Laila stared at him. She would have been less surprised if he’d said he had married an elephant.
“When you say slaves… what, you mean they…” Laila tried to word the sentence.
“They consented to our relationship in the first place,” Flin explained. “Each woman came to me of her own free will, separately, and as we got to know each other, each of them begged to be collared. On Minos Kerala, and many other planets, that’s like being married but for masters and slaves. But only the slave wears the collar, not the master. Of course, masters and slaves can be any gender.”
“What did you do with them?” Laila’s eyes were full of interest.
“Whatever I wanted. I liked being able to know what they were doing at all times, knowing that they knew why they were doing any given thing. Two of them were more service-oriented, so they took care of the house and didn’t work. One of them was totally disinterested in service, so she worked in an office job during the day instead. If I’d wanted to, I could have made her quit and keep the house clean, but I’m not that kind of master. I wanted the final say in everything my slaves did, but I also wanted them to be fulfilled, so I tended not to make them do anything they didn’t want to unless I particularly wanted it done, or if I was trying to teach them something. They were all trained in advanced sexual techniques, and I played with them all regularly. I liked the variety. I had no rules against them having other relationships, as long as they put me first. Sometimes, I would even get them to fuck each other. It was pretty great, actually.”
“What went wrong?” Laila was drinking in the things he was telling her.
“I’d had two of them for about four years, when the third came along. She… was incredible. But then, two months after she moved in with us, one of the other slaves demanded I choose, or she would leave.” Flin paused, and Laila could tell this was difficult for him to talk about. “I let her leave.”
“Couldn’t you make her stay, if you were her master?”
“I probably could have done, but once a slave has crossed a certain line there’s no point. She had been informed—they all had—that this was never going to be a monogamous relationship. She put a lot of pressure on me, and didn’t talk about it like an adult in a relationship. When I told her I wouldn’t be told what to do, she physically attacked me. After she left, the damage was done. The other two seemed more distant, and maybe I was as well. I ended up releasing them both, and I’ve never taken another slave.” Flin stared at the wall of the cargo bay; his pink eyes were sad.
“Why not?” Laila asked.
“Because I don’t know how it all went wrong. I don’t know how I can do better next time. And until I do, I’m not going to take another slave.” His voice was anguished. Laila had never seen him so raw and emotional. “I left the planet, we still visit often though, and I joined up with Basil. The travel’s soothing for the soul.”
“You have to be in control,” Laila observed. “So you’re controlling a situation that got out of control five years ago by refusing to do anything similar.”
He stared at her. She looked at the floor and pulled back into herself, hoping he wasn’t going to hit her. He didn’t. He hadn’t yet, she noticed.
“Hmm… I think you’re onto something there. Have another chocolate.” He picked one up and put it into her mouth, then put a finger under her chin, tilting her head toward his. Leaning in, he kissed her again.
The taste of the chocolate tucked into her cheek mingled with his musky scent, as she let his tongue tease her own. She looked up and saw his eyes were looking straight into hers. The only sounds were of the kiss, and their breathing. Time seemed to stop.
Laila felt her nipples hardening. That had never happened from being kissed before. Flin continued to kiss her as one of his hands went down to her left breast and she felt a tingle straight to her clit as he touched the areola through her sailor dress. She stifled a moan.
He drew back and held her at arm’s length. Laila stared at him in surprise, wondering why he’d stopped.
“Friend zone, missy. Two weeks, minimum. When I’m convinced you’re not expecting me to hit you every time you open your mouth, we can think about it. In the meantime, I’ll be around if you want to talk about anything at all, or ask any questions. But no sex.”
“Okay,” she said, but inside she was frustrated. Two weeks was a lifetime, she wanted sex now! Her body had never responded like this to anyone, and now that it had, she craved fulfillment.
“You look weak. You need some food? Aside from chocolate, when’d you last eat?” Flin asked.
“I can’t remember.” She strained to think if they’d eaten during the day but she couldn’t think of anything.
“What do you eat?” Flin took her arm and escorted her out of the cargo bay. He walked her to the galley and opened all the cupboards.
“Oh, just the usual; I quite like duck soup with dumplings.” She described the dish. “It’s made of three vegetables, and of course, some fried pastry dumplings, but don’t ask me how to cook it all.”
“What about the duck?”
“No, silly! It’s not made of ducks, you feed it to them!” she explained, then flinched again as she realized she’d just called him silly. “Then one day someone decided it was tasty and now people eat it too.”
“What vegetables does it need?”
“Hammits, reeds, and glubs,” she said. From his confused look, she gathered that he’d never heard of any of these. “Don’t they have vegetables in space? I know I haven’t seen any yet, but I just thought we had run out.”
“There’s vegetables, but it’s hard to get them to keep very well, unless they’re pre-packaged. Usually we’re limited to local produce though. There aren’t enough cargo delivery companies to keep the supply of planet-specific plants moving across the galaxies, and besides, travel takes time; vegetables have a habit of spoiling. I could make you some powder soup?”
“What’s in it?”
