by Annalise
“Takes care of the wine,” he said, munching on the toast. He’d donned his robe. Distancing himself, she supposed.
As she ate the strawberry, she realized she would starve if she didn’t see him again. Starve from the want of him. The intervening years had dulled only her need for him—not her desire. This latest session had brought the need back to her, through vivid memories undimmed by time.
Link reached across and stopped her hand when she reached for the first orange section. When he held it poised over her nipple and squeezed the juice so it dripped on her breast, she knew he remembered.
* * * * *
The Assistant to the Assistant Undersecretary of the District Attorney of New Virginia’s office sat across from Link and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Colonel. The Palace operates quite legally. The men and women employed there choose the life willingly.”
“I don’t think so. And I can only prove it if I speak to her out of their control.” Link tapped an official graphic of Evans from her cadet days, found in a search of the corps databanks. God bless his high security clearances.
“I’m afraid we can’t help you.” The AAUDA rose. “Perhaps you might seek counseling.”
“Counseling? What’s that supposed to mean?” Link shot to his feet.
“I suspect you’ve overindulged in The Palace’s pleasures and have become a touch obsessed. Particularly in light of your current financial situation.”
Link got a grip on his anger. “Thank you for your time.” And fuck you.
Outside in the vestibule connecting the civil law offices with the PeaceKeepers’, Brad leaned over a desk, flirting with a young corporal. She was definitely improved, her large breasts straining her uniform tunic in sharp contradiction of the regs.
“Let’s get out of here,” Link growled. He barely paused for the required visual inspection before stepping into the street.
Brad almost ran to keep up with him. “Whoa. Slow down. You won’t believe what I found out.”
Link jerked to a stop. “Let me guess. The serial numbers on her breast implants?”
Brad frowned. “Nothing like that. Something really good. You can buy the attendants from that brothel you’re hooked on.” The men wove their way through a labyrinth of government buildings, under the canopies that limited pedestrians’ exposure to harmful UV rays.
“I am not hooked on anything,” Link growled, resentful of two men making such an assumption within moments of each other. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m saying that most of the attendants are working off prison time. Not many people know that. You can buy their time and keep them as… well… glorified slaves, I guess. Pleasure servants would be the politically correct term.”
“You’re nuts.” Link powered up his personal data device and checked his appointments. How long before he could book another session with Evans?
“Link.” Brad grabbed his arm. “Listen to me. You’re obsessed with a cock jockey. A penis pro. Buy her.” Brad dropped onto a nearby bench. “I’d check up on her crime first, of course, in case she’s in for something like castrating lovers or poisoning her commanding officer.”
Link gave his friend the finger and walked away, still poring through the information on his device. He waited until Brad’s laughter faded behind him before accessing a few criminal databanks.
No Sara Evans showed up on any of the lists he could access. That meant she wasn’t a criminal, didn’t it?
Even if she was, what possible crime could ethical, dutiful, loving Evans have committed?
Cock jockey. He and Brad used the phrase for the loose station women who were happy to ride whatever penis was handy. Evans was not a cock jockey, no matter how many men she fucked or sucked in encounters arranged by The Palace.
He started another search, this one into what options he had to borrow against his pension. Just in case he had to buy her.
“Shit.” Link stumbled. What if someone else bought her?
* * * * *
Evans was asleep when a chime sounded. She opened her eyes to find the lights already up to full and one of the counselors standing in the open door. It was a woman she’d never seen before, but she wore the gold robe of a senior counselor. She brushed back a strand of her long red hair over one shoulder and gave a quick smile.
“I apologize for disturbing you. Come with me.” Without waiting, the counselor turned and headed down the hallway.
Evans pulled on her robe, stuffed her feet into the waiting slippers and followed. “What’s going on?”
“An attendant has fallen ill and you have the privilege of taking her place. I’m very excited for you.” The redhead checked her wrist pad. “It’s a very generous guest. You won’t regret losing a little sleep.” She touched a few keys and frowned. “Hmmmm… I didn’t realize you’re unimproved, but this gentleman did select you, so that’s his choice. You haven’t had any fetish training, either. Well, you scored high on the intelligence test, so you should be able to improvise.”
She paused at the end of the corridor. “When did you eat last?”
Evans had to think for a moment, her mind still foggy with sleep. “First shift.”
The counselor pushed through the door and held it for Evans. “Good. You’ll need to drink. He always requests a full bladder in all the attendants.”
Evans felt her insides churn and not from lack of food.
The counselor stopped and touched the wall. A hidden panel opened, revealing a keypad and a food hatch. Her fingers moved over the pad quickly. Buzzing, clinking and a swishing sound came from behind the hatch before it slid up to reveal a glass.
Evans accepted the drink and they set off again. The glass held cool water. She couldn’t taste anything else. She hoped there weren’t any exotic drugs needed for this task.
The counselor went back to consulting her wrist pad. “Through here.” She opened a door to another corridor.
As she stepped through, into new territory, Evans updated her mental map. Something good would come of this midnight encounter. A door opened at the end of the hall and she glimpsed a plebian staircase. A very ordinary man dressed in coveralls peeked out and set an ornamental but functional trash receptacle on the floor in the hallway. When he made eye contact with Evans, his cheeks flushed and he hastily shut the door.
