Memories of Surrender

Midrosian Chronicles Book One

Sophie Kisker

Blushing Books

©2016 by Blushing Books® and Sophie Kisker

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Sophie Kisker

Memories of Surrender

Cover Design by ABCD Graphics

EBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-367-9

This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

Contents

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1. The Book

2. The Archives

3. Lydia is Summoned

4. Slaves for Rent

5. Dinner on the Grass

6. A Rough Start

7. Books Everywhere

8. The Past is Not What You Were Taught

9. A Walk in the Woods

10. The Leather Shop

11. A Quiet Evening

12. The Spanking

13. Auction Day

14. A Friend and Ally

15. Games

16. Treasure Found

17. A Very Bad Idea

18. Treasure Lost

19. Re-Imprinting

20. Waiting

21. Reunited

22. The Future is Bright

23. The Darkness of the Past

24. Bureaucracy

25. I Am Not a Slave

26. The Past is Not Dead

27. Freedom

Sophie Kisker

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The Book

Lydia wasn't sure how it had come to rest in her hands. She'd successfully ignored the large volume for weeks on the shelf as she dusted and cleaned her master's study, even though the gilt lettering and the cover of deep blue called to her. It was forbidden. And yet, somehow, she was holding it.

She sounded out the title using the new skills she'd taught herself. The Ancient Ocean. Oh, that sounded interesting. Was it full of tales of imaginary sea creatures? Or full of information about the real wonders of undersea life? She scarcely breathed as the book opened almost by itself to a drawing of a magnificent sea creature. Above the drawing, she puzzled out the caption, letter by letter, until she knew it said E-nor-mer-i-pod. She let the unfamiliar word roll around on her tongue.

"Lydia!" A horrified gasp came from the doorway that she'd not heard open. She shrieked and the book spilled from her hands onto the carpet, still open to the page she'd been studying. She stared at Bena who stared back. The older woman opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to warn her, but it was too late. Her master's large frame filled the doorway.

Lydia stared for one brief moment into his shocked face before she threw herself to the floor, bowing so low her face flattened the carpet fibers, her arms thrust forward in supplication.

"Master!" she cried out. "I – I'm sorry! It was just so beautiful and I tried to ignore it and I don't know why–-" Terror had taken over her small form and she began to shake.

"Lydia." His voice was stern but not angry. "Lydia, look at me."

She lifted her head up but couldn't look him in the eye, so she left her gaze on his feet.

"The book is beautiful, isn't it?"

She gave a tiny nod. "Yes, Master," she squeaked, tears now gathering in the corner of her eyes and threatening to spill over.

He walked over to the book, still lying on the carpet, and looked at the page that lay open and accusing. "Oh, yes. That was one of my favorite creatures, too. My father gave me this book when I was ten."

He bent over and closed the book, picked it up, and put it back on the shelf. Then he sat down in the large desk chair. He swiveled around to face her still-prostrate form.

"Lydia, you know what the rules are, and you know what the consequences are." It was a statement, not a question. She'd known the rules since her earliest memories as a child. She trembled, her head once more buried in the carpet as though humility could save her. "I think, however, it's possible that you were only holding the book, not looking inside, and that it didn't open until it fell to the floor."

Lydia could scarcely believe that he was going to lie to lessen her punishment. "Master?" Now she did raise her head to look at him, blinking to clear the tears. "Th-thank you." Her voice was so soft she didn't know if he'd heard her. Holding a book was bad enough, but opening it to look at the pages more than doubled the penalty.

He leaned over to cup her chin with a gentleness she didn't deserve. "I'm afraid I need to go enter your name on the list for Punishment Day. And I'm forbidding you from cleaning in here anymore. You'll only clean rooms without books from now on, and if you come across one by accident, instead of just cleaning around it, you'll leave the room immediately and notify one of the male staff to resolve the situation." He shook his head as he stood up. "I'm just glad you can't actually read the words. That would be horrible." He left the room.

Lydia struggled not to throw up on the expensive white carpet.

* * *

James Morel sat up in the chair so abruptly it almost tipped over. "What the fuck is taking so long?" he groused.

"It's only been a few days, and you know I can't tell them why we want access. In their minds there's absolutely no hurry to approve an off-worlder's request for time in the university lab." Raym Dukeren was sprawled on his stomach on the hotel room bed, reading something on his small computer and erupting into sporadic laughter.

James made a noise of disgust, but he knew Raym was right. His former college friend had to be very quiet about the reason for James' visit to Midros. If any of Raym's pharmaceutical competitors knew why James was here, they'd block every move he made, and then offer him more money than he could dream of to come work for them.

It was a good thing James was an honorable man. And it didn't hurt that Raym had made a very lucrative offer to share the profits if and when James could figure out the decades-old problem that Raym had asked his help to solve.

"All right. In the meantime, let's head back down to the Archives."

Raym made a face. "You really want to go down there again? It's dusty and smelly and dim."

James laughed. "You are such a scientist! Not happy unless you're in a clean, bright lab."

"Gah!" Raym waved his hand in dismissal. "Midros' history is dirt-poor poverty! It's full of superstitions and weird ways. Until paeolate came along and made us rich, there was nothing here worth writing down to remember. I doubt any of those books are more than a hundred years old."

"Hey, dumbshit, you asked me to come here and see if I could find out why Oblita won't work anywhere else but on Midros. I happen to think the people of the past have a lot to teach us, and since you told me that legends say Oblita used to work in other places, you get to help me dig around in old books and translate. Why your people ever decided to start writing books in Br'ini, instead of the Basic that everyone else in this universe speaks, is beyond me. I'm still struggling with it."

"Give me five minutes to finish this," Raym grumped, and turned back to his computer.

A growing noise outside caught James' attention as he waited. With a curious glance at Raym, who didn't seem to notice, he rose and walked over to the window.

From the tenth floor he looked out over a large open area of grass, walking paths, and fountains that were tucked between the massive high rises in the medium-sized city that was the capital of Midros. Small trees with pink blossoms dotted the sidewalks all over town, softening the sharp edges of the urban landscape. Overlaying the whole scene was the faintest tinge of pink, courtesy of the paeolate dust glistening in the sunlight that bounced off the walls of blue glass buildings.

One hundred years ago, almost no one had heard of the mineral called paeolate. Intersolar travel had been a reality for a long time, but the thick heavy hulls that kept ships from burning up in a planet's atmosphere during takeoff and landing took so much fuel to escape gravity that casual travel and the movement of goods from planet to planet was prohibitively expensive. Then someone had the bright idea of taking this abundant mineral, found only on Midros, and mixing it with a few other things, and painting it on the outer hulls of ships. Suddenly they wouldn't burn up any more. Overnight, hulls became incredibly thin and lightweight, and much less expensive to operate. Trade between planets exploded with a pent-up fury. And private individuals with money could buy their own ships.

This planet – this formerly modest, quiet planet with its simple way of life – was suddenly the richest planet in the known universe.

James pushed aside the sheer curtain and looked down. The middle of the grassy area held a small stage that was usually empty except for the occasional lunch-eating businessman seated upon its steps, enjoying the sunshine. Today, however, there was a large crowd of several hundred women gathered on all four sides, looking expectantly at the platform, where a pole had been erected in the middle. The women were all kneeling, and the angle of the sun reflected the silver around the neck of every single one of them.

Midros was the only planet in the known interstellar community that still had slavery. When paeolate money had started rolling in, the owners of the large mining conglomerates, flush with cash and sudden power, built their vision of a perfect society that placed them at the top. Employment, education, and even the ability to marry and have children became attainments available only to those who agreed with the new government. Protests were few, and ruthlessly put down. Within fifty years, women, whose equality had been tenuous before paeolate, lost everything. Midros told nosy outsiders to go away or the paeolate would disappear, and the greedy interstellar community left them alone.

James started to turn to Raym to ask what this gathering of slaves was when he caught sight of a woman being escorted through a path in the crowd, towards the platform. She wore a loose white shift along with her shiny silver collar, and her arms were bound in front of her. As he watched, she was placed facing the pole. Her hands were raised high above her head and secured so that she stood on her tiptoes. Her shift was pulled away, leaving her bared to the crowd. A man stepped forward, said a few words James couldn't hear and then positioned himself beside her. Without hesitation, he drew back something whip-like and snapped it forward to land on the woman's back.

The scream that came through the window knocked him backwards. "What the fuck!" He turned to Raym, still sprawled on the rumpled covers. "What the fuck are they doing?"

Raym shrugged. "It's Punishment Day." His eyes never left the computer screen.

"What the fuck is Punishment Day?"

Raym's reply was cut short by another scream. James turned back to the window. He stared at the scene. Even from up here, he could see the bright red blotches across the formerly white skin. That was no ordinary whip; this one left wide marks on the skin, not thin stripes. And this was definitely no ordinary punishment. This was a judicial punishment, designed for maximum pain that would be felt for days to come.

He ignored the twitching of his cock.

"Every two weeks," Raym finally looked up, "all the slaves in the city who've broken major rules, or whose masters are too lazy to punish them at home, are sent here. Every slave is required to attend at least once a month. Sometimes it's over in just an hour, and sometimes it's longer. Just depends." He turned back to the screen.

"What kind of rules deserve this kind of punishment?" He was still mesmerized as a third scream rose up to disappear into the deep blue sky.

"Oh, about what you'd expect. Running away, fighting back, disrespect of a master in public, getting caught with a man who isn't her master, touching books written in Br'ini... I don't know. There are lots." He shrugged again.

Now James did turn to look at him, managing not to flinch from yet another scream. "Touching books written in Br'ini?"

"Didn't you have the mandatory orientation on the ship before you arrived?"

James scowled. "I was too busy studying. I skipped it."

"You really shouldn't have."

"So educate me now," James snapped in irritation.

Raym sighed. "Okay," he began as though James was a little child, "we used to all speak Eluiim, before we became modern, and now everyone also knows the Basic that all the planets speak. But most of our literature, law and documents are written in Br'ini, an ancient language that women are forbidden to learn. Even holding or opening a book in Br'ini is grounds for a severe public punishment. And the punishment for learning to read Br'ini in secret is... well, let's just say it's not pretty. Maybe a little too much, in my opinion, but that's the law, and what can you do?" He shrugged once more.

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 me. 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.

He liked starting out slow so she took a delicate swipe at a drop, catching it on her tongue and pulling it into her mouth. He tasted salty-sweet. Another drop appeared so she repeated the lick and was rewarded with a small groan from above. Now she opened her lips and embraced the head of his cock. Her tongue darted forward while she held him there and flicked the sensitive spot underneath.

"Oh, that's good."

She'd worked hard over the last few years to please him as he preferred, and it hadn't been easy for her to take a cock without gagging, so praise was usually welcome. Tonight, though, she was just going through the motions and hoped he wouldn't notice.

She moved a little deeper and increased the suction before letting go to pull back and off. She pushed forward again, slightly deeper than the last time, and repeated the sucking. Over and over, she rocked back and forth, taking the velvety rod deeper and deeper each time until she had almost the whole length in her mouth.

Here was the real challenge. Master did not let her use her hands. They were clasped behind her back as he demanded. She pushed herself as deep as she could, hoping that she could overcome her natural inclination to gag. Sometimes she couldn't, and Master didn't tolerate refusing to take him all the way down. Her chin must touch his balls; that was the rule for all his slaves.

For Lydia, it took incredible amounts of concentration and willpower to do this. She loved pleasing him, so it usually gave her joy to be obedient to his demands. Unfortunately, tonight she was so preoccupied with worry that she gagged the first time she went deep. Master frowned.

"Lydia, concentrate. You should know better by now. If you can't do it, I'll have to take over."

She groaned silently. Not only was she having difficulty with her gagging, but if he was able to talk to her in complete sentences, he wasn't very aroused, and that meant she had a long way to go. She felt the tears gather in the corners of her eyes. If only she could use her hands, she would give him all the pleasure he demanded, and it wouldn't be as miserable for her!

That would never happen. He'd told her he loved what she looked like with her mouth impaled upon his dick as deep as he could get, so her hands stayed obediently behind her back.

It became apparent that tonight was not going to be a very successful night. The next time she went down, she gagged so bad she pulled all the way off. His expression darkened. She knew what was going to happen next, and she wasn't wrong. He gripped her head and pulled her forcefully onto him, holding her deep while she gagged and struggled. She didn't bring her hands around; the few times she'd done that he'd caned them as punishment. He pushed her back and allowed her one breath before pulling her deep again. She went into a private place in her head, one where she could retreat until he was done. There'd been many unpleasant things she'd learned to endure over her life, though sex was rarely one of them. Tonight, her fear chased away any hope of arousal.

She alternated between gagging and breathing and trying not to choke, over and over, until finally he stiffened and pulled her the deepest yet. He held her tight with her chin against his balls until she heard him groan and felt the warm sticky cum shoot into her throat. She swallowed it all; he didn't tolerate any spilling of that, either.

He finally let go and she fell back onto her knees. She let her head fall forward and closed her eyes.

"When you get back, we'll work on that, again."

She heard him get up. He placed a kiss on her head before he left, and a moment later, Lydia felt the soft hands of Bena offering a wet rag for her hot face. Bena mothered all the younger women, and though she would never say anything to make her master look bad, Lydia knew that Bena hurt for each of them any time they struggled.

The older woman walked Lydia back up to her tiny room and helped her into bed. She pulled the blanket up tight and gave Lydia a hug before turning out the light and leaving silently.

* * *

Later that night, Lydia gave up trying to sleep. She could no longer push the fear away and she let her tears flow in silence. Just about the only rule that governed the Service Week was that the slave could not be permanently harmed. Which meant physically. Mentally – well, it seemed no one gave a damn about that. She knew without a doubt that her marks would make her undesirable for anyone with money. She remembered in years past how she'd be relieved that some other girl had punishment marks, because it meant she, Lydia, would be safe from the very bottom of the bidding pool.

She finally gave in to the craving she'd thought she'd put out of her mind since the punishment, but which had just increased. She turned on the soft light by her bed and rolled over towards the wall. Down where the floor met the wall, she pried the baseboard loose. She stared at the item hidden inside as though she was deathly afraid of it, and then slowly, carefully, reached down to pick it up.

It was an Eluiim to Br'ini dictionary. She'd found it a year ago in the garbage and secreted it away for months before getting the courage to pull it out to study. Once she'd made the decision, though, she’d devoured it. Her mind had craved the challenge.

She refused to think about the penalty for knowing how to read a Br'ini book. Once, many years ago, a slave had been publicly executed for this very thing. All adult slaves were ordered to witness the execution. Lydia and her classmates were too young, but someone came to their school to tell them about it and warn them of the consequences. She, and many of her friends, had nightmares about it for a long time.

She stared at the book for a while, unable to open it tonight. The punishment had had the desired effect. Eventually she replaced it in its hiding place, turned out the light and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Slaves for Rent

"Oh, come on! You've been down here for days, and I've been buried in paperwork until my eyeballs are bleeding. It's time to enjoy ourselves for a while."

James rolled his eyes at yet another litany of complaints from Raym. It had been a long day today, and James was ready to quit, but he and Raym had different ideas of how to relax.

"Let's go get a service companion."

James was sure he had heard wrong. "A what?"

"A service companion."

"For what?"

"What do you think?" Raym cocked a suggestive eyebrow. "They're young and pretty and usually very, very good at what they do."

Now it was James' turn to raise his eyebrows. "Right. I'm sure."

"No, really! Every slave takes a turn once a year, so none of them get used up or worn out. They're all fresh."

"They're slaves? You're going to buy a slave?" James gaped at him.

"Well, not buy. It's actually renting. For one night or up to seven."

"No! I'm not going to rent a slave who has no say in what happens to her!"

"You need to relax. They're born to serve us. It's what they crave. They're very happy."

"Have you ever asked one?"

"What? Why would I do that? Anyway, I'm going, whether you are or not. I need to get there early so the best ones aren't gone." He turned to leave.

"I'll go with you." James' curiosity was piqued. "But I'm not buying, or renting, anything!"

"You gotta promise to behave and keep your opinions to yourself."

"I promise."

* * *

The building was open and airy, a far cry from the seedy-looking building James expected. They stopped at the front desk where Raym presented his credits card and the young man verified he had sufficient funds to enter. James was given a thorough look-over but Raym assured the man James was his guest and just there to observe. As they entered a large room, James stopped in shock.

Positioned every few feet in rows of eight across, going back about five rows, were young women of all different shapes and sizes and colors. Most were young-ish; a few were mature. Each had a silver collar on and each wore a short dress of a different style. Each also wore a chain on her left wrist, attached to a small stand to the side.

James wordlessly followed Raym up to a busty dark-skinned woman who flashed a welcoming smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He looked at the card on the stand, with her name, and owner's name, and some other numbers.

Raym pointed to each item and explained. "She's been here for five days, and been selected four times. Sometimes they're kept for several nights, and sometimes they aren't selected at all. They sleep here, then go back on display the next night. Their owner's names are shown because it can make their price higher or lower." He pointed to the bottom line, where a 'price per night' was listed. "A guy can say, 'Hey, I got to fuck a slave that belonged to Master so-and-so!' Those other numbers are ratings for how well they give a blowjob, how tight they are in the cunt or ass, and how obedient they usually are."

He wandered down the line to another woman. This time, after looking at her card, he fondled her breasts, pinching her nipples and looking for all the world like he was selecting fruit. She dropped her head back and moaned softly. James' dick, initially terrified into almost invisibility, now began to take an interest in the surroundings, despite what his brain was screaming at him. When Raym turned the woman around and had her bend over so he could fondle her from behind, James spun around and headed in the opposite direction.

Some of the slaves were blatant in their attempts to encourage his attention. A few looked up at his approach with hope in their eyes, as though he looked like he might be a better choice than some other man. Several of the small stands were empty, the slave apparently rented and gone.

He turned and was about to make his way to the front, desperately needing some fresh air, when his eyes fell upon the back of a brown-haired woman. She wore a dress that was almost perfectly see-through, and under the gauzy fabric he could plainly see strange diamond-shaped red marks from her shoulders to the curve of her ass. He estimated at least thirty of them, and he shivered. They were the characteristic marks of a dragon-tail whip, an implement that hurt horribly but left little bruising. It was wonderful when used on someone who consented to it, who liked pain. It was evil when used for real punishment.

Curiosity made him alter his course in her direction, but he didn't want to seem too obvious, so he took the time to read the signs next to several slaves on his way. Cunt – ass – tight – obedient – The words flowed past his eyes like forbidden treats.

He paused in front of one pleasant-looking woman and smiled. She stared back at him with an empty gaze.

"There's no one in there, sir." The woman he'd been working his way towards spoke almost in a whisper from her position just to the side.

"What do you mean?" He turned to her. She stood straight, with her gaze resting on the carpet. Her hands were clasped in front of her and James didn't fail to notice that they were gripped so tight they were almost white.

"Sir, she had an accident years ago and she's never spoken or done anything for herself since then. I don't think she even recognizes people she should know."

"And she's still put here to be rented?" James couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice.

"Yes, sir, but no one ever does it. She'll spend a week sleeping here, and then go home."

"How could her owners let her go through this?" He knew he was crossing a line but couldn't help it. The wrongs around here kept getting wrong-er.

The woman's eyes, kept submissively on the floor to this point, now looked up in surprise. She stared at him a moment, as though measuring her words. "Owners have no choice, sir. The Oversight Board mandates that any slave who can walk comes here once every year or two. There are very few exceptions. Owners can sometimes get deferments, but they don't even grant those very often." Her voice trailed off as her gaze fell to the floor once more.

James turned back to the other woman. He smiled at her as he picked up her unresisting hand and kissed the back of it. He could have sworn a spark of something flashed through her eyes, but then it was gone. He replaced her hand at her side and stepped away, turning his attention to the slave he'd been intending to meet.

She stood with her eyes on the floor and her hands gripped tight. He took a moment to look at her closely. She had straight brown hair that spilled down her back almost to her waist. She wore a thin white wrap of some sort that cupped her buttocks from behind, then crossed over itself in front and rose up over the swelling mounds of her breasts to cross over once more and disappear over her shoulders. Her breasts were visible beneath the thin fabric, the brown nipples erect thanks to the small gold rings that adorned each one. Hanging from the one on the left was a small gold tag. He struggled to raise his eyes up to focus on her face.

"Hello—" he floundered for a moment then glanced at the card on the stand next to her "–Lydia."

"Hello, sir." She was still staring at the floor.

Now what? Why the hell had he come over? What was he going to say, "So what brings you here?" Dumbass.

There was an awkward silence. He cleared his throat and looked over at her card. Yeah, like there's going to be suggestions for casual conversation topics on there. The usual ratings were there, but at the bottom her price was listed as a number absurdly less than all the others he'd seen. He glanced up and saw her eyes darting over to him. She was chewing on her bottom lip.

Before he could censor himself, he blurted out, "Is your back really sore?" He finished the question with a smile, as though that was the most natural thing in the world to ask. Seeing the fear in her eyes made him regret the hasty question a heartbeat later.

