I close my eyes in despair, blinking back the tears. Being naked and degraded in front of strangers is one thing, but here is someone who knows me from when I had dignity.
“How much is it for a session with you?”
Oh Gods, please not him. But he presses, “Answer me, Coora.”
“One hundred credits, if you want to go inside. Ask the Slaver, Jabal, and he’ll have me released from here.”
I’m supposed to say “One hundred credits, Master”, but I can’t bear using that term with him.
“One hundred credits? There’s plenty of girls on the Hub for much less than that.”
Good. Let him use one of those poor creatures.
“But then, they’re not you. They’re not my Coora.”
“Please Jurong,” I beg, straining to free my wrists. “If you have any kind feelings towards me, please don’t rape me.”
“You know Coora, when you struggle, the way your breasts shake is exquisite,” he says, and I stop dead. “You should keep still if you want to deter men.”
“Please, Jurong,” I beg again, but I plead from a stationary position all the same.
“Everything will be okay. I’m going inside,” he says, and I burst into tears. Please, somebody help me. Not this…
Jurong has gone from my view. Soon Jabal appears, but not with Jurong. I am released from my position. I stand there weeping openly, rubbing my sore neck to ease the discomfort.
“Put your wrap on. You look like a slut, standing there naked,” Jabal snaps at me.
I scrabble on the floor for the meagre bundle of clothing. I wasn’t planning to dress for the short distance inside the brothel. Not because I’m lazy or unashamed, but because clothing myself will only give Jurong the satisfaction of ordering me to remove it. But I can’t disobey Jabal, so I secure my wrap in place with the approved tie – a bow under the left arm. Right-handedness is most common among males across the universe, and they naturally reach to our left sides. The knot can be untied easily, and we can be stripped while restrained.
The rooms inside the brothel are utterly impersonal – more like being in a hotel room than an individual’s bedroom. The lighting is soft pinks and oranges. The colors are supposed to hide skin blemishes, but with my iridescent tone I think they make me look sickly. There are no bed covers, just a mattress with a cover that can be quickly removed for cleaning. All around the bed are anchor points for restraints – hooks and alloy eyeholes. The equipment for this is in drawers under the bed. Everything a man may require is there – I know from bitter experience – cuffs, chains, ropes, gags, clamps, whips, phalluses, vibrators, lubricants, and blindfolds.
A small table is stocked with spirits, ethanols, stimulants, and forms of aphrodisiac. We are forbidden from using anything on the table, unless we do so under instruction from a client.
Jurong is sitting on the bed of this room, looking around with great curiosity.
“This is your home?” he asks.
“None of this is my home,” I answer tersely. “A slave cannot have possessions. We use whichever room is free.”
“You’re going to be like this, today, are you, Coora?” he says with a wry smile, as though I’m being unreasonable. “I’ve come a long way to see you.”
“You’ve paid for me,” I say bitterly. “Just have your fun, and go away, Jurong.”
“Your profile says you’ve been highly trained in slave skills,” Jurong says, ignoring my animosity. “I guess you didn’t find much use for your politics here, huh? Show them to me, Coora. That’s an order. Serve me Danaean Spirit, but humbly, the way a trained slave serves her master.”
I cannot refuse. Pouring the drink, I must kneel before him to present it, kissing the rim of the glass and then lifting it to him, as though in offering to a God. I must kneel with my thighs wide apart. In the demeaning wrap, this will hide nothing of my core from him.
While I make the preparations, he talks.
“The college held a memorial service, for all those who died or were taken in the pirate attack,” Jurong tells me, as though he thinks anything in my past matters now. “Nearly two hundred from our class were on that ship. Just from our class, one-hundred-and-twenty-nine women were taken alive. Twenty-four were killed, either by the Slavers or by ending themselves. Nineteen males enslaved, and fifteen of them killed. The lucky remainder of the men evaded capture, but no women from the class returned home. All told, nearly five hundred captives were taken in the raid on Moons of Odaron, the vast majority of them females captured for sexual slavery.”
And one of those young females was me. I kneel as a sex slave before Jurong, my former classmate, humbling myself, spreading my thighs to give an obscene view of the private place between my legs. I kiss the drink glass and present it to him holding it extended with both hands. I keep my head submissively down, but must look at him, so he can see my eyes.
Jurong takes the glass from me, and sips.
“That is good spirit,” he says.
I do not reply.
“Ilza is the women’s class president now,” Jurong continues. “All the guys want to date her, now there’s so few women left. There’s just a handful of women from our year that weren’t on the voyage.”
I remember Ilza. She was one of those jealous, spiteful types.
“I bet she likes that,” I can’t help saying. “She’d like knowing I’m here.”