The attendant clicked her tongue and shook her head, but Evans was pleased to see that some doors led not to chambers of pleasure, but to maintenance shafts. And where there was maintenance, there were exits. Even in light of the modern methods of nearly instantaneous fire-suppression, regulations stated that every building needed an emergency exit. This stairwell wasn’t marked as one, but it might fit the bill.
Evans thought that the world might have come a long way, but trash was still trash and still required collection. And removal. To where?
“Drink up, young lady,” the attendant said. “You know, you’re going to be the envy of your friends. There were quite a few attendants who were available, and this guest chose you.”
With this trip, Evans was beginning to fill in some of the blank areas on her mental map, especially around the med center. Here, the doors were much farther apart than they were where she worked. Larger chambers? They turned another corner before the counselor stopped before a door stenciled with a tree. Now what could a tree mean?
“Since you haven’t had the fetish training, I’ll give you a few tips. Keep your chin down. Do what you’re told. I know that’s the first lesson you learn in training, but in here, it is vital. This guest is paying ten times what you normally command. Ten times.”
Evans sucked in a breath. That was a hell of a lot of credits. Her stomach knotted tightly and she had to force the water down.
“This client has contracted for two hours. During that time, he gets total command over you. Most of the restrictions are lifted for him. Anything goes, including pain. Injury isn’t allowed, but anything else is permitted. So behave yourself. He’s as we
ll known for his insistence on compliance as he is for his generosity. Relax, do what he wants, and you’ll wake up tomorrow with a hefty deposit in your tip account.”
Every word chilled Evans, though her skin felt suddenly hot and sweaty. Any remaining vestige of sleep had fled, leaving her a bit dazed and panicked.
The counselor opened the door and indicated she should enter.
For the first time, Evans wondered if she’d recognize the guest. With that kind of available wealth, his face might be on the nightly news. Of course, that meant nothing in the halls of The Palace.
Keeping her eyes focused on the floor, Evans stepped into the room. At the last minute, the counselor gave her a push from behind that sent her to her knees. Keeping in mind the woman’s use of the word “command,” she stayed there.
She got the impression of a much larger area than she’d thought. The room was starkly lighted with a glaring white. All she could see from her subservient pose were feet.
“Ah, our last participant in tonight’s games. Bring her in, Dominique5.” The man’s warm voice rolled over Evans. She suppressed a quiver of unease. The timbre was deep and sexy, but it held an edge of danger. A sense of familiarity tugged at her. She’d heard that voice before.
A pair of bare feet came into her field of vision. To her surprise, the nails were painted baby blue, startling against coffee-colored skin. No stereotypical black boots here. Of course, this wasn’t the man in charge.
The blue-toed woman pulled her to her feet.
As she rose, Evans saw the body art. It began below the knees, swirls of color like scarves wrapped around the woman’s dusky limbs. Color framed her shaved mons and assorted piercings, and parted again to reveal four silver barbells quartering her navel. Her upthrust breasts were likewise bare of art. Her enormous dark nipples sported more silver barbells, in front of large metal shields in gold molded to the shape of her breasts. It all reminded Evans of the Roman armor worn on ancient statues—ones she’d seen in museums.
Oh, Link. Where are you?
Evans didn’t dare raise her eyes to look at the attendant’s face.
“Come, don’t delay, Dominique5. Bring her to me.” Although Evans was prepared for the power in the guest’s voice this time, she couldn’t suppress another shiver. She desperately wanted to look up and see the owner of that voice.
Dominique5 took Evans by the hand and led her into the center of the room. Her fingernails were long and wide, painted the same blue as her toenails.
“Remove her robe,” the guest said.
Dominique5 pulled back on one of her fingernails to reveal a small blade. She slit the shoulders of the robe, letting it part and fall to the floor.
Cool air washed over Evans. Her nipples puckered from the cold… or was it the sight of the blade? A shifting and shuffling alerted her that more people were in the room than she could see.
The man with the incredible voice and others were scrutinizing her. She wanted to cover herself but didn’t dare.
“Look at me.”
As she raised her gaze, it was not the man who caught her attention. It was a small girl on her knees in a pose of supplication, hands and feet bound behind her with lavender ribbons.
Angel Martinez.
Chapter 9
Evans forced her attention away from Angel.
Sweet Sol. A breakthrough. Damned if they didn’t happen in the most unlikely places, at the most unlikely times. And here she was, in no position to take advantage of it.
“Look at me,” the man repeated.
The man who stood before Evans was one of the most ordinary men she’d ever seen. He bore no marks or scars. His hair was a common brown, his features “improved” so much they were almost rendered undistinguished. The man looked like a doll, bland and generic.
She knew him instantly.
Alexander Kennedy had occupied a seat on the American Council for all of his working life. His constituents kept sending him back to the Chamber, as they had his father, and his father before him. No one knew just how many generations of the Kennedys had been elected public servants; the early records were lost along with so many others from before the First Hacker War.