"I'm sorry!" he apologized before she could say anything. "That was really rude of me. I was trying to find a way to start a conversation."

She looked at him with no small amount of confusion.

"I'm really screwing this up." He sighed. "My name is James Morel. I'm not from Midros, but I guess that's kind of obvious by now."

She dropped her eyes once more. When she spoke, it was hardly more than a whisper.

"Sir, I broke a law and was punished for it."

She was a picture of misery as she stared at the floor. A sudden thought occurred to him.

"On Punishment Day?"

She nodded.

"You were the first one punished that day, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"I saw you. I, um, heard you, too, ten stories up."

She said nothing. He cleared his throat and put his hands in his pockets, searching for something to say. Eventually she looked up at him and broke the awkward silence.

"Are you looking for a Companion for the night?" Now she looked hopeful.

James held up his hands defensively and took a step back. "No, no." He shook his head. "I'm just here with a friend. I'm not shopping." He mentally cursed himself. Shopping was for food. This was an enslaved woman, and where he came from, there was a big difference.

Her face fell. "Oh," she said.

"Do you want to have someone rent you for the night?" He was confused by her obvious disappointment.

"Sir, what I want is irrelevant. But you seem so much kinder than... and so I thought perhaps that..." Her voice trailed off as though she knew she shouldn't finish those thoughts. "I'll be among the last to be chosen, and only by those with little money."

"But you're beautiful! Why would you be last?"

She glanced over her shoulder, towards the marks.

"Because you were punished?"

"Yes, sir. Men want Service Companions who are obedient, easy to handle, and generally unmarked. My marks show disobedience, and they're ugly. The men who will want me are the kind who don't have a lot of money to spend on a slave and usually aren't as worried about her health and well being. Or they're aroused by the sight of my punishment and see it as an invitation to add more. "

He let a breath out as he mentally cursed himself for having the exact same thoughts. What it might be like to take her over his lap, and run his hands over the tender skin before raising one hand up high and bringing it down to smack her ass right on one of the red marks. He imagined the shriek that would erupt from her mouth, and the frantic struggle she would put up.

"I'm sorry," he said, though he wasn't sure if he was expressing sorrow for her predicament, or for his daydream.

She gave a small smile and dropped her eyes but said nothing.

"Couldn't they have let you heal first?"

"No, sir. My turn came up. This is just a natural consequence of my disobedience."

His mind searched frantically for something to say or do that would help her. This was not fair, and the more he thought about it the angrier he got. Was there someone he could talk to get her out of this incredibly unfair situation? The absurd idea passed as quickly as it came. Slavery was ingrained in this society. Fairness was not a concept that applied here. Hell, even she wasn't protesting or fighting this. There wasn't a damn thing he could do, and he needed to just walk away.

Except there was one thing he could do. He glanced down at her card again, did a quick mental calculation and grimaced, and took a deep breath. "Stay here. I'll be right back." He turned on his heel and walked toward the front of the room.

* * *

Stay here? Where the hell did he think she might go?

She watched him make his way up to the front where the cashier sat. Another man, obviously Midrosian, joined him, and after a moment, their conversation grew animated with lots of gestures in her direction. Was he trying to rent her? Oh, please, just one night! The lump of fear that had sat heavy in her stomach since she woke up that morning had been growing worse every minute since she'd been chained to the stand. A dozen men had come by with interest until they had her turn around for an inspection and they saw her back. Each time they shook their heads and walked away.

She refused to think too much about what might happen tonight and for the next seven nights. A memory rose to the surface despite her frantic attempt to push it down. A slave in her master's house, the year Lydia had arrived, had been so afraid of her week she'd tried to run as the guards came to collect her. She was hunted down and brought back to the house, where she was immediately caned as punishment in front of everyone, and then she disappeared in custody of the guards. When she was returned three days later, she was bruised and battered, with whip marks from head to toe, and it was days before she was able to tell them what had happened. She'd been rented by a group of men who wanted to see how long they could whip her before she passed out and didn't wake up. Lydia would never forget how furious Master was. The men who beat her were arrested and fined a small sum, which was given to Master as compensation for the cost of treating her injuries, and the matter was closed. The slave never fully recovered from her fear, and when her next Service Companion week came around, she committed suicide before Master could even try to intervene. Master swore he'd never let that happen to any other slave, but despite his vow, Lydia was here, with punishment marks on full display.

She fixed her eyes on the carpet fibers and concentrated on taking deep breaths. Suddenly there was a pair of shoes in front of her and she stiffened.

"Oh, look! You were right! Boy, she is cheap!"

She closed her eyes and tried not to whimper in fear. A hand grabbed her breast in a hard squeeze and she squealed in pain but held herself in place.

"Nice tits! I love the rings." He grabbed both rings and pulled up harshly. She tried to throw her hands up to grab his arm as she rose on her toes, but only one hand made it up; the other was still chained. And one hand wasn't enough to get him to let go. She screamed in pain as he continued to lift her nipples higher with the rings and her free hand beat upon him without effect. She tried to bite him but she couldn't get close enough and her teeth closed on air.

"Dammit! Show this bitch who's boss!" he said to someone behind her, and she felt the crack of a strap across the backs of her legs. She shrieked again, now more frantic.

Suddenly the rings were released and she fell to the floor, her free hand cradling the injured globes. She heard an argument over her head and looked up.

The man named James was standing over the other man, who was now on the floor, curled up around his private parts.

"Get. The fuck. Away. From her." The barely-held anger in James' voice was clear, and dangerous.

"Who the fuck are you?" the man sputtered, oblivious to the threat. "We have every right to do whatever we want to the bitch. Unless you own her."

James held up a piece of paper and a key. "Actually, I do. For the next seven nights. So get the hell up and away from my slave."

He'd rented her? For the whole seven days? She looked up at him from the floor, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open, until she remembered her manners. She moved to kneel at his feet, one hand still attached to the stand and hanging at the level of her head, the other tucked behind her back as she bent as low as possible. She remained motionless, scarcely remembering to breathe lest he change his mind. She felt the chain on her wrist release and now she was able to bend forward to kiss his shoes.

"Lydia, get up. We need to go." He didn't touch her at all as she scrambled to her feet. "Follow me." He wheeled around and headed towards the front of the building. She grabbed her small bag from behind the stand and hurried to catch up. His friend fell in behind and they exited into the sunshine.

Dinner on the Grass

Lydia presumed her unexpected rescuer had accommodations at the Sapphire Hotel, where off-world visitors usually stayed, and as she followed him down the street in that direction, it seemed she was right. She'd never been there before and in the middle of her confusion found herself also excited and curious.

But the man behind them both wasn't going to follow quietly. "James. James, dammit! Stop!"

James stopped so suddenly that Lydia ran right into his chest as he whipped around.

"Sorry, sir!" she cried as she backed off and tried to maneuver out of the way to stand in her place behind him.

"James, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

James ignored him as he turned to face Lydia, who was now standing where he himself had been a moment before.

"Lydia, what are you doing?" He sounded exasperated.

"James!"

"What, Raym?"

"I asked what are you doing?"

"Well, at the moment I'm trying to figure out why she keeps moving around to my back."

"That's because she belongs behind you and she knows it. But that's not what I'm talking about! You just rented a slave for a week!"

"So?"

"What are you going to do with her? We spend every minute in that damn basement with those damn books–"

Books? A frisson of fear went through her and she shivered. She saw James look down at her.

"– and if we're not there, we'll be in the lab. What is she going to do?"

"I don't know. What would you normally do during the day, Lydia?"

He was asking her?

"Sir–" her voice was cracking, "–um, normally I'm rented for one or two days and nights, and the only thing that I do during the day is, um, serve my master for his pleasure..."

"All day?"

"Well, if he's paid good money for me, um, then he usually wants to spend most of the day being pleasured."

"See?" The man whose name was Raym gave a snort.

"Shut up. Okay, Lydia, well, we'll have to figure out what else you can do while we're together."

"You-you don't wish to use me... for pleasure?" She was completely confused.

"No! I mean, sure, but, oh, shit. I don't know what the hell I was thinking."

The rejection hurt more than she'd thought it could. "I'm sure they would give you most of your money back, sir, if you brought me back," she whispered, looking at the concrete beneath her feet.

"What? Why would..." He paused and she heard him take a deep breath. "Lydia, I am not taking you back. You're with me for the next seven days. We'll figure it out."

The other man made an exasperated groan. "Look, you two have fun with whatever you do. Me, I'm going back and finding myself something to play with tonight. James, I'll see you, not too early tomorrow morning." He turned on his heel and walked back the way they had come.

* * *

As Raym stomped back down the sidewalk, James looked down at Lydia. She looked dejected and confused. He shook his head. This was not what he'd meant to do here on Midros. But it was what it was, and he'd be damned if he would take her back to face a week of hell, all because he was too much of a coward to figure out how to occupy her time.

"Lydia, I'm sorry. I'm – this–" he gestured at the world around them "–is just so strange for me. I've never had a real slave before. I mean an involuntary one."

"Yes, Master." She was still staring at the sidewalk.

"Hey, look at me." He touched her under the chin and her troubled brown eyes met his. "First, please call me James. Okay?"

"Yes, sir. I mean yes, James."

"Second. Are you hungry?'

She shook her head. He had a feeling she was lying.

"Well, I am. But it's too beautiful to go inside. Let's go for a walk and we'll grab something from one of the food stands when we see one. C'mon." He turned towards the park and waited. She looked at him but didn't move. He made a gesture with his hand. "This way."

"Yes, sir. I'll be right behind you." She had that confused look again.

James chuckled as the situation dawned on him. "You're supposed to walk behind me?"

She nodded.

"Is there any exception to the rule that would allow you to walk next to me?"

"Well..." She colored.

"Well what?"

"If you're holding on to me, it's permitted." She said the words in a rush.

He shook his head. "Okay, but it won't be easy," he teased. He moved beside her and picked up her hand, tucking it inside the crook of his elbow tight enough that she couldn't pull it loose, which she'd probably never dare to try anyway. She was looking at the sidewalk again. What had he done now?

"Lydia, look at me." This time her eyes were full of tears as she looked up. "I'm sorry. I was teasing you. Holding the arm of a pretty girl is about the easiest thing a man on any planet can do." He smiled at her, and to his astonishment, she smiled back.

"Oh. Thank you, sir."

They started down the street. He hadn't been out of his hotel room and the Archives much, so he looked around with interest. A mixture of languages drifted through the air – Basic, spoken by almost everyone in the galaxy, and Eluiim, spoken mostly by women in quiet, polite voices. Groups passed them, some carrying bags and talking together, some hurrying with their hands empty and their eyes glued to the ground. A few young women walking together giggled at something and then one of them dared to smile at him out of the corner of her eye. It was a completely normal scene from every planet he'd ever been on, except for the silver collar around every woman's neck.

He smiled back and that seemed to scare her because she whipped her head around and skittered away, her friends calling out to her and rushing to catch up.

As they walked, he asked Lydia questions about the city. Eventually her shoulders relaxed and she lost the pinched, scared look she'd been wearing since he met her. She had a good memory and shared many details about the buildings and parks, and the history of the area. He stayed away from asking her anything personal, until he accidentally broached the topic.

"I can't believe how much you know. Have you lived in the city all your life?"

She stopped. "Well, my school was outside the city and that's where I spent my childhood. I suppose I was born here, though I don't remember much about my early life." Her brow wrinkled. "Could we get some food now, sir?" She pointed at a vendor across the grass. The smell of roasted meat wafted through the air, sending his empty stomach into paroxysms.

"Absolutely." He filed the abrupt change of subject away in a corner of his mind and pulled her in the direction of food.

* * *

Lydia realized she was having a lovely time. It wasn't unusual for her to get out of her master's house, but she was typically on an errand of some kind, so she hardly ever stopped to look around. James asked her what she wanted to eat when they arrived at the food cart, and she stumbled for a moment, not used to having the choice. She solved the problem by ordering the same thing he had ordered. The only awkward moment was when he guided them to a bench. Her hand was still tucked under his arm, so when he sat, he pulled her down. She reflexively tried to pull out of his grasp to slip to her knees next to the bench and when he didn't let go, she wound up almost falling into his lap.

"Hey there! What are you doing?" he laughed.

She reddened. "Sir, I'm not allowed to sit on the bench. It's for men only. That's my spot there." She pointed to a square of concrete to the side of the bench.

"You have to kneel on concrete?" He seemed bewildered.

"Well, yes, it's better than kneeling in the dirt or the mud..." she trailed off.

He stood up abruptly, still holding the containers of food, and gestured with his head to follow him. He moved a dozen feet away to the shade of a tree.

"Anything that says I'm not allowed to sit on the grass?"

"No, sir. You can do anything you want."

"Then sit here next to me."

And she did, and for a little while they talked and laughed and she forgot that she was a rented slave.

A Rough Start

The light was beginning to fade by the time they had finished eating. James – it was strange to think of him by his first name only - bought her dessert, something she didn't have very often, and she'd downed the flaky-sweet pastry faster than was polite. A chill was descending and her skin was prickling; the dress she wore left nothing to the imagination, and neither did it hold in any heat. In her distress this morning she hadn't thrown anything in her small bag she could put on for warmth. But saying something was out of the question. If he wanted to stay out all night, she'd shiver her way through it obediently.

She started to gather the wrappers together but he took them from her and smiled as he rose to walk the few meters to a trashcan. She plucked her bag off the ground.

Once she stood, the cool air ran over her whole body and she clutched her arms across her middle.

He threw a look at her. "Are you cold? Stupid question. Of course you're cold! You're shivering. Do you have something to keep you warm?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. I was so worried when I packed this morning I forgot to pack anything practical."

"Never mind. Stay in my arm and we'll get straight back to the hotel. Once you're inside, you'll be fine."

She didn't mind. Not at all, in fact, if it meant she could stay within the warmth and comfort of his arm. He smelled good, kind of a faint exotic spicy smell.

They made their way back towards the hotel under the darkening sky of deep pink and blue. The stars were beginning to pop out and he asked her if she knew anything about them. They chatted about the different constellations and before she had a chance to think about being cold, they were at the hotel.

She'd never been in The Sapphire Hotel before. The building looked much bigger that she'd imagined it was. As they entered the large glass doors, he slipped his arm off her shoulders to hold the door for a man behind them. Lydia stepped out of the way and into the lobby.

The scene that met her eyes stopped her in her tracks. She stared at the trees and the hanging vines, then looked out to the center at the different stone levels. Mesmerized, she walked towards the center far enough to look up – and up and up.

"Lydia?" Suddenly mindful of not being in her place, she whirled around to find an amused-looking James, his arms crossed, waiting for her to return to the present. She scurried back to his side, resolving to look only at the floor as they resumed their walk across the immense lobby. He led her up wide, curving stairs, around a corner to the left, and once more she stopped in her tracks.

This time the view was water. They were looking down onto a lake – in the middle of the hotel! There was even a waterfall. Lush bushes and flowers grew around the curved edges. There were chairs for lounging, and more than a few very naked women, either swimming in the water, or laying on the chairs, all with the black collars that marked them as visitors.

She closed her mouth and looked up at James. He was grinning again.

"Like to go swimming there sometime this week?"

Her face fell. "I'm sure I'm not allowed to, Master. But thank you for asking me."

"Hmm. We'll see about that. Anyhow, my room is just down the hall here."

The room was far larger than Lydia had expected. There was a huge picture window overlooking the plunging hillside. The last rays of pink were disappearing behind the sand-colored cliffs. When the lights popped on, she was startled by the huge bed in the middle of the room, with four elaborately carved posts that stood at each corner and rose up almost three meters. A wooden frame enclosed the posts at the top. The bed was made from beautiful reddish-brown wood from one of the trees native to Midros, and the bedspread was a deep blue. His chuckle drew her away from her examination of the room.

"It's a bit over the top, I know, but my friend – you met him; he's the other guy that was with us – he's paying for the room. He doesn't know how to do things half way, so I have enough space for a party."

All right, Lydia, you've had your fun, now remember your place, she chided herself. She sank to her knees in front of him. "Thank you, sir, for dinner. How may I serve you now?"

"Lydia, I don't expect you to have sex with me. That's not why I brought you here. You can do whatever you'd like to do. "

She'd spent her entire life being told what to do almost every waking moment. This was uncharted territory. She floundered around in her mind looking for a possible option and latched onto the one that had worked earlier with the food. "What are you going to do, sir?"

"Watch some vid and probably fall asleep, to be honest. If you want, you can c'mon up on the bed and watch with me."

She was relieved at the suggestion, so she placed her shoes neatly in the corner near her bag, then climbed onto the tall bed. He settled back against the pillows and after a moment, she did too, feeling very strange at the casualness of it all as she lay next to him.

The program was one she'd seen before at home so she paid only scant attention to it, instead sneaking glances at the man lying next to her. He was tall with dark brown hair and when he opened the buttons on his shirt she caught a glimpse of well-defined muscles over his ribs. He looked like he hadn't shaved in several days and she wondered what it would feel like to have him scrape his short beard across her nipples. She felt a wave of arousal rush down to the place between her legs, and hoped she wasn't going to leave a wet spot on the immaculate bedspread. What the hell? A couple of hours ago she'd been terrified at the thought of being rented for sex by a stranger, and now she was having fantasies of him?

She made herself turn back to the vid and concentrate so she'd stop thinking of anything else. It worked for a few minutes. The next time she peeked at James he was sound asleep.

Oh. Now what did she do? He was completely dressed, lying on top of the covers. The very least she could do was cover him up. She dragged the folded blanket from the bottom of the bed up over him, relieved that he didn't stir.

Now what about her? There were a few guiding rules in this situation, and one was that slaves wait to be invited into bed with their masters. She hadn't been, at least for sleeping, so that was out. The floor was very familiar territory for most slaves. She looked at the carpet and sighed. It was thick, but not as nice as her bed at home. She wondered if there was at least another blanket somewhere. There was another section of the room she hadn't explored yet. She padded over to the other side of the bed, her feet silent on the thick carpet. In the dim light, she saw a sitting area, with a couch, several chairs, a desk, and two small tables scattered about. In one corner was a large object covered with a sheet, and a suitcase sat open on top, some of the contents hanging out over the side. But no blanket.

She looked longingly at the couch, but it, too, was usually off limits unless specifically permitted.

With a sigh, she turned back towards the bed. She settled down as comfortably as she could on the floor on the side closest to him, in case he needed her in the night. She curled up to stay warm, told the lights to turn out, and the room obligingly went dark.

* * *

James woke up only once, long enough to slip off his clothes, throw them in the general direction of his suitcase, and slide under the covers. He had a sense that he was missing something but was back asleep so quickly he didn't have time to contemplate it. When the rays of the sun hit him in the face, he groaned and rolled over, but it was no good; he was awake. He rolled out of bed on the side closest to the bathroom and stumbled in to take care of business. When he was done, he walked around the bed towards his suitcase but pulled up short when he got to the other side.

"Oh, fuck!" At least he remembered to whisper instead of yell. Lying on the floor, curled up on her side, was Lydia. Her long brown hair spilled over the arm tucked under her head, and onto the floor. And the shirt that he'd thrown carelessly over the side of the bed in the middle of the night was pulled over her small body and clutched in her hands.

Why was she on the floor?

He bent to wake her and then remembered his state of undress, so he donned a pair of pants before kneeling down again. "Lydia?" he whispered. He didn't want to startle her. He put a hand on her shoulder and she woke up with a jerk and a squeak.

"Master! I'm sorry. What do you need, sir?" She struggled to a sitting position, rubbing her eyes.

"Please call me James, and why are you on the floor?"

"You didn't tell me I could sleep on the bed, before you fell asleep."

"You need permission to sleep in the bed with me?"

"Well, yes, sir."

"What about the couch?" She looked at him. "Not allowed on the couch, either?" She shook a negative. He dropped his head.

"Why not the bed under here that's just for slaves, then? Surely you don't need permission for that."

She furrowed her brow. "Sir?"

"Oh, hell." He lifted up the spread hanging down the side of the bed. There, tucked underneath, was a small bed that could be rolled out. A bed for someone just like her. With a pillow and a blanket.

A laugh burbled out of her. He grinned. She laughed again, and for a minute the two of them shared a laugh so hard neither could breathe. As they came down, he sobered up with a thought.

"You must be freezing! Is that why you had my shirt over you?"

She looked down. "Yes, sir. I hope that was okay."

"Lydia, look, I'm not from here. I don't understand the things you do. If there's a need you have that I don't know about, you have to tell me, all right? If you're hungry, thirsty, need to use the bathroom, cold, hot, bored – any of those. Understand? You tell me."

And he needed to remember that she was in his care and he had an obligation to be aware of her needs before she had to ask. He had to shift into protective Dom mode immediately.

"Yes, sir." She smiled at him. It was a lovely smile.

"Oh, and if you have to wake me up to ask me for something, you are ordered to do that. If you don't, I'll spank you." He smiled to show he was teasing, but the look that flashed through her eyes before she composed herself was not what he expected.