“She does know you’re here. You, Trindii, all of them. There’s a big display showing all the ones who were taken, Coora, a memorial,” he says, and I moan in humiliation. The tears are coming again. Please, don’t let me cry in front of Jurong.
“You probably know this as well, but the Slavers advertise everything about the girls working on the Hub,” he presses relentlessly. “All your information is there. It says you weren’t a virgin when you were taken. That disappointed me. But you’re one of only a few who were enslaved that can be traced. I was so relieved when I saw that you were in a brothel. Most of the girls have probably been sold privately, and are lost. Trindii has disappeared. Cliria is gone, somewhere. Eleese is gone. Gods, she was hot. It’s a lucky man gets to own that. But really, for me there was only ever you, Coora.”
What am I supposed to say to that? His interest in me was always beyond friendship, beyond anything I sought. Last time we met, I struck Jurong in the head with an ornament to escape him raping me. I won’t be so lucky this time.
“Was the idea of sex with me really that bad, Coora?” he asks, rubbing his skull in that same spot the sculpture hit. When he sees I’m not going to reply, he demands, “Answer me. Truthfully.”
The compulsion of an implant on its victim is absolute.
“I’ve never had feelings for you in that way,” I say, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. “Dystyr women usually only want our alpha Dystyr males.”
“But now, I’m probably not such a bad prospect, huh?” he presses. “I mean, I bet you’ve been taken by worse than me.”
I pause, recalling some the horrors in my recent history.
“That’s true, Jurong.”
“Maybe regretting your actions, just a little? Think about it: only moments after our scene in that cabin, the Slavers withdrew to make their escape. It must torment you that if you’d only put out for me, and we’d had sex that day, we’d have probably not been discovered. My cock, instead of all those others and an implant.”
Gods, I hate this guy.
“Did I ever tell you, my family are very wealthy?” he switches subject, suddenly finishing his drink in one gulp, and putting the glass back on the table.
I can’t bear another second of this small talk. The anticipation of him touching me is a form of torture, and I’ve had enough.
“I’m an implanted slave, Jurong,” I say, turning to face him. “We both know I can’t stop you. But please – don’t draw this out – if you’re going to do it, do it, then go home to Iniver Four, and continue to live your privileged life.”
“But that’s my point, Coora,” he says, as though he’s explaining something to an idiot. “I graduated with first class honors. My family are very pleased, and want to reward me. I could ask for you to be that reward – ask for funds to rescue a slave who was a former classmate. You can’t go back to a normal life, not with an implant in your brain, but in the Republic with me, you’d technically be free.”
My jaw drops as my universe does a paradigm shift. Women like me all learn that the only way to survive slavery, mentally is to remain in the now. But from nowhere I’m confronted with the idea that I might have a future – a life beyond the Flower Garden. I’ve never been good at withholding tears, and again the sob comes without warning.
“We live in the Rainbow Cluster,” he says. “You should see it, Coora – one of the most beautiful views in the galaxy, except for the view of yourself, of course. Gas clouds of all colors, and millions of stars, stretching to infinity. You feel a connection to the eternal.”
My mind is racing though, and already I’m coming down from the high.
“And what would you want from me in exchange, Jurong?” I ask in a trembling voice.
“Well, no other woman will touch me, once she sees I’m keeping a former sex slave,” he says, his voice hardening. “They’ll all judge, even though my intentions are good. So you’ll have to be my companion. My intimate companion, and you’ll give me the things I’ve always craved from you.”
“So I’ll not be a sex slave, just a prostitute,” I say angrily, “sleeping with you in exchange for a place away from here. And I’ll never be able to leave you, not when you only have to speak and I’ll come running back.”
“You studied gender politics, Coora,” Jurong defends himself. “You know that sex is almost always transactional. The woman gives her body, in exchange for resources, protection, support… For an implanted female, that situation is just a bit more overt.”
He thinks, then adds, “I have a lot to offer you, Coora, and you’re not exactly in the best bargaining position right now.”
I frown.
“And what about right now? What do you want today?”
“What I do in the hour I’ve paid for depends on you, Coora. Put yourself in my place. I desire you, but I can hardly to take you back to the Republic, just for you to tell the first person you meet that I raped you when we were on Aghara-Penthay,” answers Jurong. “So I need to be sure you’re committed to me, genuinely committed, and that you won’t try to flee as soon as you’re in free space. So here’s what I suggest. If you want to be mine, you’re going to bang me now, choose to bang me of your own free will, and you’re going to do as though you think I’m the most desirable guy in the universe. Convince me, and afterwards I’ll put things in motion to begin the purchase.”
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