didn’t seem to be stopping.

  “You may have been silly,” I said more firmly. “But crying like that’s not going to fix it. I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me. Stop crying and tell me what the problem is.”

  It took a while but in fits and starts, I managed to piece together the story. She was of an age where she should have been thinking of marriage but none of her suitors appealed. She persuaded her father that she needed a big adventure. If she could, just once, do something wonderful and marvellous then she’d return home and settle down. The problem was she had no idea what the ‘something wonderful and marvellous’ was. Then she heard about the Lottery draw. This was it. A visit to the capital to see the draw and experience the excitement and glamour and, perhaps, even meet the Winner was just what she was looking for.

  Now it just so happened that her father knew someone connected with the Lottery and that being owed her father a favour. And so it was arranged. She would travel to Geretimal and meet the Lottery winner. Unfortunately there had been a misunderstanding and, when she arrived, she found she was part of the breeding programme. Before she could react, she was hustled away with the other girls to Madam Holiness-Personified’s prison and had no chance to back out. She did a bit of quiet investigation and found that she had minimal chance of being successfully bred for, although she was compatible with me in many ways, her Qurarqut-Gratz’chni Index was only 500. This was a great relief for she didn’t really want to have to return home and try to explain to her parents how she became pregnant, it being mainly her father’s fault in the first place. She was here, in amongst the razzmatazz of the Lottery and she’d get to meet the Winner. A night of sex seemed a not unreasonable price to pay. It didn’t work out like that. Madam Holiness-Personified was, as had been discovered, a martinet who ruled her brood with a rod of iron. By the time of the draw she’d grown to hate the Lottery and all it stood for and hated the Winner. The idea of having to be nice to him for an evening and, worse, have sex with him was repugnant. All she wanted to do was go home.

  Then she saw me on trivee. Instead of the mentally-retarded peasant, her words not mine, she was expecting, she saw a handsome, urbane being who exuded calm and control in the middle of the brouhaha. What was more, he seemed witty and intelligent, characteristics she admired. Suddenly a night with me didn’t seem so bad. Then Madam Holiness-Personified disappeared and the word was that it was the Winner’s doing. Cherevine floating in with a smug smile on her face was the final piece. Now she was actively looking forward to her encounter. She wanted a piece of what Cherevine had. The problem was that Cherevine was, by general agreement, the most beautiful among them and a genuinely nice person to boot. While they were pleased she’d had a good time, they were a bit miffed she’s been chosen first. The consensus was that they would have to work very hard to come up to her standards.

  That was when she conceived of her brilliant idea. Many centuries ago it had been the practice for powerful leaders in her society to keep concubines. Times were hard, infant mortality was high and women outwith the family structure had difficult lives. It became acceptable for orphans, young widows and younger daughters to be trained in the arts of love and be presented to a powerful man as concubines. These young women led a dual existence. Inside the bedchamber they were virtually sex slaves but outside they could become women of power and substance. Being a concubine was regarded as a desirable position. So she decided, with Barbita’s co-operation, to play at being a concubine.

  Up to that point I had no trouble with her explanation for the situation sounded not dissimilar to the hareem’s of the ancient Middle East and India. From then on, however, it began to get weird. Her species were wired differently to us. For reasons I didn’t understand, and I’m fairly sure Jarmasin didn’t either, certain oaths, when given in a particular ritualistic way, were binding. Once given they could not be rescinded except through another ritual. The traditional marriage vows and oaths of fealty and loyalty were examples. Nowadays, other than marriage and an adolescent’s ‘coming of age’ ceremony, the only times they were used were when families merged, the junior swearing loyalty to the senior, or by officers in the armed forces and members of the planetary Government. What Jarmasin hadn’t realised was that the vow of a concubine was one such oath. It probably wouldn’t have mattered even then but that I accidentally made exactly the right responses. The result was that she was now bound to serve me as a pleasure slave until such times as I should release her.

  “But that’s terrible,” I exclaimed. “You can’t live like that. I must release you.”

  “I don’t know how,” she sniffed.

  “But surely… I mean, it’ll be on record somewhere. You have historical records, don’t you?”

  “Yes. But the problem is that the records might not be accurate. People didn’t write much down in those days. The oath I gave I found in a book somewhere and it o
nly described the dress and the general process. I sort of made the rest of it up by myself.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  She clutched at me. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a stupid fool. I was so pleased at having found something to outdo Cherevine and now you’re burdened with me forever.”

  “I’m not thinking of me. It’s you I’m worried about. How can you lead a normal life if you’re tied to me?”

  “Me?” she squeaked. “You’re worried about me?”

  She smothered me with kisses.

  “Wait a moment,” I said fending her off. “Before we get even more entangled, let’s try and straighten things out. You’re worried about what I feel and I’m worried about you. First off, what do you feel about it?”

  She stretched and undulated her body against mine. “I feel good.”

  “Please will you be serious.”

  “I am. We need to belong. It’s in our genes. People belong to their immediate family. The immediate family belongs to the extended family, and so on. I’m a bit odd. I didn’t feel I belonged… oh, I don’t mean I was mistreated or wasn't loved but I didn’t have that feeling of ‘rightness’ you get when you know you belong. I have it now. Your turn.”

  I was still trying to get my head round her concept of belonging. “Oh. Well, I’m not unhappy. But we humans don’t share your idea of belonging. We define ourselves more by where we live than by our social group. I’m Scottish and British and European but these are just larger and larger areas of land, not cohesive groups. However, the thought of having you around for a while isn’t displeasing. You’re a beautiful woman and sexy and fascinating and exotic. However, there are complications. The first is the breeding programme. What do you feel knowing you’ll have to share me with twenty-one other women, at least temporarily?”

  “It doesn’t bother me. Considering we come from random places and were all thrown together, we get on pretty well. There’s some I don’t like but that doesn’t matter. The thing is that, at the end of the day, I belong to you.”