He cleared his throat. "Now get that freezing ass of yours into a nice hot shower and don't come out until you are warm."

She gave him another smile and scampered into the bathroom, and a few minutes later the steam began to billow out. James, who couldn't operate on anything less than two cups of cassa as soon as he rolled out of bed in the morning, placed an order for room service.

His thoughts were interrupted by her emergence from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. If it were possible for her to look any lovelier, he couldn't imagine. Her skin was a rosy red, her eyes sparkled, and her hair spilled long and dark and damp over her breasts. And she had that smile again. He had a brief fantasy as he stared at her of ripping the towel out of her hands and tossing her on the bed, then fucking her hard as she squealed and shrieked and finally came hard, triggering his own orgasm...

His improper, indecent and illicit thoughts vanished with the knock on the door. She grabbed her small bag and jumped back into the bathroom as he opened the door and accepted a rolling cart of assorted breakfast dishes, along with a pot of cassa whose smell promised restoration of life to the dead.

He settled himself on one of the lounge chairs and poured out two cups. A minute later she emerged, dressed in a jade green dress that crossed over her breasts in the front and then fell no more than halfway to her knees. As she walked, it literally floated up in the air and he was treated to glimpses of matching green panties that were hardly more than wisps of frothy lace. The only sight to mar the perfection were the angry red marks glimpsed on her ass, and still visible above the low neckline on her back, despite that the whipping had been five days ago. Whatever she had done – which he'd avoided asking about so far – she surely didn't deserve that kind of punishment.

No matter. She looked stunning. He held out a cup of cassa and she fluttered over to take it from his hand.

"You want cream or sugar?"

"Sir, I should be serving you!"

"Nope. I can serve myself. Besides, I want to serve you. Sit. Now what do you want?"

She dropped gracefully to the floor at his feet. "Just cream, if it's permitted."

He'd meant for her to sit in the other chair, but at this point, he wasn't going to push it. He poured a healthy dollop of thick white cream into the cup she held up to him.

"What do you want to eat?" He listed the options and she made her choices with hesitation, but with obvious pleasure at the experience. They ate in silence for a while, James letting the cassa clear the cobwebs from his brain.

As much as he wanted to spend the day just gazing at the woman sitting at his feet, he was self-disciplined enough to know he needed to get back down to the Archives. He hoped he could find something to keep her occupied, though the idea of knocking off early so he could take her swimming – naked, of course – sounded awfully nice as well.

Books Everywhere

The cup of cassa had been the best Lydia had ever had. Of course, maybe it was the company. Either way, right now she was happy, and she'd learned to enjoy her happiness whenever it flashed across her life.

"Ready?" He was standing over her and she was so lost in her thoughts she hadn't noticed. She scrambled to her feet and once more tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her out of the room. The hallways were more crowded this morning and she felt conspicuous in her silver collar, the only one she saw among all the black collars of off-world women. It was easier to keep her glance on the floor as they descended the beautiful staircase and walked through the lobby to the front doors. As they emerged into the sunshine, he surprised her by turning left and walking a dozen meters or so down the front of the building to a nondescript door, where he produced a key. The door to a lift opened and they stepped in. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her.

"Sir, where are we going?"

"I need to spend more time in the Archives today." He seemed distracted, as though his mind had moved on to other things.

"Archives, sir? What's in there?"

Her question was answered as the lift doors opened and she was staring out into a huge room.

With shelf after shelf after shelf of books.

Her heart leapt into her throat and she let out a small gasp. Her legs were rubbery. James started out into the room and then turned to catch the doors before they closed again.

"Lydia? What's the matter?"

She took a deep breath. They were just books. They were not going to jump off the shelves and land in her unwilling hands. With a monumental effort, she shoved herself off of the back of the lift wall and almost stumbled out into the cavern.

"I'm fine, sir," she lied. She followed him over to a table with a computer, trying to calm her panicked breathing. With every step, she felt an ache in each red mark on her back. The closer she got to the shelves the more the aches felt like circles of hot coals.

"Are you sure you're all right?" He looked genuinely concerned, but her panic was her own problem and not to be foisted upon her temporary master.

"Yes, sir." She smiled the lie at him again. This was the kind of lie she was used to telling. If her real master asked, he genuinely wanted to know, but he was different than most masters, who never wanted to know the truth, even if they asked. Most wanted to think that their women – their slaves – were happy and carefree.

He patted the chair next to his and looked at her with raised eyebrows. She shook her head and glided to her knees next to his chair.

"I'm sorry." He cleared his throat in the silence. "I don't really have anything for you to do. You can't really help me, unless you can read Br'ini?"

Her head flew up and her shocked eyes stared into his. She felt the blood drain from her face as her mind scrambled to understand how he could possibly– She forced herself to relax. He was an off-worlder. He'd asked the question because he didn't realize the implications of it.

"No, sir. I can't. It's forbidden for women." Two statements, only one of them a lie.

"That's a stupid rule."

She didn't think she could be more shocked, but she was. That rule was one of only a very few that were punishable by death here on Midros. And he was calling it stupid? There was no good reply to that, so she just lowered her head and got as comfortable as she could on her knees on the cold floor and prepared to spend the day doing nothing.

She heard him open a book over her head and her breathing quickened. Why was she so terrified? This wasn't like her at all. But the lingering pain on her back was a powerful reminder of the lesson she'd been taught. The lesson that had been received and internalized. She almost wept realizing how scared she'd been to even touch the dictionary hidden in the floor by her bed.

The other women in her master's house – Bena, who was Master's First Slave and the mother of his two grown sons, and Magrita, Amia, Dinai, Frini, and the ancient cook Didi – seemed content with life. Magrita, Amia, and Dinai were still young women, like Lydia, and had their hopes set on a love match and sale to one of the employees, or better yet, to one of Master's sons. Frini didn't seem to care; she was obsessed with gardening and had practically taken over the design of the grounds, though as a woman she couldn't supervise the gardeners so actual orders came from Master. One of the gardeners had had his eye on her for years and probably would have purchased her if she'd shown any interest, but Lydia knew that Frini had an independence she was unlikely to keep if she was sold to anyone else.

Only Lydia seemed restless, at least in her own eyes, though she wasn't in a hurry to leave Master's house. She knew she had a better life than many, with a master who genuinely cared for her and was strict but indulgent. She knew Master would never sell her unless she agreed to the sale, and there was no guarantee that life with another master would be anywhere as nice, even if he claimed he loved her and she was his First Slave.

She craved mental stimulation. She'd devoured every book she was allowed to read in Master's house, all in Eluiim of course, but they did little to satisfy her curiosity. Master's library had shelves of books, all written in Br'ini and forbidden to her, which seemed to be filled with stories of all kinds that were never found in Eluiim books. Stories about things that weren't true were considered a waste of time for the slaves. There was a rich tradition of oral storytelling among the women, but Lydia didn't find it enough.

A book slammed above her and she jumped. James uttered a curse and a sigh.

"Master, are you all right?"

"Yes, just not finding anything anywhere."

He seemed like the kind of man who liked to talk, and she was curious. "What are you looking for, sir?"

He hesitated, and she cursed silently. She'd read him wrong. "Apologies, sir. I didn't mean to pry."

"No, no, it's okay. I'm just not really supposed to talk about it. With anyone."

"Oh. Yes, sir."

"And please call me James."

"Oh. Yes, sir. I mean, yes, James." She really needed to remember that.

"I don't suppose you'd like to help me, would you?"

"If I can, um, James, of course." She'd be glad to move.

"Come on up."

She stood stiffly. A large, very old book written in Br'ini was lying on the table. James looked at the computer and scribbled something on a piece of paper.

"Would you find this book for me?" He thrust the paper in her direction without looking at her.

She froze for a moment then reached out to take the paper with a trembling hand. What was she supposed to do? Was she supposed to disobey the law in order to obey her master?

"S-sir? James?"

"Hmm?" He peered at the computer.

"I-I can't. I'm not supposed to carry Br'ini books."

He looked at her with a curious expression. "But that just doesn't make sense. You can't even carry one if I ask you to?"

"I, um, don't know. I've never been asked to carry one for somebody else."

"I'll take responsibility, okay?"

She nodded and reluctantly turned around to head for the shelves. Despite his words of reassurance, slaves who broke the law were punished even if they had been ordered to by their masters. Why didn't she tell him what had happened? Why was she risking another punishment?

Because he was the first man to ever talk to her as a regular person, not as a slave, and she didn't want him to stop doing that.

* * *

Numbers were the same whether they were Br'ini or Eluiim, so the numbers on the sheet made sense to her. She found the book without a problem, but stood and looked, not daring to touch it. She avoided reading the title. She didn't want to know what it said. At last, she reached one finger out and touched the old cracked spine, and the world did not fall down around her. Emboldened, she used the finger to tip the top of the book out, and when the floor did not crack open beneath her, she used her other hand to grab it and pull. Suddenly the book was in her hands, and she looked down at it, her breathing slightly panicky.

I'm not supposed to do this – I'm not supposed to do this.

Before she could lose her nerve, she dashed back to the front of the room. The table was so strewn with books and papers there was no room to set the heavy book down, so she stood next to him and waited. He was absorbed and he paid her no attention until she couldn't bear it.

"Sir, please?" It came out shakier than she planned. With a start he looked up and took the book from her trembling hands, placing it on top of another book, then turning back to catch her hands in his.

"Lydia! Is it that scary?"

She nodded, and despite years of training to hold in her feelings, she burst into tears. Suddenly his arms were around her and she was pulled into his lap.

"Shh... I'm sorry. It's okay now."

"No, sir, I'm sorry! It's just, well, that's what I was whipped for the other day."

He stilled. "You were whipped for carrying a book?"

"Well, holding it. Without permission. It was just so beautiful, and I just wanted to see what was inside, but I shouldn't have, and I was lucky I only got thirty strokes..."

"Goddamn this is a barbaric place." His words came out as a whisper, but they shocked her to the very core. She twisted around to look into his face, her eyebrows raised.

"Is – Is it different on your planet?" she ventured.

He nodded his head slowly. "Women on my planet have the same rights as men. They read the same books, go to the same schools and no one owns them. They make all their decisions by themselves. They hold jobs and get paid."

She looked at him in wonder. "Bena told me something like that once, but she would never tell me more, and I thought it was a made-up story."

"Who is Bena?"

"Master's First Slave. She's the mother of his sons."

"It's not a fairy-tale. It's the truth."

"Then who are the women with the men who come here to visit from other planets?"

"Well, mostly their wives."

She wrinkled her brow.

"A wife is a woman who's chosen to get mated to a man. At least it's usually a man, but it doesn't have to be. There's no buying involved. They agree to it together. And if she doesn't want to do it, she doesn't have to."

"But they wear collars here and have to obey the rules, too, don't they?" She thought of the woman who had been punished after she had been – who'd received twice as many strokes as she'd been sentenced to because she wouldn't stop fighting them. She'd been a mess when she was done, though it still wasn't as bad as Lydia's punishment.

"Because your government makes them do it. On their worlds, they don't."

"Then why would they ever want to come here?"

"Well, sometimes they come because they have jobs that give them knowledge that your government needs to know. Other times, they come, because, well, they're curious about what being a slave is like."

"They're free, and they want to be a slave?"

He looked like he was struggling to explain something. "You see, sometimes one person enjoys submitting to another. Being a slave. But only because they can choose to be one or not. Sometimes they come here to see what real slavery is like. To be one for a while."

"But they go home and they're free again?"

"Yes, if they want to be."

"Then they don't really know what slavery is like, do they?"

He squeezed her hand. "No, they don't."

Something he'd said before popped into her mind. "You said you'd never had an involuntary slave before. You've had a, um, voluntary one?"

He reddened and cleared his voice. "Um, well, yes. In the past I have. I enjoy being a master – but only to someone who wants to be my slave. And that only happens after we've negotiated limits and rules."

"Negotiate?" Her eyes grew wide. Her voice dropped down to a whisper. "No one has ever asked me what I think – about anything." She cleared her throat. "Do your slaves get punished, too?"

Now he really looked uncomfortable. "Well, yes, but only if they break a rule that they've agreed to."

"How do you punish them?"

"Lydia, are you sure you want to talk about this?"

"Only if you wish to, sir. Forgive me." She had overstepped her bounds. Hell, she had obliterated them. She had no business asking him these questions. She tried to slip from his lap. His warm, soft, comforting lap.

He tightened his grip then relaxed. "No, Lydia, I'm sorry. Please don't go. Unless you want to."

Another choice. Her tongue was paralyzed. Finally, she decided that truth was the best idea. "No, I don't really want to. It's nice here," she confided.

"So you want to know about punishments." He cleared his voice. "Every couple is different. Some use punishments that aren't physical, like not being allowed to get on the computer, or leave the house, or having privileges removed. Some use physical punishments, like spanking."

"Or whipping?" She swore she felt his cock twitch beneath her thighs.

"Yesss... Like whipping." His voice held a note of reluctance, as though he didn't like the close relationship between what people on his planet did and what people on hers did. "But never as bad as what you went through."

"Do most men have more than one slave? I mean wife?"

"Most relationships are two people – a man and a woman, or two men, or two women. But sometimes there are more. You come from a house with a lot of slaves, don't you?"

She nodded. "Most men try to have at least two slaves, and wealthy men often have five or more. One is usually the First Slave and she's the one who has his children, his boys. It's often a love match. Masters who can afford it will buy more young women as we're auctioned around our 18th birthday. But we all hope to find a master who loves us and will buy us from our first master and make us his First Slave. Most older masters are willing to sell if it's for love and they approve of the man."

"And then you'd have children together?"

She nodded. "If the new master has enough money, he can arrange to have just boys. If not, they take their chances."

"Why wouldn't you want to have girls?"

She looked at him, realizing how little he knew about her planet. "Because if we have girls, they're taken away to go to school when they're about five, and when they turn eighteen they're sold. Most mothers never see their daughters again."

He caught his breath and she felt his disbelief. This she could understand, because no mother ever gave her daughter up willingly. Masters and slaves would pull together every penny they had to have a boy so that they didn't have to go through the heartbreak.

He was silent for a while. Eventually he cleared his throat. "So, um, doesn't this mean there are a lot more men than women here? Families try to have only boys, and those boys want more than one woman. I'd think there would be a shortage of women."

She shrugged again. "There always seem to be enough at the auctions." It was a question she'd wondered about herself many times, but asking questions wasn't healthy. She'd tried to work it out with her basic math skills a few times, but the answer always came up so dramatically wrong she had to be making a mistake somewhere.

"So, do you ever see your parents?"

She stiffened. "No. I don't remember them at all." This time she did slip from his lap to stand up.

"Lydia, I'm sorry! That was a stupid question."

Another apology. She shook her head to clear away the whole conversation. "Are there more books you'd like me to get, Master?"

She saw sadness in his eyes. Eventually he nodded. "Yeah. There's a list."

The Past is Not What You Were Taught

She spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon fetching and returning books. In between she knelt on the floor, not really sure what had happened earlier and why she'd reacted like she had, but unable to shake the moroseness that had fallen over her. She heard him struggle with the Br'ini pronunciations, and though she herself wasn't very good, she often whispered the answer to him under her breath, wishing she could be up there helping him.

James had had the foresight to order extra meat, bread and some fruit with breakfast, and they improvised a make-do lunch right there. She longed to get some fresh air, but he was a man on a mission right now. She still didn't know exactly what he was looking for.

She was tired; the hotel floor had not been very restful, and so eventually she shifted so she could lean against a leg of the table. She felt her eyes closing and for once she didn't fight it. He'd call her if he needed her.

The next thing she knew he was gently pulling on her shoulder. She shook her head and looked up.

"You've been out for about forty-five minutes, and it looked like you were going to fall over. I'm almost done with this book; should we get some fresh air soon?"

"That would be nice, sir." She smiled.

"You want to put these books away in the meantime?"

She lurched to her feet, stiff from the cold floor. He heaved an oversized book into her arms so big that she had to hug it to herself to avoid dropping the tome. She looked at the numbers on the spine and made her way into the dim stacks. She found the right place, but the book was too big to go back on the shelf there. There must be a place for oversize books. She wandered deeper into the stacks, the light getting dimmer. She reached the back of the archives where the last shelf sat against a brick wall, and finding no obvious place for the heavy book, leaned in the corner between the brick wall and the end of a shelf to rest for a moment.

The shelves shifted to the left. Lydia let out a little screech. She heaved the heavy book onto a bare spot on the shelf and looked closely at the metal structure. It had been pushed a few inches to the side, and behind it, she saw a vertical seam in the bricks.

She gave a second experimental shove to the shelf and it obligingly slid further to the left. Now she could see a second vertical seam. One more shove and the shelf had been moved completely to the side, revealing a horizontal seam about six feet up, joining the two vertical seams.

A door?

She searched for a knob or handle, and started pushing at individual bricks until one gave way at her pressure. Silently the door swung away from her into the wall, revealing a large dark opening.

She should go back. This was none of her business, especially in this place filled with forbidden objects. She should shut the door; she should let James know about it, she should–

She took a single step inside the opening. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust in the dim light, but when they did her eyes went wide.

More books.

Lots of books.

As far as the dim light traveled into the room, there were books.

She took another step forward and shrieked. Light flooded the room, illuminating every corner. She looked wildly around for someone else, but realized she must have triggered the lights by stepping into the room. Once her heart had stopped doing flip-flops in her chest, she looked around at the shelves. And her heart stopped again.

Every book within sight was written in Eluiim.

She started down the row nearest her. Big books, little books, books with gilt titles like the ones in Master's office, plain books. In all kinds of subjects – science, math, people, histories of Midros, and books with stories that were made up.

All written in Eluiim. Just like ones written in Br'ini.

In all her life, she'd read only a handful of books. When she was a child, she'd read a children's book about manners and behavior, and of course there were basic math and science books. When she was older, there were books on how to please men, and instruction books on cooking and cleaning and all kinds of jobs suited for women, but all those books together would fill up about one shelf.

"Lydia?"

She whirled around and barely managed to keep from screeching. James stood in the doorway, but he wasn't looking at her. He was gazing at the books, looking as amazed as she herself must have been.

"What is this?" he asked, his eyes finally coming to rest on her.

"I have no idea." She shook her head. "I just saw the door, and I opened it, and the lights came on, and ...this!" She swept her hand around.

He peered at the nearest shelf. "This isn't Br'ini, is it? Is it Eluiim?"

She nodded. "Every book so far is in Eluiim. There are books here that no woman would ever be allowed to read."

"And yet..." He'd picked one up and turned the book to show her the title. Advanced Mathematics - Physics and Calculus, by Raina Jercomb. He turned the book over and showed her a picture of the author, leaving no doubt.

This textbook had been written by a woman.

* * *

James immediately had his suspicions about the origins of this room. There was no doubt in his mind that women on Midros had once been as educated as men, and certainly had a lot more freedoms than now. He kept his thoughts to himself; he didn't think it was always a kindness to show a caged animal that it had once been free. Lydia was smart and would make the connection herself.

They wandered up and down the stacks, her wonder growing with each step. He didn't know any Eluiim – Raym had told him there was very little written that might be useful to his research in that language, so he hadn't bothered to study it. If his suspicions were correct, his answer might be right here.

"Lydia," he ventured. She had pulled a book out of the stacks and was gazing at the elaborate map inside the front cover. She finally looked up.

"I'm sorry! Yes, sir?"

"Lydia, are any of these books about medicine, or healing, or old cures for diseases?"

"Um, not here. Let me look." They wandered for a while longer before she began to zero in on a section. Her eyes were alight with fascination. She almost glowed in her obvious joy.

She was looking at the end of one row when James caught sight of a familiar-looking book. "This is the same one I've been reading in Br'ini!" he noted. She glanced over.

"No, sir, actually the one you were reading was about medicinal herbs. This one is about medicinal wild plants." She went back to her perusing.

James stopped and stared. His mouth dropped open. She must have had the same thought, because she turned back to him slowly, white as a sheet.

"Oh, no..." She fell to her knees, her arms outstretched in front, her breath suddenly heaving in obvious panic. "Oh, Master, no, please..."

"You can read Br'ini." His words were little more than a whisper, but she let out a wail.

"Nooo! Master, please don't turn me in, please, oh gods, please don't turn me in they'll kill me, oh please..." She was sobbing.

It took less than a second for him to drop to the floor at her side, pulling her into his arms.

"Shh, no, don't worry, I'm not, they won't, don't worry." He held her tight and rocked her back and forth until he felt her relax.

In the silence James heard a noise. It was the sound of the lift doors opening, way out in the other room. She must have heard it as well because her face went white once more. He stood up, lifting her to her feet as he did.

"Come on." He grabbed her hand. "I think we need to get out of here."

"Yes, sir," she agreed in a wobbly voice. They hastened out of the room, turning out the light as they went and moving the thankfully silent bookshelf back into place. He turned to her and wiped the tears from her face and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. "Your secret is safe with me, okay?"

She nodded and mouthed, "Thank you."

"James!" He heard Raym's voice call out.