“Red powder containing all the usual nutritional enhancements, little circular noodly things, green bits that get stuck in your teeth, and crunchy cube things. Nobody knows what any of them are supposed to be made from. It’s based on an Earth dish called ‘Cup-A-Soup,’” Flin said. “There’s also green powder soup, and a white one, but Basil doesn’t like those ones so we don’t tend to buy them.”
“Soup? Made from powder? How is that possible?”
“Don’t ask me. Here, I’ll make you some. If you don’t like it, I’ll find something else, but you need to eat.”
The soup was tasty, Laila conceded, and she had a second cup of it. While she was drinking, she mulled over the conversation from earlier. Flin had said she was expecting to get hit at any moment. He was right, of course, she knew that, but she didn’t know how else to be. How could she stop feeling like that, when experience had shown her it was what people did?
Chapter Four
It was a few days since they’d taken Laila shopping. With Flin flying the ship for the next eight hours, Basil took a quick shower, then went to find Laila, who was staring out of a window in the galley. Today she was wearing the black leggings and the purple long top.
“What d’you say you and I spend some quality daddy and little girl time together?” Basil suggested.
Laila turned to look at him thoughtfully, then nodded her head solemnly. Basil took her hand and led her to his cabin; there was such a serious outer shell to her personality, but occasionally he could see through it to the bubbly, bouncy little girl she might have been, had she not been a victim of circumstance. He hoped to draw it out more often, by giving her a safe space to be herself.
“First let’s get you looking the part.”
He opened the closet where her clothes were hanging and pulled out her frilly blue sailor dress. She instantly smiled.
“Put your arms up over your head, missy.” He lifted her purple top and disentangled it from her ears and nose as he removed it, exposing her bra underneath
, in which her medium-sized breasts sat pertly.
He slid his fingers into the waistband of her leggings and brought them down, until she could step out of them, then he put a long white sock over each foot, letting the top of the socks sit just below her knees. The sailor dress was one of Basil’s biggest weaknesses. He loved the colors, the shape, the way the frills bounced and the back of the waistline shimmied as Laila walked. It had taken a lot of self-control not to try anything with her yet, but he knew she needed space to get over what had happened before he met her.
He pulled the dress over her head and moved it into place, fastening the white halter neck ribbon into a big bow behind her neck.
“Thank you, Daddy,” Laila said, and pecked him on the cheek.
“Now sit on the edge of the bed in front of the mirror while I brush out your hair.”
When Basil had bought The Great Gig, he hadn’t understood the point of the dresser in the main sleeping quarters, but after living on board for a few years, he had to admit it was a fantastic addition for ageplay scenes or sex in general. Taking a woman from behind and watching her breasts bounce in the mirror was one of life’s great pleasures, and he was very glad he hadn’t ripped out the built-in dresser with the big mirror. It had its other uses as well, he decided, as he sat on the bed behind Laila.
Taking Laila’s hairbrush, he pressed his hand near the bottom of her hair, leaving two inches, which he gently brushed until the hairbrush moved freely through it. Then he moved up, watching the hair change texture as it went from tangled to brushed. Laila had so much hair, it needed brushing often to prevent it getting into knots. Basil had considered suggesting she get her hair cut to a more manageable length, but she seemed to love having such long hair, so he hadn’t mentioned it to her. If it made her happy, he thought, then there wasn’t a problem. Today, it seemed slightly sticky, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Had she used some sort of styling product on it?
The brush was one of the round ones with a flat reverse, and Basil contemplated its potential for a spanking implement as he ran it through Laila’s hair. It would leave a nice oval, he decided, and it would probably sting. He filed this information away for future use.
Laila was silent as Basil brushed her hair. He was getting used to the way that Laila could be a complete chatterbox one minute and quiet as a mouse the next, but when she’d first arrived on the ship he’d found it unnerving—he kept wondering if he’d upset her when she suddenly stopped talking. As the days had passed, however, it became clear that she only spoke when she had a lot to say.
“Want your hair in braids, or a ponytail?” he asked, once the hair was all soft and fluffy and tangle-free, if still slightly sticky. Her natural hair put him in mind of a well-groomed poodle, very wavy yet so soft at the same time, and while there were straightening treatments available in most places, Basil hoped Laila never used one, because he thought that without her springy hair, some of her inner bounciness would be lost.
“Braids, please,” she said.
He took two elastics and parted her hair down the middle, then plaited it into two braids, one each side of the nape of her neck. Even when her hair was tamed, there was something that made it look larger than life.
“There.” He admired her in the mirror.
She touched one of the braids then turned around and smiled.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she said again. “I look like a princess.”
“You sure do, sweetheart. Let’s hop along to the galley next and make some cookies.” He got up first then offered her a hand so she could get to the floor safely. They walked to the galley holding hands, then Basil pulled the recipe out of his pocket.
“Ever had cookies before, Laila?” he asked. She shook her head.
“They’re a special food that came from Earth, the planet my parents were from. They’d get cookies when they were good children, and so did I. My mother gave me her cookie recipe, see?” He passed her the recipe. “Why don’t you tell me what the first ingredient is, and I’ll reach it out of the cupboard?”
