James looked at him with an open mouth. "Why?"
"Because reading what men think and write gives women ideas that aren't healthy for them. They're happier when their world is predictable and limited."
"You can't be serious."
"James, don't make me regret that I asked you here. This is our way of life; it has been for a long time, and we don't tolerate criticism." The dark tone in his voice was unusual for the normally cheerful young man.
James turned back to the window. The whipping hadn't ceased, but the screaming had. The woman sagged in her bonds, no longer struggling as the last strokes were laid upon her back. Her skin was bright red, almost like it had been burned, from her shoulders to the middle of her back, and then again over the soft fleshiness of her ass. James didn't fail to note that they'd skipped the vulnerable part of her lower back over her kidneys. At least this guy knew what he was doing. Her escorts reappeared and released her hands, one of them catching her as she fell. They dragged her off the stage and disappeared into a building.
James continued to stare down, both horrified and mesmerized. Another woman appeared with two escorts, but she wasn't as docile. She protested and fought the whole way to the stage. She, too, wore a white shift, but she had a black collar on, marking her as a visitor from off world. Women who visited Midros, even professionals, still had to register as slaves, wear a collar and observe most of the rules of behavior while on the streets. Most never strayed outside the "safe zone" of the hotel, a place where their behavior was only loosely monitored.
Raym joined him at the window. He chuckled. "Oh, I heard about her. This ought to be good."
James looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"There was a reception last night at some government official's house. She and the Minister of Energy were having quite a nice conversation about hydroelectric plants, and then apparently he turned to her master and commented that she had lovely breasts and would her mastermind if he fondled them? Everyone understands that most off-world masters say no, and that's the end of it. She didn't give him a chance. She threw her drink in the Minister's face."
James' eyes widened as he imagined the fallout from that incident. He looked back down at the scene below. She was still struggling even as her hands were restrained high above. This time the punisher took up a cane. He swung the thin rod to land on her soft backside. James couldn't hear the sound of it landing, but he saw how deep a dent it briefly made, and a moment later, he heard her scream. Her struggles became even more wild, and her outrage louder.
He'd had enough. "Let's head down to the Archives and stay there for a while. I'm not sure I'll be able to focus up here if this goes on all day." I'm not sure I'll be able to tear my eyes away from the window if naked young women are punished where I can watch with both fascination and horror.
The Archives
The Archives were housed in the basement of the hotel James was staying in, but he suspected that the huge, damp, and musty room with a slightly uneven floor must have existed long before the hotel was built on top of it. He was surprised at the lack of environmental controls to keep the old records in good condition. He got the feeling that Raym's dismissal of the past was echoed in the larger society around him.
He struggled to concentrate on the problem that had brought him to Midros, but the scenes he'd witnessed rolled around in his head and then dove straight down. His dick was at full attention. He cursed it silently, but it refused to stand down. The sight of a pretty woman, bound and punished – well, his dick didn't quite understand the difference between consent and nonconsent, between appropriate punishment and cruelty. He scooted his chair closer to the table to hide the bulge.
"You with me on this?" Raym asked, the impatience in his voice evident when James' gaze went far away from the book that lay open before them.
James shook his head and tried to concentrate. He was a scientist on a mission; he wasn't here to observe the scenery. "Yeah. Um, sorry. Read that part again?"
"Need a little bit of Oblita?" Raym grinned.
James rolled his eyes. "Shut up. You know that drug only works on bad memories." He shifted, still uncomfortably aroused. He didn't have to approve of involuntary slavery to be affected by the sight of collared slaves in small dresses scurrying about all over town... "Besides, as soon as I left the planet the memories would return. That's the problem I'm trying to solve, remember?"
Raym flopped down in the other chair. "I'm starting to think this whole thing is a fairy tale. It just doesn't make sense that a drug that works so well while someone is here, on the planet, doesn't work anywhere else!" He made a noise of disgust in his throat. "Some days I wish my father hadn't dumped this company and this problem in my lap."
"So let someone else find the answer," James proposed.
"And give up the chance to make millions? Billions? There's a huge market for this stuff. If we can figure out how to make this drug last, we'd make a fortune!" His eyes focused on something far, far away. "And I could settle down with a slave or three, and a house here in the city, and a house on the beach, and–"
"–Turn the company over to someone else to run?" suggested James. He liked Raym, and Raym ran his company well, but the man was a bit of a playboy.
Raym cocked an eyebrow at him. "Well, yes."
"To be brutally honest, we waste more time with you complaining about being here than if I were by myself and figuring out the translations on my own. Why don't you go check in at the office or something? I'll be fine."
Raym looked guilty but relieved as he stood up. He offered to put the books they were finished with back on the shelves, but James waved him off.
"I'm fine. I need to get up and move around any way. Are we meeting for dinner?"
"Well, not exactly. I have a business dinner with some friends, and I, um..." He trailed off as shrugged.
"You can't really explain my presence. I understand. I'll see you tomorrow."
Raym flashed him a grateful smile as he summoned the lift. As soon as the doors closed and he was gone, James relaxed. Raym's litany of complaints wore him down. If only there were a pretty slave he could hire who read Br'ini, who could help him translate...