"Back here!" he yelled in response. "We're coming up!" He led her by the hand back to the front of the archives. Raym was bent over the medicinal herbs book but at their approach, he looked up. "Well, well, well," he drawled. "You two finding a little action in the stacks? Your slave looks... a little worse for wear."

James turned to Lydia and realized she looked like she'd been crying. He surreptitiously moved his grip from her hand to her wrist and improvised. "No, unfortunately. She said something inappropriate to me so I just finished spanking her."

"Good for you! I knew you'd catch on and come to appreciate our ways."

"Hey, Raym, just in case inspiration does strike me," James winked, "is there any chance we'll be overseen? Any cameras down here? I'm not really into exhibitionism."

Raym laughed. "Nah. No one is ever down here. The more recent stuff is all computerized, and anything recent on paper is over at the government building. This stuff is ancient history. Actually, my friends and I sometimes come here when we need someplace private to do things that are, well, noisy."

"So why are you here?" James wanted to change the subject. "Did you ever get any action?" He cringed at the callousness of his question.

"That creep you smashed in the nose was still there last evening, and he didn't want me around. I'll go back tonight. Meantime I thought I'd stop in to see if you found anything interesting."

"Nah." James ran a hand through his dark curly hair. "I'm starting to think your people never looked at nature like it could be useful, instead of something to conquer. And there's nothing here at all that's over a hundred years old. Surely you had books before then?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lydia slip back to her kneeling on the floor, tear-stained face now bowed submissively, and his cock gave yet another little jump.

"Maybe there was a fire, or something? I don't really know. Anyhow, do you need me? I'll stay if you do." He smiled at James but the tone of his voice said he'd rather drink ground glass.

"No. I'm fine. Shouldn't you be checking in at the office or something today?"

"Yeah. I'm headed there now. See you..."

"Tomorrow. When I'm done here, I'm going to go enjoy my slave, since I spent so much money on her."

Raym winked and this time the smile was real. "See you tomorrow, then." He turned and re-entered the lift and was gone.

James let out a sigh. Lydia looked up.

"Master, are you all right?"

He shook his head and smiled wanly. "I'm not very good at deception. I'm a scientist. 'The truth; always the truth.' That's our motto."

"Scientists have mottos?" She looked adoringly confused and he laughed.

"No. Maybe they should, though. And a cape. Like a superhero."

The confusion on her face deepened. "A what, sir?"

He laughed again. "Never mind. Come up here."

She rose gracefully from her knees and approached his outstretched arm. He pulled her in tight and leaned down. "I think Raym is telling the truth about surveillance in this room," he whispered, "but let's not tempt anything by discussing our secrets out loud, okay?" She nodded against his chest. She was warm and soft, and her brown hair was like silk when he stroked it, and she smelled faintly of some unfamiliar flower.

"Let's go someplace we can talk. Are there any large parks or nature preserves around here where we can walk for a while?"

After a moment, she nodded and looked up. "There are woods a little way out of town. We'd have to take the el-tram but it just takes a few minutes. I've only been there once and I remember it was really nice." She smiled shyly at him and he realized again how much it lit up her face.

He looked over her dress. "Though that's about the most beautiful dress I've ever seen, it isn't really practical for walking in the woods, is it?"

She made a noise of distress. "I'm afraid all I have is the kind of clothes that would tempt a man. Not very sturdy."

He remembered a clothing store in the hotel. "I'm going to take you shopping. Arm?" He held out his elbow but she stared at him in shock. He chuckled, picked up her unresisting hand, tucked it safely between his elbow and chest and tugged her towards the lift.

A Walk in the Woods

He was going to buy her clothes? Lydia was speechless as they ascended to the surface. He had to pull her out of the lift, and then they made the short walk to the lobby doors. The clothing store was up the stairs on the way back to his room.

Thirty minutes later, she emerged from the store, still dazed. She was dressed much more practically, in a long-sleeved, opaque black shirt that dipped down her front in soft folds and gave a glimpse of her breasts. A matching black and white print skirt, almost to her knees and longer than she could ever remember wearing, swirled around her legs.

James came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I still can't believe they didn't have any decent shoes."

She looked down at the black shoes with laces that enclosed her feet. They were much more sturdy than the slip-ons she usually wore. "Sir, these will be fine. It's not very difficult ground."

He reached for her hand again and they headed for the front door. I could get used to this, she thought as they descended the stairs, then shook her head. This isn't my place. This is fun, but I need to remember who and what I am.

The walk to the el-tram was brief. The elevated transport rose high above them, and could take them almost anywhere they wanted to go in the city, or out of it. James passed his credits card over the sensor in the open-air lift and they rose up to the level of the tracks. When the tram arrived, he confused her by insisting she precede him through the door. "It's a superhero thing," he whispered as he guided her towards empty seats. He pointed at one and she nodded, moving to stand behind it and wait for him to sit. He stared at her, then glanced around the cabin. Every filled seat had a woman standing behind. She saw him do a double take when he noticed an extremely pregnant woman standing behind her master, who was relaxed back in his seat, chatting with another man facing him. There were plenty of empty seats, but no woman sat.

He turned to her. "Women stand while men sit? Even someone who's about to have a baby?" His voice carried to a few men around who looked at him strangely.

"Master, yes, it's okay, please, sir." The last thing she wanted was to make a scene. Slaves who were involved in scenes, no matter who was at fault, rarely came out ahead. He seemed to understand because he nodded slowly and sat down facing away from her.

The trip was less than ten minutes, and James didn't talk to anyone the whole time. At last she was able to lean over and whisper to him that it was time to get off. She breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't insist that she go first and she was able to fall into place behind him, as they exited. She continued following him across the platform, then moved behind him in the lift to stand while they descended. He made no move to grab her hand again as they exited out onto the ground near the edge of a thick forest, and this disconcerted her.

"Sir? James?" She was tentative, unsure if she wanted him to say what was bothering him or not, but venturing a guess. "Do women sit in the seats where you come from?"

He nodded. "Yes. And often men stand."

Men stood while women sat?

"If there're open seats, no one stands. And everyone, woman or man, moves to give a pregnant woman, or someone for whom it's hard to stand, a seat. If a man tried to keep his seat and make a pregnant woman stand, he'd have a dozen other men in his face picking him up and tossing him out on his ass."

"Wow," she breathed. The thought made her head spin.

"Okay, let's take a walk, shall we?" He smiled as he offered his arm, and it brightened up his whole face. She felt her heart do a little flip-flop. They picked one of the dozen paths that led into the trees, and set off.

The trees were enormous, and she told him that each was several hundred years old. Their dark roots, the circumference often thicker than a man, lay above the ground. They spread out from the tree for many meters, covered with moss, and often crossed over each other. The result was a very lumpy ground. The path wound around these obstacles as much as possible, but several times James had to lift Lydia up and over a particularly large one. Each time his strong arms went around her waist she sent a silent thanks upward to the trees.

They walked without talking. The ferns that covered the open ground between the roots brushed against her bare ankles. The breeze whirled gently around them, and the birds chirping above were the only sound.

Lydia wanted desperately to discuss what had happened back in the Archives – both parts – but she had to wait until he brought it up. He seemed very lost in thoughts for a while.

"Lydia," he finally said, "we have to talk about... everything."

"Thank you, James, for not saying anything," she blurted out.

He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. "Would they really kill you, or were you just exaggerating?" His tone was almost demanding, almost accusatory, and she shrank back from him.

"Yes, sir, they would," she whispered. "It's been twelve years since they did it, but... they did it."

He turned away and walked a few feet. "How long have you been able to read Br'ini?"

She studied him for a few minutes. Up to this point she hadn't actually said 'I can read,' and she wondered if she could go back to just pretending she couldn't. Why should she trust him with a secret this big?

But it was too late. "A- a few months." She told him about the translation dictionary, and how she'd spent hours studying it every night. "I don't know why, except that it feels so good to use my mind for something. Sometimes I feel like my brain is shrinking. I've read every book and household manual Master owns. I help the cook with her kitchen budget. I help Frini plan the garden – figuring out the dimensions and the amount of soil and fertilizer. But mostly I clean, do errands, and serve Master."

"How are you going to spend the rest of your life pretending you can't read Br'ini?" he asked softly.

She was silent while she found the right words. "I've lain in bed many nights wondering the same thing, and convinced I should just throw that dictionary out. It keeps coming down to this – If I have to close up my mind for the rest of my life, then it's not worth living. If I get found out – well, that's that."

He picked her hand up again and held it tight.

"Master, it was my choice. It is what it is."

He took a deep breath and nodded.

"May I change the subject?" She really wanted to ask about that room.

"Of course!"

"Women used to learn and teach everything that men did, didn't they?" Her whole world had been turned upside down in the last few hours.

"I think so."

"Why is it hidden?"

He looked like he was choosing his words carefully. "When one group becomes more powerful than another, it's easier to keep that power if you take away any reminders of what was lost, like destroying books written by women. I would guess that there were women who saw it coming and created that room in an attempt to keep from losing everything."

"We should tell people about it!" Even as she said it, she knew it was a foolish idea.

"Lydia, if we tell anyone, your government will destroy everything."

"I know." There seemed to be no easy answers. "So now what?"

"For starters, I just want to enjoy the beauty of these woods with a pretty woman on my arm. The rest – we'll figure it out later."

She smiled. It would do, for now.

* * *

James stopped at a large horizontal root that ran alongside the path, about a meter and a half off the ground. He sat down and motioned to her, and she prepared to kneel in the ferns at his feet.

"No, Lydia, please come sit next to me."

Her eyes widened but she sat where he pointed.

"This is beautiful," was his only comment. She nodded.

He turned to her. "You are beautiful." Suddenly his lips were touching hers. It was a gently tentative touch, as though he was unsure how it would be received. She pulled back in surprise, blinking at him, not sure what to say. A heartbeat later she leaned back into the kiss, meeting his lips, imitating him, kissing him over and over. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but it felt wonderful and she wanted more. She gripped his arm; he put his hand behind her, capturing her head as he increased the pressure. She felt his tongue gently touch hers and while it was the strangest thing she'd ever done, she decided right then and there that she wanted to do it again and again. Her tongue met his and the kisses became more frantic. Her hands slid up to cup his face and he didn't object, and now each held the other in place.

Eventually they pulled apart by a mutual need to breathe. She stared at him with wide eyes.

"I like how you kiss." He moved a tendril of hair out of her face.

"Thank you, sir. I, um, wasn't sure if I was doing it right."

His brow wrinkled. "You haven't kissed before?" When she shook her head, he looked even more confused. "But, you've pleasured your master many times, right?"

"Yes, of course. But kissing – that's usually what masters do with their First Slaves. The ones they buy because of love. I'm just for sex and household service."

He stared at her and she didn't know what to say. He obviously was confused, but she wasn't sure why, exactly. Eventually he nodded and looked away into the distance. She suspected he wasn't really seeing what he was looking at. She took a huge leap and did something she'd never dare do with her master. She reached a hand out and gently stroked the bulge between his legs that was threatening to rip his pants.

He groaned softly and closed his eyes. "Don't."

His command lacked conviction, so she disobeyed and repeated the movement.

"Lydia." This time it was almost a pleading. "Please. It's not right. You're a slave, and that's not right. This whole thing isn't right. Fuck." He let his breath out but made no move to stop her.

She shook off the confusion that his statement gave her, and focused on the part she knew how to deal with. "James, sir, I like sex. A lot. I know some slaves don't and they have to be forced to serve, but not me." She rubbed a little harder. His sudden grip around her wrist stilled her movements. She looked up to see him looking down at her, his eyes glittering. She shivered.

"You like it when your master fucks you?" It almost came out as a growl.

She nodded, suddenly feeling very meek. "Yes, sir. And he's not always gentle." She wondered if he understood what she was saying.

He slid off the tree, her wrist still caught in his grip. "Stand up." There was no question of obeying this tone of voice. The moment her feet hit the ground he spun her around to face the root, her wrist now twisted behind her back. He captured the other wrist and pulled it back to join the first. "Like this?" he hissed.

"Yes, sir. Exactly like this." It appeared he did understand.

With his other hand, he applied pressure between her shoulder blades, bending her forward until her chest rested on the root.

"If I let go of your wrists, can you keep them there?"

"Yes, sir." She had years of experience holding still while things were done to her. A sudden coolness on her backside signaled that he'd lifted her dress up and out of the way. She felt his warm hand as it touched and then caressed her round globes. She let out a sigh of contentment. A finger traced the edges of the strange V-shaped marks left by the whip. There was only a pleasant ache to his gentle touch, until she felt a fingernail trace a line. She let out a groan.

The finger stilled. "Does that hurt?"

The way that he was doing it? "A little, sir, and please do it some more?"

He chuckled and she felt his fingernail scrape the next one down, a little harder. She responded with another groan. The one after that caused her to stifle a cry. The fourth one felt like a knife on the sensitive skin and she didn't stifle that cry at all. It was that pleasure and pain together that she loved so much. He lay his hand on her skin and rubbed gently, and the sting faded away. She felt his hand slide down, felt the fingers move towards the cleft between her cheeks and waited and hoped for his next move.

She felt the pressure of his hands on the inside of her thighs and knew without asking what he needed. She slid her feet apart just wider than her shoulders. She was wet. Oh, so wet. The hand slid down between her legs and one finger dipped into the warm pool and she groaned as she felt him touch her inner folds, and her outer folds, then slide back up to that other hole that was so sensitive, leaving a trail of cool wetness as he went. He moved back down between her legs again, and this time the finger slipped up inside her and she let out a strangled cry of lust. But this wasn't where she wanted to be touched. She wanted to be touched in that place that would shoot her over the moon. But a slave never asked for that. It was his to do, or not do. His to give, or not.

Then it occurred to her lust-fogged brain that women on his planet could do whatever they wanted. Did that include sex? There was one way to find out, and she just had to cross her fingers she didn't spoil everything.

"Sir," she managed to get out in between the panting his touch was creating, "sir, on your planet, do the women ask to have an orgasm?"

"What?" The gyrations inside stopped, but he didn't withdraw.

"We, um, here, um, don't ever ask for orgasms. The master will either give one or not, but we don't ask."

She could almost feel his grin from behind. "Well, now, is that your back-handed way of begging for an orgasm without breaking any rules?"

"No, Master!" she protested, even as his fingers resumed their pumping in and out. "Ahh!" she screeched as he went in particularly deep. "All right, maybe!" she admitted.

This time she heard his deep rich laugh. I haven't made him mad! She sighed with relief.

"Yes, women ask for orgasms. Some even demand them."

She tried to turn her head to look at him in disbelief, but at that moment, he stuck a thumb in the crevice of her ass and gave a gentle push and all thoughts of women on other planets rushed out of her head.

Now he was pumping at least three fingers in and out of her wetness, alternating with his thumb, which was just barely breeching the entrance of her anus, but lighting up every nerve.

"If I had a slave, she'd be allowed to beg as much as she wanted. But I might not give her one, even then."

Did he just say it was okay for her to beg? She tried to form a coherent thought, then threw fifteen years of obedience training out the window. "Please, James, please, let me come! Please!"

"Not yet." She dared to let out a groan of frustration and yelped when his hand landed with a 'smack!' across her backside. A fire roared up inside her. This was the part of her life that made her forget all her problems. She could ride atop the waves of pain during an erotic spanking and arrive at the end limp but renewed. The more her master demanded her sexual submission, the happier she was. The more she was bound in real restraints, the less she struggled with the restraints of her life.

His hand withdrew and she almost let out another protest. She heard the rustling of fabric behind her. It's about time!

Suddenly he gripped her wrists, which were lying so obedient and still across her back. She felt something warm touch her slick folds and push them aside. He plunged into her depths, his cock so much bigger than she was used to that she felt split apart and filled at the same time. She let out little panting moans with each thrust and withdrawal. This was... incredible. Then, to her delight, she felt his other hand sneak around her waist and down between her legs in the front, and a finger sought and found her clit. She screeched and bucked at the touch, but his weight kept her pinned in place, just the way she liked it.

"Come any time you want to," he purred in her ear as he continued to thrust. He knew exactly what he was doing and inside of a minute, she was hurtling up and over the cliff. She screeched again, longer and louder, a tiny portion of her mind hoping that only the birds were near enough to hear. His thrusts kept the sensation going long past the time when it would have stopped on its own. Her legs were going to give way any minute.

Without warning, she felt him stiffen and groan, and suddenly he pulled out. She opened her eyes and turned her head to the side to see him spilling his cum onto the dirt as he groaned loudly.

"Master?" she asked in confusion. He ignored her for a moment as he stroked the final drops out. At last he opened his eyes, turning them on her.

"I didn't want to make a mess of you," he explained.

"Oh. Thank you. I would have been happy to receive you in my mouth." She looked at the few glistening drops on the end of his softening shaft. "May I?" She looked up at him.

He nodded slowly and she moved the few feet towards him, then sank down on her knees. Her tongue darted out and caught a single drop. It barely brushed the head of his cock, but it was enough to bring forth a strangled groan. She repeated the action with a little more firmness, rewarded by another groan and a "Fuck." One more time she bent forward, and took the whole head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around to catch every drop, and she saw his knees start to buckle and his hands fist at his side. She pulled off with a smile.

"Was that satisfactory, sir?" she asked.

"Yes. Oh, yes. You could say that." He reached down to help her up. "Oh, yeah." He tucked himself back in his pants, and picked off a dead leaf that had stuck to the front of her dress. "Thank you."

She beamed. "You're welcome, sir." He lifted her chin and bent forward as though to kiss her once more, when the spell was broken by the sound of a group of shrieking boys moving in their direction.

"I think it's time to go." He straightened up and held out his elbow, and she tucked her hand into the now-familiar crook of his arm, and they wandered back to the front of the park.

The Leather Shop

James was not interested in going back to the hotel or the archives today, and so by unspoken agreement they exited the el-tram one stop early to walk through the city. The late afternoon was pleasantly warm. Tiny pink and white leaves from the hundreds of flowering trees lining the sidewalks floated in the light breeze before settling on the ground at their feet to be stirred up as James and Lydia walked.

"This is a beautiful planet," he observed.

She nodded. "Even the rugged and rocky areas have a stark beauty, with the layers of tan rock and the dark redstone, mixed with layers of pink paeolate. Have you ever seen the pink flash as the sun sets?" He shook his head. "The conditions have to be just right. As the sun disappears in the evening, the rays reflect off the paeolate dust floating around and the air turns pink all around you for just a second. It's amazing."

They walked through an open-air market. It was a strange sight to James, who was accustomed to choosing food from a rotating list of prepared dishes supplied by the food service he subscribed to, and arriving packaged and sanitized on his plate. Here, vegetables and fruits lay side-by-side with wheels of cheese and slabs of cured meat. Something that looked like a striped fish, half the size of a man, lay displayed on ice, and he could hear the woman in front of the stall bargaining with the owner. James smiled; some things never changed no matter how advanced civilization became. She declared that the fish was beginning to smell and he was cheating her, and he declared that the fish was fresh caught that morning and he had a family to feed. James caught a whiff of the fish on the breeze and silently wished the woman luck; that fish had definitely not been alive and swimming for a few days.

They passed an open-air store that James wasn't paying attention to, until another smell, more familiar and welcome, made him swivel his head. A large display of leather goods caught his attention. His eyes widened when he realized he was looking at beautifully crafted whips, floggers and straps of all different lengths and thicknesses. There were harnesses, and gags, and wrist and ankle cuffs. He breathed deep, the smell bringing back memories that made him smile. But leather wasn't all they sold. There were chains and ropes and clamps and plugs – everything a sadist like him could ever hope to own.

He glanced down to Lydia, whose eyes were wide as she took in the display.

"I want to stop in here for a moment. Don't worry; I'm not going to use anything I get here on you. You want to wait outside?"

He almost swore a look of disappointment flashed across her face. "If Master wishes," she said formally. He gave her a curious look before releasing her to stand at the door while he went in.

"Good afternoon, sir!" A man behind the counter called out a cheery greeting. "I can see you are a man who appreciates the qualities of the finest leather on Midros. Please take a look around and let me know if I can answer any questions."

James nodded absently, his eyes already glued to a flogger of buttery soft, dark brown leather. Something like that would feel almost like massaging fingers on the bare skin of a submissive bent over the arm of a chair. It was designed to stimulate, not punish, and he'd known more than one woman who'd screamed out an orgasm after receiving strokes between her eagerly widespread legs with a flogger similar to this one. He picked it up off the wall and it felt just as wonderful as it looked. The weight was perfectly balanced; the length was just right for standing close enough to stroke the woman's skin with his hand between blows.

"Ah, that's a beauty, isn't it? It's a lucky woman who'd have that used upon her naked ass." The owner beamed at James' good taste.

James nodded. The price was reasonable for the quality, so the decision was easy. He'd enjoy using this someday on the right submissive back home. If he ever had the time to have a relationship, that was.