She blinked when she realized he was fully clothed in the nondescript garb of one who worked in the commercial world. Plain gray tunic. Gray trousers.
“Dominique5, I think she’s perfect.” The councilor traced Evans’s cheek with the tips of his fingers before moving down to her breast. “No piercings. No improvements. I love a blank canvas.” He drew circles around her nipple. “Her profile says she’s a novice, unawakened to our delights. Old-fashioned, but perhaps we need some new distractions. Do you agree?”
“Yes, my lord.” Dominique5’s voice was as exotic as her appearance. Evans couldn’t quite place the soft accent.
“Then I’ll keep her,” he declared. “Get her introduction set up, and we’ll continue with our little friend over here.”
Dominique5 picked up something from a case on the floor. The man turned away, blocking Evans’s view.
“You may look at anyone, but do not speak unless asked a question,” Dominique5 whispered.
Evans took the opportunity to examine the room. It was larger than she’d expected, and filled with people. Most of them were attendants. Grace8 was there, along with two attendants she’d seen before but didn’t know, waiting off to one side.
The ceiling was hung with straps and hooks and pulleys. Evans shivered a little when she realized some of the possibilities those fixtures presented. In one corner hung a rope chair, with padded parts and clips for adjusting height and position. There were assorted blocks and a couple of chairs lined up along one wall. Several cases and duffels sat in a cluster near where the man stood with his back to her.
“Relax and spread your legs. We were a little late arriving, but he’s in a good mood this evening. So is Mistress.” The woman fitted Evans with a thong that held a small piece of plastic. She fussed for a moment, until she had the device positioned just at the top of Evans’s mons.
Evans watched her, wondering what she’d gotten involved in. Her contract with The Palace had no restrictions on what she would do barring injury to herself, but so far an unimproved, over-thirty, average woman wasn’t in demand for much but the basics.
As Dominique5 snugged the thing into place, Evans felt a little tingle run from her clit up into her womb. She couldn’t suppress a jerk.
Dominique5’s head snapped up. “Are you truly new to this?”
Evans gave a little nod, hating the blush that heated her face. She looked down at the device. “What is it?”
“There’s a powerful vibrating bee inside, keyed to a control Master wears. It concentrates your attention on him when he approaches. He uses it on new attendants, to train them to respond to him.” She glanced down at the buzzing plastic and sighed. “They’re incredible at getting you going. I miss mine.”
When Dominique5 moved away, Evans glanced across the chamber at Angel who still knelt and hadn’t moved. Her ribbon bonds bit deeply into the flesh of her ankles and wrists.
Evans forced herself to look away from Angel. Would she have an opportunity to talk to the girl?
Dominique5 went to kneel at the feet of a woman called Mistress. Evans gulped.
“Mistress” was the brunette with the phoenix tattoo.
Everyone’s attention was focused on another spread-eagled attendant. The blonde stood up on blocks, holding onto the straps hanging from the ceiling. The position left her elevated and fully open to view. And reach.
A jolt of sensation through her clit snapped Evans’s attention away from the blonde. Kennedy approached her. As he got nearer, she could hear the bee buzz as the tingle grew stronger. By the time he stood before her, she bucked and jerked as little shudders wracked her body.
He smiled, baring perfect teeth. “I like responsive women.” He lifted her left breast in his hand, bouncing the weight a little. “Interesting. A bit larger than
the right one.” He ran his thumb across the nipple. “Nice.”
Evans gasped as he scraped his fingernails lightly across the sensitive underside of her breast.
“What are you called?”
It took her a moment to order her thoughts. “Bliss6.”
“Well, Bliss6, I will make sure you enjoy yourself tonight. If you please me, I’ll give you a two thousand credit tip. What do you think of that?”
“You are very generous, my lord.”
He chuckled and stroked the sides of her breasts. His fingers were warm and gentle. “I chose well. You learn quickly. Only my household pets call me that. You may address me as Master. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“And my favorite attendant is to be addressed as Mistress.”
“Yes, Master.”
He pinched both her nipples, hard. Evans flinched at the sharp pain.
“That was a command, not a question. Only speak if you are asked a question. Did Dominique5 instruct you?”
“She did, Master.”
“That’s better.” He turned and stepped away. The buzzing in her crotch subsided a little, then more as he took another step. “My dear, when you have a moment, please assess the worth of Bliss6.”
Mistress finished buckling a strap on the suspended woman, and stepped back. The attendant now wore a leather harness around her torso. It left her breasts raised and bare but for a pair nipple clamps connected by a thin gleaming chain, and spread her shaven labia to reveal another clamp on her clit.
Evans tried to shift her position to bring Angel into view. Why was this guy ignoring the girl?
Something to do with dominance. Evans’s stomach clenched. She contemplated the effort needed to subdue the unbound attendants. With Master and Mistress both free, and the way Mistress handled that whip, Evans knew she’d never make it to Angel before they subdued her.
“I believe she’s ready, my lord.”
“She looks good.” Master walked around the woman, examining her closely. Then he strolled to Angel and stroked a hand over her bowed head. Angel leaned into his leg as much as she could. “This one looks fine as well.”