Damn, there he went again.
Four hours and two exceedingly boring old tomes later, he'd found nothing. It hadn't exactly helped that his thoughts kept wandering back to the view from his window. As a visitor, it was easy to ignore the reality of this planet – that well more than half of its population was in involuntary bondage to the other half. Smiling women served his meals, smiling women made his bed, and smiling women hurried to bring him anything he needed. It was extraordinarily easy to fall into the persona he'd not had time for, since before he'd started his fellowship two years ago. He was no neophyte to the dance of master and slave. There was a time in the past when he'd had a slave of his own – but the difference between his situation and here was stark. His slave had happily accepted his collar when he'd asked her. He'd been as devoted to her as she to him. When he wielded a strap or a flogger, it was more often for her pleasure than her punishment. And when it became painfully obvious that the fellowship he'd won was going to leave little time for a relationship as intense as theirs, she'd chosen to dissolve the bond with his blessing, and they'd parted friends. He missed the intensity of a relationship like that.
He closed the second book with an unintentional bang that stirred up dust and made him sneeze repeatedly. It was followed by a loud growling of his stomach. It was time for dinner and some human companionship again. He headed for the lift, using the transparent key Raym had entrusted him to secure the room as he passed through the heavy doors. Using that instead of the typical palm-wave over an ID sensor, was unusual, but James suspected this kept anyone from knowing he was here. How Raym himself had gotten the key James didn't ask.
The lift took him up three levels to the ground floor, where he exited from a nondescript door twenty feet down from the hotel front door. He re-entered the
building through wide glass doors and into the soaring expanse of the lobby. He'd never been in such luxury before in his life. As far up as he could see, rose floor after floor of polished red wood panels, glowing in the dappled sunlight that poured down from the skylights above. It shone through the bushes and flowers and greenery of all kinds that spilled from every surface. A few of the walls were solid stone with moss tucked into cracks, providing a cool green and gray relief to the riot of color all around.
In the center of the open space were raised areas of different heights, separated by walls of stone, thick flowering bushes, and full-sized trees. There were small meeting spaces, larger gathering areas and even secluded nooks for assignations of a more private kind.
Near the front door, a suspended ceiling hung over the registration desk, supported by pillars of paeolate bricks, the pink color shimmering with its own odd glow in the muted light. As he crossed the lobby towards the outdoor café, the floor under his feet alternated from spotless white carpet to wood panel floors that shone so clearly he could almost see his reflection. Once he stepped outside, though, the man-made decor faded into the background at the magnificence that lay before him.
The cafe was suspended over the side of a steep hill behind the hotel. Three hundred feet away, the mountain rose up sharply once more into jagged tan and white cliffs that soared up to the deep blue sky. Grasses and flowers grew from every nook and cranny, and small pools of water spilled over the rock sides, providing the faint sound of rushing water to the air. When the wind blew a certain way, a fine mist of cooling spray rushed across the warm patio. He chose a table with a bright red umbrella that shaded him from the sun, which now hung just above the cliffs as the day began to wind down. A very pretty server in a short blue dress and the ever-present silver collar took his order.
The patio was about half-full, mostly businessmen, and probably mostly off-worlders, since this was a popular hotel to stay at. The few women scattered about all wore the black collars they were required to don upon arrival. He knew – because he'd asked – that about half were women who had business here on Midros, and were probably seething at the restrictions placed on them. Midros also had a small but lively tourist industry among the kinkier crowd: voyeurs who wanted to 'live like a master and slave' for a week or two. James had mixed feelings about them, playing out their fantasies among real slaves.
He'd just started eating when a couple was shown to a table nearby. The man held out a chair for the woman, but she hesitated. With a start, James realized it was the woman who had been caned earlier today for throwing the drink. James was surprised to see her out in public. Her pale face suggested she wasn't too sure about it either.
"Sit," her husband instructed softly. James pretended to be lost in the view over the edge of the railing.
"I can't sit in a chair, especially a metal one! I don't understand why we couldn't eat in our room tonight!" she hissed at him.
"I don't want to eat in the room. So sit your sore ass down and act like you learned something since this morning about manners!"
James noticed that several tables of diners were carefully pretending to not listen.
"Manners?" Her voice rose. "These people beat me! They know who I am, and they still beat me! You want to talk to me about manners?"
"Mareen, you knew the rules before we decided to come here." His voice was quiet but determined. "I even tried to talk you out of it, because I know you. We talked about your temper, and what you were not allowed to say or do, and you threw that all away in a heartbeat."
"He wanted to fondle me!" Her voice was carrying across the stone of the patio now, and James saw two hotel employees talking quietly together by the door.
"And I was going to tell him 'no'! That would have been the end of it! But you didn't trust me, did you? Couldn't wait for one second to let me do my job of protecting you as I'd promised I would. I'm sorry, but you deserved what you got today, and I'm rapidly losing any sympathy I have for you, so sit your ass down in that chair no matter how much it hurts. Now!"
She stared at him, wide-eyed, before grasping the arms of the chair and gingerly lowering herself down onto the metal seat. Her eyes screwed up in obvious pain as she settled.