He picked up a set of wrist and ankle cuffs made of soft red leather topped with a wide strip of stiff black leather. They were padded on the inside and each had a small lock to keep mischievous submissives from releasing themselves. These would be stunning on someone with brown hair – just like color of Lydia's hair, he realized with a start. He grabbed four connectors and added them to his growing pile.

The smiling shop owner finished the sale and held out the bag in Lydia's direction. She darted into the store and took the bag without comment, then retreated. James took a last look around and a question occurred to him.

"Did you make all of these?"

"Well, I'll let you in on a secret. I make these floggers here, the soft ones, the ones for play. My slaves make most of the other things. Spending days making whips or straps tends to keep them well-behaved, and very focused on making them perfect, because anything less than perfect gets used on them." He winked at James and laughed at his own joke.

James felt all the pleasure drain out of him as he was confronted yet again with the fact that none of these slaves had any choice in their lives. If this owner wanted to beat them, no one would stop him. He mumbled a thanks and turned around, grabbing Lydia and almost dragging her away from the store.

They walked for a while in silence before James willed himself to relax. He had to stop letting all this get to him, or he'd go out of his mind. There was no telling how long he'd be here on Midros, so he'd better get used to this way of life. There was nothing he could do to change it.

A Quiet Evening

Lydia was silent as they made their gradual way back to the hotel. She was grateful that James didn't question her. Often the privacy of her thoughts was the only privacy she was allowed, and even then she had learned to keep her face neutral lest someone insist she share those thoughts. She clutched the bag with the flogger and cuffs in her hand, longing to open it and stare at them, and breathe in the heady scent of fresh leather. She wondered what it might feel like to have it used on her, and a little jealous that some unknown woman was going to feel its caress on her naked skin. She shook her head. She needed to banish those thoughts and focus on the present.

Her mood lightened and she laughed as they passed a group of small boys, barely walking, trying to chase a ball across the grass, tumbling and falling over each other in a vain attempt to retrieve it. She smiled up at James, who'd been watching her closely the whole way, and he smiled back and squeezed her hand.

They arrived back in the room and Lydia took the opportunity to look around it this time. Carvings on the posts of the magnificent bed caught her eye. The light had been too dim, and she had been too terrified, to see them last night. She moved to study them. To her surprise, the scenes were unabashedly erotic. Carved vines circled and entwined sinuous naked women. Some of the vines appeared artistically arranged, while some clearly bound the carved woman to a post, a tree and even a lattice frame. As she looked further up, she noticed a ring protruding from the post above her head. She looked at the other posts, and saw the same thing.

Her breath caught in her throat and moisture flooded her pussy. A fantasy of being tied up and completely at the mercy of her temporary master flashed through her thoughts—

"Lydia?"

She spun around. He had an amused expression on his face.

"What's so interesting?"

"Uh, it's a beautiful bed, sir."

"Is that all?"

She stared at him, unable to answer out loud. Um, no, that's not all. Please tie my wrists high up on those posts so that I am stretched out tight and presented for your pleasure, and then use that wonderful flogger you bought today all over my bare skin. Please!

"Y-yes, sir. That's all."

He lifted his eyebrows and studied her for a moment before shrugging and turning away.

The room had been cleaned and straightened while they'd been gone. The suitcase had been moved to a rack that was made for suitcases, and the sheet had been removed from the piece of furniture in the corner. She moved closer and then stopped, stunned at what had been hidden underneath.

A spanking bench?

It looked similar to the one at her master's house, with the pads for knees and elbows, and the restraints hanging off the sides for wrists, ankles, knees, elbows, waist, and if she wasn't mistaken, a ring to clip the collar to, to keep the slave's head pulled down. This one differed in that the part that was knelt on could be pulled out to either side, to split the slave's legs wide apart. Her master rarely used the one he owned, preferring to punish all but the most egregious disobedience over his lap with either his hand, for minor offenses, or a wooden paddle for more serious ones. Lydia was by nature obedient enough that even those punishments were few and far between. Perversely, she sometimes wished she would disobey more.

No, she'd only seen the bench used once at home, when Frini was punished after she'd gotten angry at one of the gardeners who'd carelessly killed a flowering bush that she loved. She'd shoved him backwards and he tripped and fell, spraining his wrist. She was immediately apologetic, but that didn't mitigate her punishment. Master had commanded all the slaves to watch as he fastened her down on the bench and proceeded to use the heavy leather strap on her smooth and unmarked ass while she cried out that she was sorry over and over between her screams. Lydia had gone back to her bedroom in a daze after that and masturbated twice to the memory, an act itself that was enough to warrant punishment if she'd been discovered.

"Don't worry." James' chuckle right behind her made her jump. "It just comes with the room." He picked a blanket up off the end of the bed and tossed it over the bench, hiding it once more. "Now you won't even have to look at it."

"Yes, sir, um, thank you, sir." It was probably better that she couldn't stare at it all day and night. She made herself turn away.

* * *

James sat back on the couch and studied the young woman in front of him. Lydia was an interesting, complicated mix, and he didn't know what to do. She was an involuntary slave, raised to give sexual service to the man who owned her, whether she wanted to or not. But she oozed a sensuality and submissiveness that didn't seem faked at all. He hadn't missed the widening of her eyes and the catch of her breath as she looked at the restraint points on the bed, and the absolute fascination she showed with the spanking bench. He knew without a doubt that when he'd thrown the blanket over it that she had a look of abject disappointment on her face. He supposed it was possible that she actually wanted more than her current master wanted to give her. In another place, in another life, he'd be happy to be the man to give her what she truly wanted, but here, and now?

* * *

They ate in the room again; he sat in the big lounge chair and she leaned against his legs, content. They talked – well, James mostly talked, about his life, and his world. They avoided the two subjects that loomed over them.

They'd been quiet for a while, lost in their own thoughts, when Lydia impulsively repeated the bold move she'd made in the park, and reached her hand out to fondle the ever-present bulge in his pants. He groaned, but this time he made no move to send her away. She pushed on, unbuckling his belt, opening his pants and reaching in to pull his stiff cock out towards her waiting mouth.

The chair was so deep that she had trouble getting to him while on her knees. He grabbed her wrist and hauled her over to the bed. Once he sat on the side, he was at the perfect height for her mouth to concentrate on his ramrod-stiff cock. She mentally crossed her fingers that using her hands was permitted, and she reached forward; one hand gently and reverently cupped his balls while the other embraced the base. The groans coming from above told her she was right on track. She nibbled, then kissed, then licked the head, lapping at the glistening drops already leaking out. Her hand started stroking the length of him even as her mouth descended fully upon it. She sucked her cheeks in as she pulled out and was rewarded with a strangled cry that only encouraged her to do it more. Her hands kept busy, tugging and gently twisting, sliding up and down, pressing and massaging on that nerve that runs along the backside. She momentarily froze as she felt his hands on her head, but he kept the touch soft, and it almost seemed that he needed the physical contact with her rather than wanting to control her.

She paused long enough to turn her head to the side and take his balls into her mouth, where she sucked and licked and tugged. Her hands kept busy on his cock. Another cry told her that he was getting close, so she slid her mouth back to take his cock as deep as she could. She never felt close to choking, and she was enjoying this blowjob more than any she could ever remember.

His loud cry filled the large room as he came. Spurts of warm cum shot to the back of her mouth and she drank them down eagerly. He shook and vibrated as she sucked him dry, until he finally pushed her away and fell backwards onto the bed.

"Fuck, woman! You've killed me. I am totally making them change that sign."

"Sir?" She had no idea what he was talking about.

"The sign that says you're a seven out of ten with blow jobs. You're a fucking eleven. Probably a twelve."

She laughed out loud as she struggled to her feet. "Thank you, sir! Every girl likes to hear things like that." She darted into the bathroom to get a warm rag for cleaning. When she emerged, less than thirty seconds after going in, he was sound asleep, his legs still hanging off the side of the bed. She'd never known someone who fell asleep as fast as he did. She looked at him for a moment, wondering what to do. With a shrug, she lifted his legs up, staggering at their weight, and swung him around onto the bed. He came awake for a moment, long enough to climb under the covers, before falling asleep again. She laughed to herself. Second night in a row he'd done this, but tonight she knew what to do. She tossed her clothes onto the floor and climbed up onto the bed, slipping under the covers next to him. The sheets were silky, the mattress soft, and the man beside her was warm. She curled up as close to him as she could get and told the lights to turn off. As the room went black, she felt a strong arm curl around her and pull her close.

The Spanking

James woke just as the sky was beginning to lighten, feeling optimistic instead of cynical for the first time since he'd arrived. When he rolled over, he realized why. Lydia lay facing him, on her side, still sleeping. She looked peaceful, and he wished she could stay asleep, because he knew once she woke up that her troubles would come rushing back. Her hair spilled all over the pillow and her hands were tucked up under her chin. She was naked. The sheet was pulled up over one breast, but the other lay exposed, soft and round, with a little gold ring through it and a tag hanging off of it. He was curious about the tag, so he carefully leaned over. It was disappointingly utilitarian— 'Lydia # 4458932'. James thought the idea of a tag was sexy as hell, but his would have read something along the lines of 'Lydia, precious slave of James'.

Goddamn. He pushed that thought out of his mind. It was too late for his cock, though. It liked the idea, a lot.

He was in over his head. Way, way over his head. In little more than one day, this beautiful, amazingly intelligent woman had turned his world upside down. To be fair, he'd turned hers upside down probably even more.

He didn't know what was going to happen today, but it wasn't going to happen until after a shower, so he slipped out of bed without disturbing her. The hot water was heavenly and he turned his back to the spray to let it pound into his tight muscles. He really needed to find a way to exercise more while he was on Midros. After a moment, he opened his eyes to realize he was holding on to two metal rings protruding from the shower wall, about chest high. He looked up, and there were two identical ones about two feet up.

The bathroom door opened and he heard her come in.

"Master, would you like me to join you?"

He was about to refuse then changed his mind. "Yes. I would love your company."

She slipped in behind him. He started to turn around when he felt her hands on his shoulders. He groaned as she located the exact spot that always caused him pain, and she seemed to know just how to massage it into submission despite her small hands. But after a few minutes of bliss, he had another need. He turned around and without warning wrapped his arms around her, lifted her up, and swung her around so her back was now against the shower wall. He put her feet back on the ground and raised her arms up high and she knew without asking to grab the rings. He stepped back to admire the view.

Her arms were stretched above her, pulling her sweet round breasts up high, and presenting them for his viewing pleasure. And, oh, it was a pleasure indeed. Her eyes glittered and a smile lit up her face. But the nagging voice in his head was still there.

"Lydia–" he began.

"Master, please. Listen. The law requires me to spread my legs for you if you request it. It requires me to present my ass for punishment if you demand it. Nowhere does it insist that I sneak into the bathroom and ask to join you in the shower."

He studied her face and found not a trace of fear. "The law requires you to spread your legs for me if I demand it?"

She nodded.

"Spread them." It came out as a growl.

With her eyes cast demurely down, she spread apart wide enough that she was now fully stretched and even slightly up on the balls of her feet. The water ran down her curves. It dripped off her nipples. It slid into the cleft between her legs, to disappear into the depths.

He reached out a hand and delicately touched one of the rings hanging from her nipple. She caught her breath.

"Have you had these long?" He gave a light tug and she groaned.

"About seven years, sir. My master had them put in soon after he bought me."

"It seems your nipples are very sensitive."

"The rings have made it ten times worse," she panted as he continued to play with it, pulling a little, twisting it a little, until she was thrusting her breasts at him, desperation written all over her face.

"I see that," he observed. "Let's see if your other one is just as sensitive." He leaned down before she could answer and took the very tip of her other brown nipple in his teeth and bit gently. She hissed and squealed and writhed as he increased the pressure. Then he let go with his teeth but kept the nipple in his mouth, sucking on it and tickling the tip with his tongue. Her squeals turned to rhythmic moans. He pushed her back against the wall so she couldn't wiggle out of his grasp while he tormented her mercilessly. At last he let it go with a pop and a squeal from Lydia.

She stared at him, breathing fast.

"Did you like that?" he asked with a smirk.

After a moment, she nodded.

"Did it make you wet? Wait!" Before she could answer, he slid his hand down her belly to cup her mound. "Would you like me to touch you here?"

He saw her consider, then nod again. James knew she was having trouble saying what she wanted.

"Say it." His hand didn't move.

"Please touch me, sir." It was a whisper.

"Louder."

"Please touch me, sir!" she almost shouted. A quick learner. He grinned.

"It would be my pleasure." He slipped his middle finger into her folds. They were slick, as slick as he'd ever felt in his life. He slid right over her clit and she shrieked.

"Don't come unless I tell you to." She nodded her head but he could see the doubt in her eyes. He rubbed a bit more.

"Sir! Please! I can't hold it back!" she pleaded into his eyes.

"If you come without permission, I will put you over my knees and spank you. Underst–"

Her orgasm erupted without warning. She let out a loud cry and shuddered, her knees giving out. He caught her around the waist as she fell and eased her down on her knees.

He stood over her, watching, making sure she was breathing. As she recovered, she bent low and let out a sob. "I'm sorry, Master. I've never been good at holding back, and when you threatened to spank me..."

"You came because of my threat to spank you?"

She nodded, her eyes still on the floor of the shower.

"Well. Then I think I have a spanking to give you."

She shuddered. "Yes, sir," she whispered, barely loud enough to hear over the water.

"Let's get ourselves showered and you can think about what's coming." He helped her up, watching her closely. Despite his sternness, he needed to know for sure this was really something she wanted. The fact that she came when he threatened a spanking was another good sign, but...

"Make sure you wash between your legs thoroughly. I'll probably spank a little there, too."

Her mouth dropped open at that and she nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

They finished their shower in silence. When he was ready to turn the water off, he asked, "Did you clean completely down there?"

"Yes, sir, but..."

"But what?"

"It keeps coming back, sir. I-I-" She was blushing furiously.

"Thinking of the spanking?"

She was staring a hole in the floor. "Yes."

Okay. It was okay. This was a strange tightrope he was walking.

* * *

"Dry off now, and meet me out there." He tossed his towel on the floor and marched into the bedroom. He considered staying naked but his totally stiff cock might make lying over his lap a little difficult for her, so he slipped on some pants and sat in one of the chairs to wait.

He glanced over at the spanking bench, once more covered with the blanket. He'd considered using it, but this first time he knew he'd get a better feel for her reactions, her true feelings, by keeping her as close as possible, his skin touching hers. Besides, he liked having a woman over his lap. Maybe in another day or so...

His palm itched with anticipation. It had been a while since he'd given anyone a spanking. He'd been too goddamn busy. He certainly never expected to reacquaint himself with his favorite activity during this trip.

Safe word. The phrase popped into his mind. Shit. She'd probably never heard of one, and would never dream of calling it out anyway. He couldn't forget she was a real slave, and despite her willing participation she was trained to accept whatever was given to her, no matter how harsh. He was going to have to be very, very careful.

She appeared in the bathroom door, still completely naked. With a quick glance towards the spanking bench and a look he could swear was longing, she took a deep breath and walked bravely towards him.

He smiled at her and she tentatively smiled back. He pointed at his lap, and she laid herself over it as though she'd done this a hundred times. She wiggled to get comfortable, her hands just reaching the floor on the other side, and he stifled a groan as she jostled his cock.

He ran a hand over the still-damp skin on her round, soft ass. The sight of the damage to her bottom and back made him wince and he felt his anger flare up again at the injustice she'd endured. His resolve to spank her wavered and he felt his cock deflate.

"Sir?" she asked from underneath the curtain of hair falling forward over her head.

"Hmm?"

"It's all right. I feel your, uh, hesitation, but it's okay. What you're going to do is different from what was done to me, and I like this kind of pain."

Her openness floored him. Very few submissive women could state their desires so plainly. He slid his hand down between her legs and into her folds and was reassured that she was still soaking wet. He thrust his fingers in and out, wresting wonderful moans that drifted up from their origin near the floor. One of his fingers deliberately brushed her clit again and she bucked up and screeched.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Hmm. I'd better leave that alone for now. It's going to get you in trouble again. So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to warm up your bottom for several minutes. Those spanks don't count. Then I'm going to spank you thoroughly for coming without permission. And I promise I'm going to watch you closely to see how you're doing."

"Thank you, sir," came the quiet reply.

He lifted his hand and brought it down in a short, sharp smack. "Oh!" came her reaction, but nothing more. Again, he did the same thing, and after no struggling and hardly any reaction, he increased the sting a little with each spank. He peppered her cheeks with smack after smack, watching the beautiful round globes bounce back after each one. She began to shift a little as he increased the strength of the smacks. Her bottom took on a soft pink between the red marks of the cruel whip. He had to admit he loved the combination of colors.

He heard her start to grunt in response to each smack. He stopped and soothed the dark pink skin, knowing that the massage would ease the sting and help her relax. Once more, his hand dipped between her legs to check the situation and she was wetter than before, if that was even possible. He gripped her around the waist with one hand to hold her still and with the other, he teased her clit. She threw up her head and let out a long, low moan.

"You tell me when you're getting close to coming, do you hear?"

"Yes, sir! Oh! Please! Oh!" She ceased pleading in favor of continuous whimpering. It only took a minute before she cried out. "I'm going to come!"

He pulled his hand away and ceased all physical contact. This time she wailed at the lost sensation but didn't protest.

"Look at that. Nice and swollen, and aching to be spanked. What do you think?"

"Yes, please, sir. Please spank me there." Her voice was so soft he almost missed it. Well, damn.

His smacks came hard now, and he had to hold her tight to keep her from struggling right off his lap. He listened for sounds of real distress, but heard only whimpers and cries. He stopped to soothe the reddened flesh and she sighed. He slipped his finger back up to her clit and gave it several light, teasing strokes.

"Got to keep this nice and swollen for a few more minutes."

This time she let out a sob.

The spanks continued, all over her ass, a few on the tender junction between her thighs and legs. Her keening grew in volume and her struggles grew more frantic. He wished she belonged to him so that he could know her well enough to take her right up to that wonderful edge of 'too much', and pause just a millimeter away from it.

He soothed the hot and reddened flesh as the sobs beneath him stilled. Her slit beckoned to him, the edges swollen and gaping and hinting of depths begging to be plundered. He took the opportunity to slip two fingers way up inside. She groaned. There was still room, so he slipped a third finger inside. Her moaning grew louder and more desperate.

"So nice and tight. But I think you could handle a little more."

"No, please, no more," she whimpered. He stilled. Was this the pleading of someone at her limits? Or the pleading that submissives loved to do in hopes that their Dom would ignore them and forge right ahead?

He crossed his mental fingers and started to work his fourth finger in. It was tight. Very tight. Wonderfully tight. She tried to pull away but his grip around her waist was sure. He slid the fingers back and forth, a little deeper each time. She groaned and sobbed and made grunting noises, but at last the fourth finger was all the way in.

"How does that feel?"

"So full, Master. Like– like I've been invaded."

"Is that good, or bad?"

"Good, Master. Very good."

He did a mental cheer. He pumped all four fingers in and out slowly, then removed his index finger. He held her tight as he brushed her clit. She bucked and screeched.

"Master, if you don't want me to come–!"

He pulled his fingers completely out and she let out a cry. She'd spread her legs apart as he'd invaded her, and he took advantage of that by raising his hand up and bringing it down with a hard spank between her legs, right over her clit. She let out a strangled cry and snapped her legs shut.

"Open them." There was no room for negotiation in his tone. She relaxed her tense muscles and let her legs fall apart as she whimpered in anticipation of his next smack. He slapped his hand down hard on the swollen red tissues and immediately plunged three fingers back inside while the fourth rubbed her clit hard.

"Come!"

She screamed and shook with convulsion after convulsion. When he finally stopped tormenting the swollen bud, she collapsed across his knees. He stroked and soothed her, then carefully rolled her over and pulled her unresisting form onto his lap where he cradled her against his chest.

Eventually he stood her on her feet long enough to turn her to the bed and help her lay face down. He knelt down beside the bed and wiped at the tears tracks across her face.

"Everything okay?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm fine." She smiled, her eyes dropping down and her cheeks reddening. "You're good at this."

"Thank you. It's been a while since I've had the opportunity." He picked up one of her hands and kissed it. "And I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather spank."

The corner of her mouth lifted. "Is that a compliment, sir?"

"Absolutely." He helped her sit up. "Breakfast?"

She looked down at the bulge in his pants and back up with a question in her eyes.

"Oh, don't worry. It's not going anywhere."

She looked at him with wide eyes. "Then, yes. Please."

Auction Day

He ordered room service and as they ate he finally shared the secret of his trip to Midros. She'd heard of Oblita, and even the difficulties of using it off-planet. He told her that he had a strong suspicion that the answer he needed was in that room they'd discovered. "In many cultures, knowledge of natural medicine rests with women, especially if a male-dominated culture feels that anything to do with nature is old-fashioned or unscientific."

She nodded. That was exactly how she would describe her world. Always eager to try the newest advanced thing and never realizing that maybe the best was something older, or rested in the wisdom of those who didn't hold power.