She looked at the recipe and her round eyes started to fill with tears.
“What’s the matter?” He couldn’t understand why she was upset.
Tears began to pour down Laila’s cheeks and her lip trembled. Then she threw the recipe at him. The paper, of course, floated down to the floor between the two of them. Getting more upset, Laila stamped her foot and ran out of the galley.
Basil picked up the recipe carefully and pocketed it. It was one of the last things his mother had written for him. He found Laila in his cabin, so he sat on the edge of the bed, where she was crying under the duvet.
“Talk to me, Laila,” he said, still utterly baffled.
Silence.
He yanked the duvet off her.
“Start talking before I count to three, or you’re getting a spanking.”
“Go away and leave me alone!” She sounded anguished. It wasn’t the tone of someone who was being intentionally bratty to earn a spanking. Basil was taken aback. Something had really upset her.
Basil replaced the duvet, gently tucking her in, then stood up.
“I think it’s nap time. I’ll be in the cockpit if you want to tell me what’s going on, but in the meantime, you’re far too stressed about whatever it is. You need some rest.”
He walked out of the cabin, glancing over his shoulder. Maybe when she got up from her nap she’d feel like talking. In the meantime, Basil decided to talk to Flin; perhaps he knew what this was about. He felt confused that she wouldn’t just confide in him.
“She threw the recipe?” Flin asked, when Basil filled him in on what just happened.
“And stormed out. She’s completely ripped up,” Basil said. “Any ideas what’s up with her?”
“What had you just asked her to do?” Flin pressed a button on the console and tapped another, then hit autopilot.
“Well, I’d brushed her hair and put it into braids, and we were about to make cookies. We’d literally just gotten into the galley, and I’d asked her to read me the ingredients while I reached them down from the high cupboards. Thought it’d be a fun Daddy-little activity we could do together.”
“Yeah, it sounds about as harmless as it gets. I mean, if you’d just told her you were going to fill her ass with cookie dough, that might upset her. You didn’t say anything like that, did you?”
Basil stared at Flin with his best death gaze and raised a single eyebrow.
“Didn’t think so,” Flin carried on. “Can I see the recipe?”
Basil pulled it out and they both scrutinized it. They couldn’t find anything wrong with it.
“Wait, do you remember when we were shopping with her, she didn’t know which packet was stockings?” Flin asked.
“What’re you saying?”
Flin stared out into space and ran his fingers through his hair.
“I think our new friend is illiterate. She can’t read, Basil.”
There was a moment when realization dawned.
“I was brushing her hair earlier, and it seemed unusually sticky. I wonder if she got the hair conditioner and body lotion mixed up.”
“She’s definitely over twenty-one, isn’t she?” Flin asked. “In universal standard years, not some year taken from a planet with a short orbit?”
“Majority’s eighteen, but yes, she’s definitely over twenty-one; I looked her up on the Registry.”
“You sly fox!” Flin punched Basil on the arm. “Prove it.”
Basil went to the computer terminal at the back of the cockpit and started working, remembering when he’d first used the Registry. It was a computer database that listed every birth along with other key information about people from every planet around the Interplanetary Alliance. It was developed by the Prime planets to fulfill the three absolute certainties in the universe: birth, death, and taxes. If the Prime planets’ tax department didn’t track who had been born and who had died, they were unable to collect
vast amounts of taxes, so it was the most accurate record-keeping system in Andromeda, involving everything ever written about an individual—more accurate than the law enforcement database, which after all, was concerned with using tax money, not collecting it. Nobody, not even the Interplanetary Alliance’s government, liked spending money, so law enforcement was both underfunded and not a priority.
Basil had taken a couple of contracts as a freelance tax collector several years ago, and they’d kept him on their list of approved contractors. Every few months he would apply to take on a contract at a higher price than anyone else, to guarantee he didn’t get picked, to ensure he kept his access to the Registry. He found it useful for checking the whereabouts of people who owed him money, which, in the cargo and trade business, was usually everyone he came into contact with (until they paid him). It also meant Basil had a reputation for always recovering money owed to him, which, after several years, meant that people tended to mess him around significantly less than when he’d first started out. He stepped aside so Flin could see the information on Laila’s record.
“See? Says she’s actually nearly twenty-two, so she’s extra-legal,” Basil said. Flin shook his head.
“That I don’t believe. She doesn’t look like she’s finished growing. Her width needs to catch up with her height! I’ve seen it in baby unicorns. They look all angular and thin until they get to a certain age and start filling out and looking more like an adult unicorn.”
Now it was Basil’s turn to shake his head. Somehow, whenever Flin mentioned unicorns, Basil had the urge to laugh, but as unbelievable as it sounded, they really did exist on the elfin home planet, Telia II.
“I’ve said it before, Flin; humanoids are not unicorns. I suspect she’s that size because she was malnourished as a child,” Basil said. “Some species are less resistant to it than others.”
Her Daddy and Her Master Page 6