Two large men in black suits approached. "Are you in need of assistance, sir?" one of them asked the still-standing husband.
"I think we'll be fine, now. Although..." he spoke quietly to the man and James couldn't hear.
"As you wish, sir." Both men moved away and the atmosphere relaxed. The other diners picked up on their own conversations again. A few minutes later, the pretty slave approached and handed the husband a thick cushion. His wife looked up with surprise as she stood up enough to let him slide the cushion underneath.
"I told you I'd take care of you. Just give me a chance." He kissed the top of her head and sat down.
The rest of their dinner was uneventful, and James finished up his own just as the sun slipped behind the cliffs and the temperature started dropping in the shadows.
Lydia is Summoned
The fiery pain that Lydia had lived with for the past three days was finally beginning to fade, though her back would bear the marks of the whip for a while yet. Wearing even the lightest of her dresses was almost unbearable. No one was allowed to help her avoid her suffering; nevertheless, Bena would quietly hand her a glass of water at odd times and tell her to drink, and the water would taste strange, and for a while Lydia would have a little relief from the pain which ground her down and depressed her spirit.
All of the staff were a little more quiet than usual towards her, themselves affected by the absence of her normally cheerful outlook. An extra piece of fruit on her plate, fresh cool sheets in the middle of the week on her small bed, or a chore already done for her from time to time: all made plain how they felt for her. Even Master seemed affected. For the first two nights, he had her come to the study and kneel quietly at his feet, demanding nothing more from her than allowing him to stroke her hair as he read.
The new restrictions on where she could clean meant that she was limited to bathrooms, the kitchen, storerooms and hallways. The first time she came across a book, carelessly left on a table by the front door, she yelped as though she'd touched fire, and backed away quickly. Rillo, one of the newest male staff, had taken the offensive book back to where it belonged.
The third night she'd just finished a very painful shower when Rillo informed her that Master wished to see her in his room. She knew what that summons meant, so she made sure she was smooth in every place he required, brushed her teeth once more, and hurried to his door.
She knocked and was immediately invited in. She pushed the heavy door shut and knelt, holding in a groan of pain when the skin over her ass was stretched by the bend. She settled in to wait.
"Come over here, my dear," he called after a minute, from where he sat on the side of his bed. She stood again to come closer and knelt once more within reach. He liked to touch her, and the other slaves, often stroking a chin or petting a head as he talked.
"How are you feeling?"
She knew he genuinely cared and wanted honesty from her. She was lucky to have him as her master. "The pain is beginning to ease, sir, which is good because I'm getting tired of sleeping on my stomach."
He chuckled. "Good to hear. Let me see."
She stood up and turned around, pulling the hem of the short dress up to her shoulders to give him a clear view. He smoothed his hands over the diamond-shaped red marks, and she hissed between gritted teeth but made no protest. It was his absolute right to touch her, to give her pleasure, or to give her pain, and she never questioned that. Hardly ever.
"It's healing well. I'm very glad of that. Now, no more of Bena's funny-tasting water, understand?"
She looked up at him in surprise before letting her glance fall to the floor again. She shouldn't be surprised that he knew everything that went on in his house.
"In a minute I'll have your pretty mouth pleasure m
e. First, though, I received some news that I'm not excited about, for your sake. You've been summoned to your Service Companion Week, starting tomorrow."
Her eyes widened. Every year or two, every slave who wasn't a First Slave served a week as a 'service slave', offered for rent to businessmen from out of town, from off-planet, or to men who didn't have any slaves of their own. Other places, she'd heard, had women who did that all the time, and they didn't last long before they were no longer fresh or pretty. Midros had solved the problem by rotating all slaves through for a week at a time. She could be rented for one night, or several nights in a row. This would be her fourth time. None of those weeks had been pleasant and every slave dreaded them, but there were only a very few reasons to be excused from them.
Fresh punishment not one of them.
"Sir," she said, her mind running through the implications and not liking what she saw. "Sir? No one is going to pay good money for a freshly punished slave with marks all over! I'll be picked last, serving someone who will treat me bad, or someone who thinks I like to be punished!" Her voice was rising in panic. "Sir, please! One more week! Let me heal a little bit more, please, sir!"
"I already tried, my dear, for those very reasons. I'm sorry. The Slavery Oversight Board was adamant that your name came up in the lottery, and since you made the decision to disobey this is one more consequence."
"No!" she clung to his leg and begged. "Please! I promise I'll be perfect, I'll never disobey again, but please not now!" He indulged her for a moment, petting her hair as she wept, but then the moment passed.
"Lydia." He pushed her away. "Lydia, it's done. We can't change it, so you need to just accept it. Come on, concentrating on me will take your mind off of what's coming." He untied his robe and brought forth his already-engorged cock, the veins prominent and glistening droplets leaking from the tip.
She was nothing if not well-trained in ignoring her own needs. Wiping her tears, she leaned forward, pushing her fear as far to the back of her mind as she could, as he'd ordered. The lump in her stomach threatened to rise up in rebellion to her efforts.
Memories of Surrender (Midrosian Chronicles Book 1) Page 2