"So, let's get in there soon, before there's a possibility that Raym would come down. We'll find a handful of books and bring them out to the main room."

Their plan decided upon, they dressed, and Lydia chose the least see-through outfit she had. She hadn't planned on trying not to be a distraction to someone this week. Nevertheless, James let out a whistle and a groan as he emerged from the bathroom to see a red dress, the front and back joined at the shoulders but open down the sides, held close to her by a wide strip of fabric, and ending with another short fluttery skirt.

"It's going to be difficult to get anything done looking at you, that's for sure."

"Sir, I'd still be happy to relieve your, um, stress." In truth, she was anxious to get her mouth on his cock again.

"There's an eagerness in your voice that I love. But once I start thinking of work, I can't stop. I promise, I'll put you to use later."

Why did that phrase 'put you to use' make her wet all over again? She'd been put to use hundreds of times as a slave, and never gotten as much pleasure out of it as at this moment. She shook her head as he offered his arm.

They walked down to the lobby. She looked more at the people this time instead of the floor. She watched women who, despite their black collars, walked with confidence beside their partners, not having to be held on to or walk behind them. She saw women who talked loudly, who laughed heartily, who knew that their words were being listened to with respect.

Who got to take the black collars off when they left.

Coming to this hotel was a double-edged sword. It was beautiful, but it showed her a side of life she suddenly wanted, and could never have. She dropped her eyes to the floor for the rest of their trip out the front door.

Once they were in the lift, she relaxed. It was easier when she didn't see the forbidden. Until the doors opened and once again she was confronted with miles of books that she wasn't supposed to read. She sighed.

They spent the whole morning searching though books they brought from the secret room and kept tucked away in a corner of the main room. She translated page after page of information on wild plants, natural medicines, biochemistry, and also a version of history she'd never heard before. One that included women as partners, if not full equals, in the scientific fields. She felt her mind fill with information like a sponge soaking up water. She could never get enough.

Raym did indeed come down, and they scrambled to hide the Eluiim books, so that by the time the elevator doors opened James was reading from a Br'ini text and Lydia was on her knees next to him, staring at the floor and trying to look bored.

She listened as James did his best impression of a scientist immersed in his subject who really didn't want to be disturbed. He gave a negative report on the search but said he'd found more texts to read.

"So, what are you doing with her all day, then?"

"She kneels there. Occasionally I'll have her give me a back rub if my shoulders get sore, and every few hours she gives me a blowjob. It's quite nice, actually. I'm starting to see the benefits of owning a real slave, not some pretend one who can walk away when she gets bored."

Raym laughed and patted James on the back. "Never thought I'd hear you say that. Do you need me to stay?"

"No," James answered quickly. "I'm fine. I'm getting better with the translations, and besides, I'm not sure I'd want an audience when, you know..." he gestured towards Lydia.

"Right. Okay. Call me if you need anything."

"Will do."

Lydia heard the lift door ding and open. When it had closed, James let out his breath. "I know him well enough to know he won't be back today. It's past lunch. Shall we emerge from this darkness into the light for a while?"

She was startled to realize how long they'd been working. As much as she didn't want to leave, her stomach gave a loud growl and vetoed her reluctance. They made their way up to the sunlight, but instead of pulling her inside the hotel, he kept walking towards the street.

"I want to sit in the sun," he volunteered.

She laughed and held tight to his arm. They made their way around the side of the hotel and towards the park. There was a growing noise of deep voices. Lydia did a mental count in her head and suddenly stopped dead, pulling James to a halt.

"Sir, we don't want to go there."

"Why?"

"Please trust me, you won't like it."

"Is it another punishment day?"

"No."

He raised his eyebrows. "Then what is it?"

She made a face and looked at the ground. "It's auction day."

* * *

James stared at her in confusion for a moment before realizing what she meant.

"I need to see." He pulled her forward until he could see around the side of the building.

"James, please!" Lydia begged, but he ignored her.

He took in the crowd, and the raised platform where he had first seen Lydia, and the young woman standing on the stage looking frightened out of her mind...

"Master, please can we go?" she begged. "I've seen this but you haven't and you're going to get angry, I think." Now she looked up at him, her eyes full of tears.

Suddenly it dawned on him that she was afraid of what he might do, not of what was going on.

"Lydia, I'm not going to do anything, okay? I just want to see."

She looked skeptical, but he didn't have time to say anything more before a lone voice raised over the crowd, and everyone stopped talking.

"Gentlemen! Welcome to this month's auction. Our first item today is one and half meters tall, with blue eyes and brown hair. She's a fair cook and definitely trainable. Has an excellent memory..."

They were selling women. In an auction. And this was no pretend or charity auction; this was for real. He looked down at Lydia. He felt a rising tide of anger, just as Lydia had predicted, but he squashed it down for her sake. He spun around, took a deep breath, and with Lydia scrambling to keep up, walked away. Like a coward. Because he couldn't do a damn thing about the monstrosity that he'd just witnessed.

He kept walking for almost two blocks, until he was far enough away that he couldn't hear the auctioneer calling out the bids for the terrified young woman. Lydia trailed along behind like a dutiful slave, until at last he stopped and dropped onto a bench on the sidewalk. She sank to her knees on the concrete pad to the side. Neither said anything for a few minutes, and then she began to talk.

"I'd always known, from my earliest memories, that that auction block was in my future. The schools that train us are outside of town, so I'd never seen one before it was my turn. But the mothers who take care of us there try to prepare us, to reassure us that it's over quickly, that we'll get a better master if we stand up straight and even smile a little."

James looked down at her. She was drawing little circles on the concrete with a stick.

"All of us who'd turned eighteen in the past month – I think there were six of us? – got to pick out what we wanted to wear. That was exciting, because we'd worn a uniform our entire lives. We knew, of course, that at some point during the auction we'd have to take the dress off to show the men our bodies. But for a little while, it was fun."

She tossed the stick away and folded her hands in her lap, staring off into the distance.

"They don't feed you the day of the auction, because you're so terrified you'd throw up. It happens sometimes anyway. We were held in a large room with the groups from a couple of other schools, so the wait was endless. One by one a girl was selected and would disappear out the door. I can't imagine what it would be like to be the last one left. We held each other's hands, the six of us, knowing we probably wouldn't ever see each other again." She was trembling.

"Lydia, you don't–"

"The hotels are always there, looking for deals, the girls that for one reason or another are going cheap. They need maids, restaurant workers, and if you're lucky, front desk staff. If you aren't, you clean bathrooms. The hospital needs cleaning staff. The restaurants need cooks, and they'll even pay to get good ones." She chuckled once. "The wealthy homes want good cooks, too. Sometimes there are bidding wars. The fortunate ones don't go to the restaurants.

"I was lucky. I stood up straight and even managed to smile. A good master bought me. He paid a lot of money for me. His First Slave, Bena, is like a mother to me, and the other slaves have become my sisters. Someday I hope that I'll meet a man who will want to buy me and make me a First Slave. We all dream of that. But if not, I hope that Master will keep me around for a while. He's older, though, and after he dies?" She shrugged. "Who knows."

They sat in silence. James struggled to figure out what to say. If he was honest, a large part of him wanted to get on the next ship and get the hell off of Midros and never look back. The hell with the money. The hell with the fame. This place was evil.

But he couldn't leave the beautiful brown-eyed woman kneeling next to him. Not yet. He wondered if there was a way to keep that from ever happening...

* * *

They walked for a while, not saying much, and sat on the ground to eat like the first day, before returning to the quiet dampness of the Archives. The afternoon was as fruitless as the morning. They poured through book after book, both in Br'ini and Eluiim. Because there was no catalog that they could find, they had to scour the shelves in the secret room visually. Lydia gave James more than one backrub, though he declined her offer of a mid-afternoon blowjob with a smile. When James stumbled over a word in Br'ini, Lydia helped him figure it out, growing more confident each time with her ability.

She refused to think about the future.

James called a halt around dinner. Lydia was discouraged.

"Now, now, that's not how a scientist thinks," he playfully chided her. "A scientist knows that he'll look for something over and over and over and not find it – until he suddenly does. Just because we didn't find anything today doesn't mean it's not there."

"If you say so, sir."

He was suddenly in front of her, leaning over to heave her off her feet and drape her over his shoulder. She screeched in surprise and laughter.

"Now, slaves who doubt their masters must be punished," he declared with a seriousness she knew was an act, though the swat that he delivered to her exposed backside stung.

"Ow!" She struggled, knowing and loving that she couldn't escape.

"Did that hurt? Let me soothe it." He thrust his hand between her legs and his finger sought her clit. She moaned and threw up her head, her struggles stilled with the delicious sensation. Then he withdrew and applied another smart spank to the crease between her thigh and ass.

"Ow! Ow! That hurts, Master!" She wasn't playing now.

He ignored her as he worried her clit again. She squirmed and writhed and moaned.

"Now, will you ever doubt your master again? Let me remind you, after the fondle comes another spank."

"No, Master, no, I promise, I'll never doubt you again!" She was laughing and moaning at the same time.

"Good girl." He kept stroking her clit as he walked towards the lift. "If you can have an orgasm before the lift gets to the top, be my guest. If you can't, well, too bad!"

She was so lost in the sensations that she almost didn't register the fact that they had entered the lift and it was in motion. Just as the door opened to the outside, a wave of pleasure rose up and crashed over her. A short, sharp, moan escaped the confines of the lift to ripple out over the pavement in front of the hotel and stop more than one person in his tracks.

James carried her out of the lift, then set her down against a wall, and it was only his hands around her waist that kept her from sinking to the ground. She looked up at his twinkling eyes and blushed furiously.

"What do you say?"

"Um, thank you, James?" she grinned back. He held up his wet fingers and without being asked she leaned forward and sucked them into her mouth, cleaning every drop of the sweet stickiness from his skin.

He groaned. "Good girl."

A Friend and Ally

Her hand tucked in his elbow, they made their way through the lobby out onto the patio that overlooked the cliffs. It was unexpectedly crowded and they looked in vain for a table. To her surprise, a hand went up from a man seated with a woman at a table with two empty chairs. James seemed taken aback as well, but he steered them in their direction.

"You are welcome to share our table with us, if you'd like. I'm Dobas Menzie, and this is my wife Mareen." The two men shook hands. Lydia looked at Mareen; something was familiar about the dark-haired woman with the usual black collar around her throat, though how Lydia would know an off-world woman she had no idea.

James pulled out a chair for Lydia and she froze. He expected her to sit next to him – to them – but...

"Lydia, are you okay?" he whispered. "You just went white."

"It's not my place to sit at the table. If I was out with my master, I'd be kneeling next to him, not sitting. My place is on the floor. I'm not sure what I should do." She was getting dizzy with panic. She'd known her place since she was young, and it was not in the chair, especially not in public. But James seemed to expect her to act like a free woman – like Mareen perhaps – and she couldn't make the leap.

The sound of a clearing throat behind them made James swivel around. An up-tight, officious-looking young man stood behind them.

"I'm afraid that the slave is correct, sir. She is not permitted to sit in a chair here, nor anywhere in the hotel."

James looked as though he was going to blow up, but she saw him pull his anger under control. "In that case, we'll be eating in my room."

"Sir, I'm afraid we've had to suspend room service for the evening. One of the other hotels' kitchens had a water leak, and all their guests are dining here tonight. All our staff is needed in the restaurants."

Lydia didn't care that she'd be the only person kneeling. Here was a chance to talk to – or at least listen to – a free woman, and she was dying of curiosity.

"Sir," she whispered to James with urgency, "please. I really don't want to leave. "

The young man raised his eyebrow at the boldness of her statement. Lydia ignored him. James did not.

"Would you mind giving us some privacy for a moment?" He glared at the employee, who glared back but retreated. He turned his attention to her.

"There's nothing I love more than having a woman kneel at my feet while we're eating, but I want to make sure you're not uncomfortable being the only one down there."

Out of the corner of her eye, Lydia saw Mareen lean over to talk to her husband.

She had to make him see. "Sir, I've been kneeling all my life. I'm more comfortable down there than I would be if I was sitting next to you like a free woman."

"James?" It was Mareen. "James, if you will consider staying, Lydia won't be by herself on the floor. Dobas has given permission for me to join her. I'd like to talk to her, and I think we have something in common."

After a moment, he nodded, and Lydia relaxed. "But you are not kneeling on the stone, and that is final." He motioned to the man, who looked slightly miffed at being ordered about.

Kind of like a slave? she dared to think.

"Two thick cushions." James glared at the man when he opened his mouth to object, and Lydia almost laughed. The man nodded his head sharply and disappeared.

They stood in uncomfortable silence until a waitress with two cushions appeared. She handed them out silently. Mareen stood up and Dobas pulled her chair away. She took a cushion and moved next to Lydia. James handed the other one to Lydia, and she knelt down in one fluid move next to his chair. Dobas helped Mareen down and the two women stared at each other for a moment. Mareen broke the silence.

"I'm Mareen." She reached over to Lydia with a hand, and Lydia realized she wanted to shake, like men did, so she tentatively placed her hand in Mareen's and was surprised by the strong grip.

"I'm Lydia."

She looked up at James to make sure he didn't need anything. He looked down with raised eyebrows, asking silently if she was okay, and she nodded back. She looked around the patio long enough to note that they were the objects of intense interest, especially among all the seated women, but she didn't care. Staring she could handle. Sitting where she wasn't supposed to, in public, she couldn't.

"So how do you eat down here like this?" Mareen's abrupt question pulled Lydia back to the present.

She smiled at the woman. "Well, Master decides what's ordered, and it's served to him along with an extra plate. He'll put whatever I should eat on the plate and hand it down, and we can set it there." She pointed to a smaller circle of glass directly under the tabletop but only a meter off the floor, with a matching hole for the umbrella to run through just like the table above.

"I – I thought that was a footrest?"

Lydia nodded. "It is."

"Oh."

"So," Lydia had held her curiosity in check long enough, "what do we have in common?"

Mareen didn't reply, but shifted to her side away from Lydia enough to be able to pull her skirt up. Multiple purple stripes crisscrossed over each other from her knees all the way up under the hem of the dress. Lydia's eyes widened and she looked up at Mareen.

"Are you the woman who–"

"Threw the drink in the minister's face. Yes." The rueful smile on her face spoke of her regret. "I can say that was absolutely the most horrible day of my entire life."

"But, you're still here, on Midros. I would have thought you'd leave as fast as you could."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "My husband won't let me. Believe me, that's what my first impulse was. It's a long story, but the short version is, that this trip and what I'm doing here is very important to the government I work for. Everyone was concerned that I wasn't the best choice for the trip, knowing me and my short temper and my easily-sparked indignation." She rolled her eyes. "I insisted I'd be fine. Dobas and I talked for weeks about what it would be like, what I could and couldn't do, what to expect, what the punishments for breaking the law were. As soon as I got here, everything felt so wrong, so different, that I began overreacting. The smallest rule made me bristle. Dobas tried to talk to me, to reassure me. He promised nothing would happen to me as long as I trusted him. And I threw it all out the window in a heartbeat. I regretted it the moment the words came out of my mouth – and the wine left my glass."

Lydia listened with an open mouth. Never in her entire life could she imagine throwing something in the face of a man. Well, perhaps she had imagined it, but she never would do it, especially for something as insignificant as a demand to fondle her breasts. Lydia had been fondled many times, almost always without anyone asking her master first. Women here had never had the right to privacy of their bodies.

"That day is a blur. I was terrified long before it started, and I was so panicked I fought them all the way out the door and even after I was tied up." Her voice dropped low. "The first blow was even worse than I had imagined and I kind of lost my mind. I don't really remember much after that."

Lydia reached out and took Mareen's hand. "I understand that terror."

"How did you get through it, then?"

Lydia considered. "It's not the first time I've been punished. Never that bad, but you learn after a while how to manage the fear and accept it enough to get through it. I admit I didn't sleep well the night before and almost threw up while I was waiting. But I knew I'd come out the other side. You didn't have that perspective."

Mareen nodded. "Afterwards, Dobas had absolutely no sympathy for me. I was angry – so angry – and wanted to leave, and he put his foot down and said this trip was too important, I had to live with the consequences, and he was tired of my attitude." She paused and stared at the floor, her cheeks going slightly red. "He informed me that for the rest of the trip I was going to submit to him and obey almost every rule that the women here do, even in private, and if I disobeyed, he'd spank me. I haven't been permitted to sit in a chair for the last three days except out here in the restaurant, and I don't get to make any choices, and I don't get to take this collar off even in private." She looked up at Lydia as though she was embarrassed to admit it.

Lydia squeezed her hand and nodded, encouraging her to go on.

Mareen resumed her stare at the floor. "He's been absolutely unwavering, and I'm surprised by... well... it feels good to let go." The last words came out in a rush.

The server arrived with plates of food. James leaned over asked her what she wanted and she told him it didn't matter. It really didn't, because she'd learned to eat anything she was given. Dobas didn't ask Mareen; he filled a plate and handed it down to her. She looked at it and Lydia could see an internal struggle going on before she lifted her head and thanked him for the food. They placed their plates on the footrest. Mareen stared at it for a minute before picking up a fork and spearing one vegetable. She looked over at Lydia.

"I hate vegetables."

"And you eat them, because he told you to." Lydia observed. "I understand. I might eat everything in front of me, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it. I just know I don't get anything else."

They ate in silence as the two masters discussed jobs, compared notes on the economies of the different planets, and listed who was fighting whom and which wars were over. From time to time James would brush his hand on her shoulder, or stroke her hair as he talked. She saw Dobas do the same for Mareen, and when she handed her empty plate up to him he called her his good girl. She beamed and it was obvious they loved each other very much. Lydia had to turn away for a moment and think about something else.

Near the end of the meal, Mareen asked Lydia the question she dreaded. "What were you punished for?"

The query hung in the air. Lydia tried to open her mouth to explain, but the words wouldn't come out. She knew this woman who could read anything she wanted to, and go to a university, and who had a job where she got paid and kept the money for herself, would not understand, and would be horrified, and Lydia didn't want to be pitied.

Mareen squeezed her hand. "Never mind. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Lydia blinked away the sudden tears. "It's a long story, and I don't really feel like talking about it. I'm sorry, because you told me everything about yourself."

Mareen made a dismissive wave. "I do that all the time. I don't expect everyone wants to tell me as much as I volunteer to tell them."

"I'm really glad we got to meet. You're the first off-world woman I've ever talked to."

"Really? I'm sorry we didn't meet before now. We're leaving tomorrow."

Dobas pushed his chair back and stood up.

On impulse Lydia leaned over and enveloped Mareen in a hug. She let go and leaned back, still holding the other woman's arms. "There are some things about submitting to the right man that can make you very happy. Don't throw it away as soon as you get home."

"It looks like your master is a very kind one."

Lydia looked down at the floor.

"I'm sorry. What did I say?"

She forced a smile on her face. "Nothing. I hope you have a safe trip. If you ever come back, I would love to see you again. My master's name is Mitchil Duruma. You can send a message to him and ask if he would permit us to meet."

"I thought his name is James?"

"James isn't my master. Not my real master. Just a short-term one, you could say."

Before Mareen could reply, Dobas held out his hand to help her off the cushion.

Lydia looked up. "Thanks for keeping me company."

"You're welcome. Goodbye." Arm in arm, the couple made their way across the crowded patio and disappeared into the hotel.

Games

Back in their room, Lydia was silent. James had a suspicion why. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to let her talk to Mareen. Maybe she'd be happier if she was protected from reality. Fuck. He was starting to think like Raym. He took off his shirt and threw it at the wall.

"Master?"

"I'm okay. Just frustrated about... about a lot of things." He was startled when her soft warm hands touched his back. Once more, she seemed to know exactly where to rub to make the tension release. He let her continue for a few minutes, his muscles losing their perpetual rigidity, before spinning around and capturing her head in his hands. He stared into her startled eyes, seeing the specks of green among the brown for the first time. She had little worry lines spreading out from the corners. She was too young to have worry lines, and with his thumb he smoothed them over and over until he saw her face relax. She stared back at him, and he could hear her unsteady breathing as it caught in her throat. His fingers felt the pulsing heartbeat in her neck – faster, he suspected, than normal. He leaned closer, feeling her warm breath as he closed the distance between them. Her lips, trembling at the first touch of his, stilled as he drew her tighter. Her eyes closed and she sighed the smallest of sighs as though she'd been waiting forever for this moment. Her tongue boldly touched his and he felt a current race through his body. He deepened the kiss, pulling her into his arms, capturing her completely. He felt her knees buckle and he caught her as she fell, but it was too late. The kiss had been broken. He swung her into his arms where she nestled, her head tucked down in his chest.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Yes, sir. It just got a little intense and I kind of got dizzy." She chuckled. "Sorry. It was really, really, nice, though."

"Mmm. Yes, it was." He sat on the side of the bed, still holding her in his arms. "If you're recovered, though, I'd like to do something else."

"Sir?" She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. Did her eyes always sparkle like that? It was probably the lighting.

"What I have in mind is intense. Are you interested?"

Her eyes widened before she nodded rapidly. Once more, her desires were written across her features.

He placed her feet on the floor. "Strip, and stand at the end of the bed, facing out."

* * *

She scrambled to obey, her pussy already pulsing before she even knew what he'd planned. Her dress was off in a flash and over the back of the couch. Since she wore nothing underneath, it took only a moment before she had placed herself at the end of the bed. She watched as he picked up the bag from the leather shop and pulled out the lovely red and black cuffs and approached her.

"Sir!" she protested. "Those aren't for me! They're meant for someone special."

He paused and looked at her, cocking an eyebrow. She squirmed under the intensity of his gaze.

"Are you arguing with your master?"

"No, sir," she whispered. "But I'm not–"

"You're still arguing. I can gag you if I must, but I was really hoping to hear your pretty moans and cries tonight. I believe these are mine and I can do anything I want with them."

Her eyes were now fastened firmly on the ground. Of course he was right, and it horrified her that she was protesting. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

She felt his gaze burn into her before he spoke again. "Hold out your wrists."

She extended her arms. He wrapped one of the lovely soft cuffs around her right wrist, buckling it tight enough that there was just a little give but not too much. He placed the small lock in the buckle and a tremor passed through her at the sound of the hasp clicking. She heard him chuckle. He repeated the movements on her left wrist and she felt the perfect symmetry of having both wrists firmly encircled. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, the smell of new leather combining with his spicy scent as he knelt in front of her to affix the third and fourth cuffs to her ankles. These cuffs were the nicest she'd ever worn. Her master didn't use cuffs very much, and when he did he had several utilitarian black pairs. He preferred for his slaves to keep still without being restrained. She appreciated the discipline it took to do that, but sometimes she longed to be able to let go and struggle – without the hope of getting away, of course.

Tonight she might just get to do that. She still needed to watch his reactions, though, to see if her responses were pleasing to him. She'd keep still if he wanted her to.

She felt a nudge on one ankle and without thinking spread it to the side. He connected the cuff to a ring at the bottom of one of the upright bedposts. She knew without being told to do the same with her other ankle and in a moment she was spread, her cunt presented to his gaze not just by her position but because it was swollen and open with her blatant arousal.

He lifted one wrist and locked it onto place above and to the side, onto one of the rings she'd studied two nights ago. Her other wrist received the same treatment. Now she was well and truly stretched and presented for him to do just about anything he wanted to her, just like her fantasy yesterday. She was already sliding into that lovely deep space she was so rarely able to go to.

Her eyes had closed so she didn't see his hands before she felt them on her waist. She drew in a loud breath and forced herself to look up at him. He smiled down at her. His hands began stroking her skin, with just enough firmness to relax the muscles. She prepared to feel his hands on her breasts, but he kept away from them for now, massaging her skin on her stomach, up her sides, up each of her arms, down each leg, planting little kisses as he moved. He even massaged the palms of her outstretched hands and the soles of her feet. It took only a few minutes for her to become a languid, relaxed blob. When he dug his hands into her scalp and started scrubbing the skin with his fingers, she moaned aloud, her head falling forward as it became too heavy to hold up on its own. Forget struggling. She had to remind herself to take one breath, and then another.

"Relaxed?" his voice whispered in her ear. Somehow she found the strength to nod.

"Good. I think you'll enjoy the rest of this even more, then."

She felt his mouth on one nipple, enclosing not just the tip but the whole areola, including the ring. He suckled, the gentle pressure and release sending jolts of electricity straight to her cunt. She threw her head back and let out a loud groan, her eyes screwed shut. He let go and the cold air on her wet skin instantly contracted the nipple so tight she actually felt the tug of the sensitive tissues. He took the other nipple into his mouth, a little less this time as this was the one with the tag on it, but he still pulled a cry from her as another shock raced straight down to her core. When he let go the second time, she finally opened her eyes to look at them and marveled that she'd never seen them longer or harder.

Coherent speech was still beyond her, though. It was a miracle she was standing upright. She managed to raise her eyes to his. The slight grin and raised eyebrows gave him a self-satisfied look. She watched him with languid eyes as he returned to the bag again, and this time he pulled out the beautiful soft flogger. A protest rose on her lips once more but died with one look from him.

"Now that I've almost put you to sleep, I'm going to wake up your skin."

She nodded, unable to do more than that. He swung the flogger at her stomach, a light, experimental swing. It merely brushed her skin and almost tickled. He swung again, and again, practicing his rhythm, never doing more than brushing her skin with a teasing touch. He changed to a figure-8 pattern and now the flogger brushed her left and right sides.

After a few minutes, the touches were too light for her. She arched her back, her need making her more and more desperate.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Ready for more?"

"Yes, please!"

He increased the force. So far only her stomach had been the canvas upon which he'd been painting, but that changed. The flogger began to fall harder and harder on each hip in turn. Her skin began to wake up, each nerve ending firing shocks of pleasure. He continued the figure-8 down one leg, the flogger now finding the soft skin on her inner thigh and feeling like little stinging pleasure-bees. He went all the way down to her foot and then back up, alternating the stroke and the force, and that leg came alive. Back up on her abdomen he laid strokes down on her mons, but avoided any touch of the sensitive folds in between her legs. He moved to her other leg, waking every nerve and muscle there as he went down and back up.

Her head was thrown back once more. Soft groans of pleasure accompanied every breath. She desperately hoped he'd turn his attention to her breasts next. They literally ached with a need to feel the firm strokes he'd applied all over her lower body. But he seemed determined to make her wait, because the flogger with its rhythmic strokes moved up the left side of her chest, neatly avoiding the very place she most wanted to feel it.

"Turn your head to the right," he whispered. She obliged, never doubting that he would be careful not to hit her face, but appreciating the care he took. The flogger moved up her left arm, the soft strands falling and wrapping around her arm in an embrace of leather strands that set every nerve alight, until he reached her hands, which she spread wide in invitation. Then he moved back down, across her stomach once more, and started up her right side. She moved her head to the left without being ordered to and relaxed in the blissful symmetry of the nerves in both arms buzzing in reaction to the falls of the leather.

There were only two untouched places left and she was desperate for the flogger to start on either one. She arched her back once more, silently begging, staring James in the eyes.

Without warning, he changed the angle of the flogger so that it fell directly, just once, on her left nipple. The shock of finally feeling it there made her cry out. He kept up the rhythm of the falls on her stomach for another ten seconds or so, then hit her right nipple. She writhed in blissful agony. He resumed the blows to her stomach, then struck again at her left nipple. This time he struck her right nipple on the next blow. She moaned, she writhed, she cried out. He kept her waiting in tense anticipation of the next blow, never repeating the same pattern, never giving her any warning of an impending hit. Sometimes the blows were the caresses of a lover; sometimes they stung almost more than she could bear. She tried to remember what she'd vowed about struggling, but he made a mockery of her attempts at self-control, and she gave up, pulling against the confines of her bonds, never able to escape the blows, and not really wanting to.

Her eyes were closed and so she missed his change in direction. Suddenly the flogger swung up between her legs and a few of the soft falls landed with a surprising sting between the lips of her wide-open pussy. She screeched even as she embraced and welcomed the pain. Now every stroke of the flogger landed on her pussy, over and over and over until she was soaring up the side of a mountain, about to topple over the other side...

The flogger moved away, the strokes softening and traveling down her legs once more.

She opened her eyes. "Master!" she begged. "Please!"

He smiled and shook his head as he brought the flogger back up and landed one blow on either breast, blows that made her shriek and pull at the restraints. She gasped and watched though half-opened eyes as he put the flogger down.

"Master!" She would go mad unless he finished what he'd started.

He moved away from her and she followed him with her eyes as he crossed the room. She gasped in delight when he pulled the blanket off the spanking bench.

"Ready for more?" His eyes twinkled.

"Yes, please, oh, please!"

He released the cuffs, bringing her arms down one at a time, supporting and massaging them as he did. She sighed, relishing the care he took to check her over. Once he was sure her knees wouldn't collapse, he bent over to release her ankles. He put his arm around her waist and almost carried her over to the bench. She started to climb on but he stopped her.

"You need to sit for a moment and drink some water before we go any further."

She made a face.

"And pouting gets you punished."

She deepened her scowl on purpose, then grinned.

"Oh, honey, I know exactly what to do with subs like you. If I wanted to punish you, I'd simply stop this session and send you to bed."

Her mouth dropped open. "Sorry, sir! I won't protest again, I promise! I'll drink anything you want me to!"

He threw back his head and laughed. "You are so transparent. I love that about you. You can't wait to be draped over this spanking bench and fastened down."

She grinned.

"The tighter the better, I'll bet."

Her grin widened.

He handed her a glass of water, which she downed in seconds. It really did taste good. He took the glass back.

"All right, climb on."

She jumped up and turned around, climbing on and placing her knees on the split bench, and draping her upper body over the wide section of padded black leather. Her elbows rested on the arm supports, and she lay her cheek to the side up at the top. She felt a strap go across her left ankle, then her right, then below her left and right knees. There was a strap over her waist, and straps just below her elbows and wrists. He knelt down in front of her face.

"Comfortable?"

"Yes, sir! Very."

He shook his head and smiled, then reached under the bench by her chin and brought up a clip, which he fastened to her collar. Now she couldn't even lift her shoulders up. She placed her cheek back down on the leather and relaxed into the feeling of being completely restrained.

"I'm going to make a couple of adjustments here."

She expected what came next – her legs began to swing to either side, opening her backside to his view, bringing her dripping pussy into the spotlight of his gaze. She was split open as far as the tendons in her thighs could go. The cool air on her skin provided an intense contrast to the burning heat of her arousal.

She didn't expect what came after that. She heard a noise and then her head and chest began to drop down. It wasn't more than a third of a meter, she figured, but with the tight straps across her waist and behind her knees, her ass was now thrust up into the air, the skin stretched tight. She felt another rush of wetness at being positioned like this, her ass and cunt offered up for his pleasure, perfectly positioned. She gave a quiet groan, her breathing already erratic with desire.

His hand dropped onto her skin, smoothing it. She felt his fingers slide down the curve into the valley that ran between her legs. His whole hand pushed into her folds and she felt him practically scooping the wetness up with his fingers. He pulled back out, trailing the wetness up, and pausing at her other opening. One slick finger worried at the tight opening before pushing past her resistance and entering.

Her languor vanished and she tensed. Her master had never taken her there. She'd been prepared for this at school; her opening had been fully stretched in preparation for being plundered by whoever purchased her, but her master wasn't interested in that area. She'd never asked why, and over the years since she'd left school, the opening had tightened up again.

He moved the tip of his finger around and nerve endings exploded. She moaned.

"You're tight," he whispered. "Is it possible you've never been taken here before?" He kept up the movement and she had trouble trying to respond as a thousand sparks radiated out from the small opening.

"Tell me," he insisted.

"No! " She gasped. "Master has never used me there. I don't know why. Ah!" Her cry rose as he pushed a second finger into the small place.

"Were you prepared back here before you were sold?"

Something about the way he said the word 'prepared' made her moan with a new burst of lust. "Yes!"

"Fuck." The word was agonized. What was wrong? If he wanted to take her back there, then he should.

He withdrew. She tried in vain to follow the retreating fingers but the straps held her firmly in place. She let out a cry of frustration. He stroked her skin, soothing her until she quieted.

He said nothing more, but she heard him pick up the flogger and she pushed all thoughts away, clearing her mind and going back to that deep space once more.

The flogger began to fall on her skin, warming and waking each centimeter. There was nothing painful about it. It was the most wonderfully relaxing thing she'd ever experienced, especially now that she was lying down and didn't have to think about standing. He worked his way up her back in the figure-8 pattern, covering every bit of skin over and over. The flogger on the still-tender skin felt warm and sting-y in a lovely way. He moved back down again, spending extra time on the skin of her ass. She sensed he was being very careful over the healing whip marks, but in truth each hit of the soft leather just added a zing that sent little jolts of pleasure through her. She made sure her soft cries told him exactly what she was feeling and he must have gotten the message, because she felt the strikes get harder.

He moved down the back of each leg, to the sole of each foot. She never would have believed how sensual it felt to be flogged there. She flexed her toes, relishing the sensation, and sighing when he moved away. He chuckled.

"I think someone likes having her feet flogged. We might have to explore that later."

"Oh, yes, please," she managed to choke out.

He moved back up to her ass again. Now the hits came harder. She began a steady breathing, riding on top of the waves of pain. She was still in bliss, but she wondered how hard he was going to go and hoped it wouldn't be so hard that she started begging to stop. Her master had often told her that it was always his decision when to stop, not hers; reaching her limits was irrelevant. Just that statement alone would flood her with such an intense submission she'd almost never felt the need to beg to stop. But she really wanted to enjoy tonight and worried that if James took her past that point, her arousal would disappear. She didn't want to disappoint him.

Just as she approached the point of crying out in real pain, the strokes softened. She relaxed in her bonds. He paused. She barely had time to wonder why, when a soft blow landed right between her legs. It didn't hurt, but the surprise of it sent her head flying up. She was caught up short by the hook on her collar. Another stroke landed in the same spot and she let out a cry. She struggled. Her mind was torn between extraordinary fear of her vulnerability, and the utter submission of her situation.

"Shh..." His hand stroked the hot skin of her ass. "Trust me."

She nodded and laid her head back down, trying to do just that.

"Besides, there's nothing you can do to stop me."

At that, she let out a sob of complete surrender. The flogger hit faster now, a whirling caress of leather that hurt so good, and she began panting in rhythm with the strikes, struggling against the straps, lost in sensations more intense than she'd ever felt in her life. She was being catapulted up the side of a mountain. Suddenly she was thrown off the cliff with an orgasm so intense she screamed. Every muscle convulsed. She couldn't breathe. She felt the flogger continue to strike, keeping her in breathless free-fall, and then it fell softer and softer, letting her down easy, until she came to rest at last with her head on the cool leather. Her cunt continued to twitch, the aftershocks like little fire sparks. She took in a great heaving, shuddering breath, the only voluntary thing her body could do.

She finally noticed his hand stroking her hair and she turned her head towards it, kissing his fingers. His hands moved to her back and she felt him loosen the strap over her hips. She struggled to gather her thoughts enough to speak.

"No, Master, no!" It was no more than a whisper, but his hands stilled.

"What's the matter?"

"Please don't let me go yet. Please fuck me. Please. In my ass."

"What?"

"Please, Master. I want it to be you. I want you to take me there for the first time. Please."

"Honey, you don't have to do that for me. I know you think you do, but you should give your ass up to someone because you want to, not because you think I have the right to take it, or that you somehow owe me."

"I know all that," she almost whispered, trying to understand all the conflicting messages her brain was sending to her: messages she'd been taught, messages she'd pushed aside to cope with her life, messages she'd received over the last few days. "And I want to. This is my choice. A real choice about my body, maybe for the first time in my life. If I can't give it to you, freely, someone will eventually take it from me anyway."

"But your ass hasn't been prepared. It's really tight. If I took you tonight, it would hurt, a lot."

She smiled at that. "I'm riding a wave of endorphins and arousal right now that is unbelievable. There's never going to be a better time. Or someone who will be as careful as you. Please?"

"And if it becomes too much for you? Could I trust you to tell me to stop?"

"It won't be." No matter how much it hurt, she wanted this – this one choice that she made, with her whole heart.

He was silent for so long she was starting to give up hope. Her limbs were starting to cramp. She needed him to say yes, or no.

"All right." She heard him go over to a drawer, presumably to get some lube. "But I'm going to spend a little time working you up to this. No hurrying me, understand?"

"Yes, sir." She relaxed her tensed-up muscles again.

* * *

He spent a long time playing with the area, inserting one and then two fingers, scissoring them, giving her time to breathe when the feeling got intense. Eventually he got three fingers in and she purred with the pleasurable burning of it. He talked to her softly the whole time, telling her how to push out, how to pant if it got intense. By this time, he needed some re-awakening of his own, and it was with great delight that she took his cock into her mouth, after he raised the head of the bench high enough to get her head level with his erection. She opened wide and was astonished when he slid all the way to the back of her throat without making her gag. His groans were like music as she sucked and tongued him into stiffness.

And then it was time. He lowered the head again so that her ass was angled just right. He seemed to understand that she was at ease, that she wanted him to dominate her, and so when he finally placed his well-lubed cock at the entrance to her tight pink hole and she stiffened, he smacked her ass.

"None of that, now! Keep this ass relaxed, understand?" He didn't wait for her to answer before pressing forward. She gasped as the stiff ring began to yield to something much bigger than three fingers.

"Push out!" he ordered.

She obeyed and was rewarded with the most incredible burning pain as the entire head of his cock breeched the muscle. She cried out in agony. He stilled. She heard him mutter something that was probably a prayer that she wouldn't hate him later, and he pushed on. The burning pain engulfed her, different than anything she'd ever felt, and sending her deeper into her submissive space than she'd ever been before. She screamed and pulled at her bindings frantically as he slid in all the way, and then she felt him leaning against her, murmuring words of comfort, and placing kisses on her skin. The pain eased a bit, enough for her to catch her breath.

"Are you all right?" he asked, the concern and regret in his voice as clear as a flashing sign.

"Yes!" she sobbed. "Yes! Thank you. Thank you. I'm okay."

"I'll pull out gently now. It will feel strange."

"Aren't you going to fuck me?" She hadn't come this far to stop now!

There was another silence. Then, in a tone of voice that told her that the master hadn't gone away, he said, "Yes. I'm going to fuck you hard."

He pulled almost all the way out, the strangest feeling ever, and then pushed back in. The pain came rushing back, but not as intense this time. His movements grew faster and surer and it wasn't long before he was fucking her hard and fast. She grunted and groaned each time he hit bottom, reveling in the strange and exquisite pain-that-was-pleasure, and noting with a small side part of her brain that she probably could have come with the merest brush of a finger on her clit. But that was for another time.

He started to tremble and the next time he pushed in he grabbed her hips to pull himself as deep into her as he could. He stiffened and cried out, and she felt the warm sticky fluid wash into her bowels. The tremors continued until at last he collapsed onto her back, his breathing erratic.

"Oh, fuck, Lydia. Oh, fuck. You are amazing." He pushed himself to his feet, and a moment later, all her straps were free and the head of the bench was level and flat again. She crawled backwards off of it, stiff, but almost more steady on her feet than he was. Together they stumbled to the bed, arms entwined, and fell down together. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight, and without needing to say anything more they drifted off to sleep.

Treasure Found

Lydia was quiet the next day down in the archives. James, too, was distracted, thinking more about how quickly she'd come to mean so much to him and how bleak the future looked without her – unless he could find a way to take her with him. He mentally shook his head. A few days ago, renting a slave had sent him into paroxysms of guilt. Now he was trying to figure out how to buy one.

The secret room of books weighed heavily on him, too. What should they do? Who could they tell? He was a stranger on this world; if there was any organized opposition to this government, it was a well-kept secret, and one that James would not likely come across. Should Lydia just keep the secret with her, and use it someday if she had the chance? They'd woken up later last night, and after taking a quick shower together, he'd settled her back to sleep, but had lain awake himself for hours trying to see a way out of this. A way that freed Lydia.

Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, after a fruitless morning and a quiet lunch in the park, they found their first hint. He was plodding through an old Br'ini medical text, he and Lydia translating word after word of the scientific language with the help of a dictionary, when they came upon one case study of a young man with a brain injury. The doctor had casually noted that he'd previously been treated on another planet with a Midrosian folk remedy to ease his nightmares after a near-death experience in a space ship when he was a boy.

"Oblita?" Lydia breathed, "being used on another planet?"

"That's what it looks like," James said. He continued to read, hoping there was more, but there wasn't.

Lydia was giddy nonetheless. "We're going to find it! I just know it!" She hugged her arms around her waist and jumped up and down.

"Lydia," James' voice was serious, "this is exciting, yes, but we're not much closer. Remember, we've only found a few Eluiim folk medicine books, and none of them had anything in there. We might not find anything more for weeks."

His statement hung in the air between them. He saw Lydia's excitement vanish. There would be no "weeks" for them, together. In four days, she'd be back with her master, pretending she hadn't seen the wonders her life might have held if she had been born somewhere else, with someone who recognized her intelligence.

He saw her pull into herself as clearly as if she'd drawn a cloak around her skin.

"Lydia." He reached for her hand, but she moved away.

"Don't, James. Don't. I don't think I could stand it if you touched me right now. I need to keep myself together, because I have no intention of losing a single moment of this week to crying or self-pity." It was a brave statement made by someone trained never to resist a man, and his heart almost broke that he'd opened her up and made her this vulnerable.

"Sir, may I go back to the other room for a while?"

The main room was a soulless place when she wasn't there with him, but he nodded.

* * *

She barely made it back through the hidden door before she fell apart, despite what she'd said to James. She slumped down on the floor and sobbed and wailed and beat on the walls with her fists. But she only indulged for five minutes before she forced her feelings back into a corner of her mind. She was determined that if she only had three more days, she'd put every waking moment into looking for the answer. He needed someone who was fluent in Eluiim to be in here.

And if she were honest, she also wanted to soak up information she'd probably never have access to for the rest of her life.

Since they couldn't find a catalog, they'd been just wandering up and down the rows. She decided she'd be more methodical. First shelf, top row, first book, work her way across and down, and not get distracted by anything no matter how interesting. That would be tough.

She pulled the only chair in the room over to the first shelf and stood on it to get to the top of the bookcase. And depressingly, the first book was a nondescript faded blue book with no title. She couldn't skip past it quickly; she was going to have to pull it out to see what it held. She hoped there weren't too many like this. With a sigh she pulled it down and opened it up – and dropped it down to the floor in shock.

* * *

She scrambled off the chair and down to the floor. She didn't bother to pick the book up and move – she dropped to the floor and opened it up again. It was not a textbook, or a storybook. Every word was written in beautiful script. Every page had a date. It was a diary.

She knew this was the answer to the what and why of this room. She just knew it. She should pick it up and take it back to James, and she would – in a little while. But she had a feeling this was meant to be read by someone like her – a woman.

~ "I'm starting this journal because, well, as an ancient philosopher once said, we live in interesting times. I don't like the way our world is progressing and I'm worried that there won't be any accurate accounts of what's been going on. Even now, recent history is being rewritten into a version that is unrecognizable by those of us who lived through it.

What spurred my decision to record the facts? My daughter came home from school today and told me they'd been learning about the bloody riots thirteen years ago outside the main ministries building. She said that women had gathered there to declare that if the government didn't repeal certain laws, they would no longer have sex with men or get pregnant, and they didn't care if humans died out on Midros. She said they started a bloody uprising that the government had no choice but to put down. The reason for the rebellion, the laws that were being protested, had been dismissed as irrelevant by the teacher.

But I was at those demonstrations. I know the truth. The mostly male government had voted the day before that they believed that women's access to birth control allowed them to behave in irresponsible and immoral ways, so from then on only men would be permitted to give or withhold it from their partners. The decision to have, or not have children, no longer belonged to women.

There was no bloody uprising. We occupied the front lawn of the building for several months until the police broke it up with riot gear in the middle of the night, and three unarmed women were killed.

Less than a year later, the government passed a law declaring that if a husband forced himself on a wife, it could not be rape.

Three months after that, following an argument with my husband that turned into something that wasn't considered rape any more, I was pregnant with my daughter. I left him the day I got the test results. Less than a year later, divorce was permitted only if the husband initiated it, and the custody of children always belonged to the husband. I made it out just in time.

The cause of all of this change in our world? Paeolate. It has brought such sudden wealth to this planet – wealth concentrated in the hands of a few corporations filled with men, who are now using their power and wealth to build their vision of a utopia. For themselves." ~

~ "It's now legal for a man to have more than one wife, because every woman deserves a 'protector', and some men can 'protect' more than one at a time. Don't miss the sarcasm in my statement." ~

~ "I don't know how to stop this madness. Little by little we are losing our rights, and it's always done in the name of protecting women from this danger, or that bad influence, and no one, man OR woman, objects. The money rolls in, and everyone gets a house, or an autocar, or more food, and everyone thinks it a fair exchange for their freedoms." ~

~ "I spent another week working with the orphans again. I used to be so proud that our planet provided a refuge for so many children who'd experienced horrible things and lost their families in the endless conflicts on other worlds. The refugee program was an example for others to follow. We took them in, healed their physical and mental wounds, raised them, educated them, gave them new families, and then sent them back out to the universe wherever they wanted to go. We've been able to take the kids who've experienced the worst of the worst, and thanks to Oblita, given their minds a chance to heal without the horrors of the past to plague them. As long as they take the supplement religiously when they leave, they do okay, and if they don't, they can come back here and we can get them right again." ~

The supplement?

~ "But, I'm not so sure this planet is the best one for them to come to anymore. Especially the girls. I feel like we're seeing less and less of them at the university each year. I don't think they're leaving the planet, either. Have they merely traded one hell for another? How many are imprisoned behind increasingly closed and locked doors?" ~

~ "A small victory. The official news sources deny it, of course, but rumors are everywhere that the Bureau of Interplanetary Affairs has put its foot down and will not allow refugee children to be resettled here any longer." ~

Lydia skipped through the diary to a date several years further along.

~ "I miss working at the university. I hear that the lecture halls are almost silent now that women aren't allowed there anymore. I'm thinking about trying to get my hands on enough textbooks to start teaching women at home, informally." ~

Women had taught at the university? Were they allowed to teach men?

~ "I'm in disbelief. Textbooks in our native language are almost nowhere to be found. Hard copies have disappeared and electronic copies have been deleted at every source that sold them. The only ones being sold now are in Br'ini – a language so old that no one speaks it anymore. Except it's being taught to the boys at the university, and I hear that new texts are written in it. Women are being completely cut off from learning.

My friend Jillan had been in charge of the medical side of the refugee program and wrote a number of pharmacology textbooks. Someone from the government came to her house the other day and removed all her files at gunpoint. Over the years, she had distilled many of our folk and herbal remedies into standardized medications, including the paeolin oxide supplement that's used with Oblita. Every reference is gone. She can't find anyone who still has copies. We've been told that medicine is now in the hands of men who understand modern science instead of "magic potions."

What have we lost? ~

Lydia read the passage three times in disbelief. There it was. Paeolin oxide, from paeolate. The supplement that allowed Oblita to keep working off the planet.

She'd found it.

A Very Bad Idea

Lydia stared at the sentence for an eternity. She read it over and over. "Paeolin oxide, from paeolate. The drug used with Oblita." At last, she remembered to breathe. She scrambled to her feet, the book clutched to her chest, and tore out of the room, not bothering to close the door or move the bookshelf back into place.

"James!" she yelled as she tore back through the stacks. "James! I found it!" She pulled up short as she realized she heard another voice. Quickly she tucked the diary on a shelf behind a Br'ini book and walked briskly to the front of the room.

"What the hell is the matter, girl?" Raym asked as she appeared, his face twisted with irritation. "And where the hell have you been?"

Instinct kicked in and she dropped to her knees. "I'm sorry, Master! I–I–"

"She was back in the stacks, looking for a book for me." James' voice was strong and sure and she relaxed. "The books aren't always in order. I give her the number, she locates it for me, and then I go get it and bring it back. Don't worry," he said at Raym's raised eyebrow, "at no time is she handling the books. As for the screaming," he turned to Lydia, "did you see that mouse again?"

"Yes, um, yes, sir," she whispered, grateful to him for thinking so clearly. "It scared me."

Raym made a dismissive noise and turned back to James. "So, anyhow, if you'd like to meet some other scientists, I'm having a gathering tomorrow night at my house. I'll just introduce you as my friend who's visiting. They'll have their slaves with them, so you can bring yours. If she can control her emotions."

Last week Lydia would have scarcely paid any attention to a comment like that. This week, though – she almost quivered with the effort needed to hold back a retort.

"We'll see," James said vaguely. "I'm kind of enjoying not going out at all right now, if you know what I mean!"

"Well, since you're enjoying having a slave so much I can probably arrange for another one for next week. My treat." He wiggled his eyes at James and moved to the lift. "Hope to see you tomorrow!" A moment later, he was gone.

As soon as the lift doors closed, James whirled around to Lydia, still on the floor. "What the fuck were you thinking, running out and screaming like that?" he demanded.

"I found it," she replied softly.

"Found what?"

"The drug that goes with Oblita. It's called paeolin oxide."

He stared at her for scarcely a moment before thrusting out his hand to help her up. Hand in hand, they dashed back to the room.

* * *

An hour later, they'd located three references to paeolin oxide among the Eluiim books, but none had the specific chemical composition.

"Isn't the name of it enough to tell you what it is?" Lydia asked, trying to understand what he needed.

"No, though we're a thousand times closer than before. An oxide can have one or two or three or more oxygen molecules attached."

The room was strewn with opened and abandoned reference books. Lydia wanted to gather them all up and absorb them through her skin.

James scrubbed his head with his hands. "Let's leave these here, and see if there's anything in the Br'ini books, now that we know what we're looking for."

It took the rest of the day, but they found a few references, mostly referring to it as an "unproven folk medicine." It was enough that James thought they could replicate the substance in the lab.

At last he looked up to Lydia, hovering over his shoulder to read, with a grin. "It's time to tell Raym about this. As for the other room – let's close it up for now, and talk about it tomorrow." He touched the screen on his watch. "Raym, I need to talk to you. Yes, it's important. Yes, it's about that. Okay. See you soon."

He looked up to Lydia. "Raym wants me to meet with his scientists." He looked apologetic and Lydia knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"And the presence of a slave wouldn't make sense." She nodded. "I understand."

They closed up the secret library, and made their way back up to his hotel room. James tossed his clothes on the end of the bed and changed into a fresh pair of pants and a crisp shirt. Lydia stared at the smooth muscles on his abdomen, the light dusting of hair on his chest, the darker hair that led down...

He cleared his throat and she came back to the present. He was grinning. "You can order room service if you want to. I'm not sure when I'll be back." He put his hand on the doorknob, then turned around and marched over to where she stood. He grabbed her and kissed her with a fierceness that made her knees weak. "This was all because of you. I swear, Lydia, I'm going to figure something out for you. For us." He let her go and was gone.

She sat down hard on the bed. No! No! No! Why did he say that? There was nothing he could do! Why couldn't he have just enjoyed this week and then let her go back to her master? In time she'd forget what had happened. He'd forget. They'd go back to life the same as before they met...

Bullshit. She would never forget this week. It would be the best week of her life, probably, the week to which all other events in her dull life were going to measure up against, and come away lacking. She hoped, but doubted, that she could return to being the obedient dutiful slave she'd been before she'd met him.

No, not before she'd met him. Before she found the dictionary. Because, if she were honest, that's when it started. By opening that book, she'd stepped into the river. Meeting James had carried her into deeper water, but the current would have still swept her downstream, and would probably, eventually, drown her. No matter what, her life would never be the same.

She had to do something else while she waited for him or she would lose her mind. She thought back to the diary and her interrupted reading. She longed to discover the rest of what the unnamed woman had written. Shit, why hadn't she asked to bring it upstairs with her before they left? But it was too late now.

Or was it? Knowing it was a bad idea before she did it, she slid her hands into the pocket of his abandoned pants – and folded her fingers around the key to the Archives.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she rifled through her clothes and found the dress James had bought her just a few days ago. It covered the most skin and looked the least "slave-like". She stopped to take a quick look in the mirror and swore. Her silver collar stood out like a beacon, proclaiming her status. Midrosian slaves were not allowed to wander around without their master in this hotel. Off-world slaves, wives, as many of them were called, weren't supposed to either, but Lydia had seen enough of them over the last few days to know that management turned a blind eye to them walking alone, as long as they stayed inside. Her eyes flitted around, looking for an answer, and she spotted one of his leather belts. It was black.

Did she dare?

Knowing that if she were caught, this belt would probably be used on her own ass, she threaded the long end through the buckle and placed the loop over her head so that the buckle was at the back of her neck and the belt covered the silver collar. The free end hung down her back and she tucked it beneath the fabric of her dress. Her hair was long enough to cover everything; when she looked in the mirror it really looked like she was wearing a black leather collar.

She slid her feet into her shoes, grabbed the archives key, and headed down the hall. She kept her head up, like the wives did. They didn't have a lifetime of being trained to keep their eyes on the floor. They could look anyone in the eyes whenever they wanted to. She was starting to resent just about everything in her life. Don't think about that now!

She passed a man, whom she didn't look at, and a couple. The woman smiled as Lydia met her eyes and Lydia forced herself to smile back.

So far, so good. She descended the stairs into the lobby. It was busy with new arrivals – that must be the ship that Dobas and Mareen were leaving on later today. No one seemed to pay her any mind as she slipped out the front doors of the hotel and walked the few heart-attack-inducing steps to the nondescript Archives door. The key worked flawlessly, and she was in the lift.

It only took a minute in the Archives to walk to the hidden door, push the bookcase aside, enter, grab the diary, secure the door, and get onto the lift again. Her heart was in her throat as she stepped out into the sunshine. The front entrance was still busy with arrivals. She slipped back in, walked up the stairs, met no one on the way, and got back to the room door.

Which was locked.

* * *

She stopped breathing.

How had she forgotten that one little important detail? Only James' hand, waved over the sensor, could open it.

What was she going to do now?

Her panicked mind didn't have an answer. She couldn't go down to the lobby for help. Her deception would surely be revealed if she wore the belt, and if she took it off, she was in a world of trouble. She couldn't sit out here in the hall for the same reason. She glanced wildly up and down the corridor. There was a small door about fifteen feet down, and to her surprise, it was open when she tested the knob. It was stuffed with linens for the maids.

Breathe, breathe. This was actually a good place to hide. If the maids came along, they would surely take pity on one of their own and let her into the room, right? She took the belt off her neck and settled onto the floor. She kept the door open just a crack, able to see the hall and with luck, James, when he finally came back. Whenever that might be.

Once her heart stopped trying to fly out of her chest, she opened the diary. She might as well pass the time.

She found the part where she'd read about paeolin oxide. She and James had read beyond that together, but the unnamed diarist hadn't said anything of interest about what James was looking for, so they'd skimmed through the rest. Now she wanted to read all about the life of this woman. She found the place where she'd left off, about ten years after the diary had started.

~ "Mirin is getting married. I'm not sure how I feel about my daughter giving up all her legal rights to a husband. She loves him, that's clear, and says it's no big deal since she trusts him. He's a nice guy, but I'm not sure that's enough to protect any woman now. She can't even leave the house without his permission. Indeed, I hurry about my own errands these days, as I don't have any man to give me permission to leave the house, and I only hope I'm not stopped and questioned. The penalties for disobedience grow more onerous each day. There's no pretense any more of exchanging freedoms for safety. Even men who disagree with the new rules have been jailed and punished. Our society is sliding down a slope that gets steeper and steeper and I see no end in sight.

We're still collecting books. We have several thousand so far, and need to find a better place than Loren's basement, even if her husband is helping us. He hinted that he might know of a place we could use." ~

~ "I'm going to be a grandmother! Mirin is so excited! I find myself with mixed feelings, though. Do I want a granddaughter, who will grow up almost as a slave? Or a grandson who will grow up into the role of the oppressor?

It's a bleak outlook on life, I know." ~

Almost a year later:

~ "Where are all the young women coming from? Does no one but an old math professor like me notice that if one man keeps many wives, and wives are trying to have only boys, then there should be a shortage of girls? But just look around and it's obvious there's an excess! I've redone the calculations a dozen times and it just doesn't add up. There was no explosion in the birth rate years ago. I know; I was there! " ~

~ "A new law was passed today. Girls are now to be taken to boarding schools starting at the age of five. They'll live there until they're eighteen, when they'll be placed with husbands. Parents are permitted visitation twice each year. There were riots today, both men and women united in their anger. The police responded viciously to the unrest. A dozen mothers and fathers were killed, and hundreds were arrested. Worst of all, there are reports from all over, that the daughters of all the arrested parents were rounded up while they were in custody. When they returned, their daughters were just gone, and no one will say where they are.

I'm sick. Mirin's son is safe, it seems – as a boy he'll grow up to do whatever he chooses to do. Mirin and Jese have decided not to have any more children. Jese is a good man. Though he's unable to stem the tidal wave that has overtaken us all, he's protecting us the best he can. I'm grateful we have him in the family." ~

~ "I'm now living with Mirin and Jese. I was presented with a choice after being arrested while going to the market by myself: I could return to the custody of my ex-husband, or I could move in with my son-in-law. I haven't spoken to my ex since I found out I was pregnant with Mirin after he raped me, more than twenty years ago. And since he's remarried, I'd be a second wife. Perhaps a better description would be second slave. My daughter and son-in-law have made me welcome, and taking care of little Dasis is a sweet pleasure. Since I have no husband, my status has officially been reduced by the authorities to "servant".

~ "The real answer to the gender imbalance eludes me still, but I heard a disturbing rumor yesterday. Groups of men who call themselves 'Orphan Hunters' stalk any place where there is war, and pick off young girls whose parents have died, and whose absence is not likely to be noticed in the chaos. They're brought here and blended in with the Midrosian girls who are just starting school. I pray to whatever deities exist that this is a horror story told around a campfire."~

Lydia stared at the words in disbelief.

The next entry was a month later.

~ "Once more, I've been caught off guard by what evil can do. I was at the market with Jese, and ran into an old friend from university days. She was with her grandson. She tried to tell me all about what she'd been doing for the past decade, something about teaching girls at the girl schools, and it was clear that some type of dementia was taking its toll on her mind. But at one point she looked me straight in the eyes and said, 'You know, we had to punish them until they learned Eluiim. We never asked where they came from, but it wasn't Midros.' Her grandson rolled his eyes, saying she'd been telling fantasies recently. She left without saying goodbye.

I believe her." ~

Treasure Lost

A movement caught Lydia's eye and she looked up. James! He strode right past her hiding spot. She scurried to her feet, grabbing the diary and the belt, and left the linen room just as he waved his hand at the door and it unlocked.

"James!" she called softly. He spun around, then grabbed her arm and hauled her into the room.

"What the fuck were you doing out there?"

"I-I got locked out," she admitted, unable to meet his eyes.

"Locked out? How the fuck do you get locked out when you are inside a room?" he challenged.

"I was bored. There was nothing to do." The excuse sounded pitiful to her own ears as she peeked up at him. "I wanted to read more of the diary, but we left it downstairs."

She didn't think he could look any angrier, but he did. "You went down to the Archives? By yourself? To get the diary?"

"Yes, sir." His anger made her revert to lifelong habits, and she dropped to her knees, her head hanging low. "I'm sorry, sir!"

"How did you manage to get down there without being noticed?"

She trembled. "I-I put the belt around my neck to look like a black collar. No one paid any attention to me at all, I swear!"

"And if you'd been caught out of the hotel room, with that book? What then? You'd be whipped in public, again, for running away, and your whole precious library down there would be destroyed. Forever. Don't you get that? Or maybe you are just a stupid slave!"

She looked up at him, stunned. "James–"

"Did you at least remember to close the door?"

She nodded. Tears fell, silent and thick and fast.

"Good. Because I'm about to take Raym and six of his colleagues down there to show them what I found, and I came back to get the key, and instead I find you've made the worst decision you could have ever made! Get over the end of the bed, now!"

His tone was frightening, and a lifetime of obedience made her movements automatic. She shuffled on her knees over to the end of the bed, where she stretched out her body, lifting her backside up. He grabbed the fabric of her skirt and yanked it up to her waist, and she heard him pick up the discarded belt from the floor. Without warning he brought it down with a crash on the spot where her thighs met her ass. She screeched and threw her hands back there to soothe the scalded skin.

"Get your hands out of the way!"

"James, I'm sorry!"

"I am too."

She braced herself as she moved her hands over her head and gripped them together so tight they hurt. The second blow came down directly over the first and this time she screamed long and loud, eventually subsiding into sobs. She braced herself for another.

The blow never came. She heard him throw the belt on the floor and he stood over her, heaving huge lungsful of air.

"I will not punish you when I'm angry."

She raised her eyes and stared at him. Something inside her broke, and she uttered words she'd never dared to utter in her whole restricted life. "Isn't it a little too late for that? You've already hit me twice. Are you really any different than any man who lives on this planet?"

He didn't answer, but grabbed her arms and dragged her over to the floor in front of one of the armchairs. He pulled both wrists behind her and secured them with the belt, then yanked them high enough to rest on the seat of the chair behind her in a strange kind of strappado. He secured the belt tightly somewhere towards the back of the chair. She felt the strain in her shoulder muscles as she bent forward to relieve some of the pressure and knew she was going to be miserable very soon.

"Let's see if you can remain in one place until I get back. We're not done with this." He grabbed the Archives key and was gone.

* * *

Minutes became like hours as the strain in her shoulders became a fire she couldn't relieve. The spot on her ass where the belt had hit was just a dull ache in comparison.

But the worst pain was in her heart.

Why had she sneaked out and endangered herself? He was right. She'd be accused of running away if she was caught. There was absolutely no tolerance for that here on Midros and the penalty was severe.

Why had she been so intent to get the diary that she'd ignored the danger to the entire library?

He'd punished her in anger, an action that was contrary to everything he'd told her about being a master where he came from.

And he called her stupid. That hurt more than all the other things put together. She'd endure any amount of beatings at his hand to erase the memory of that comment from her mind.

It didn't take long before she was sobbing. It seemed to go on and on, and she had trouble catching her breath. There was no way of sopping up the tears or wiping her nose and before long she was a mess.

The tears had ceased but the pain in her shoulders had only increased when she heard someone at the door. She blew the hair that had fallen over her face away enough to see the door open –

It was Rillo, one of Master's assistants. With someone else.

Rillo?

"Yes, that's her," he said. "This is for you, for letting me in the room, and this is the refund for the guy, for reclaiming her early."

She didn't understand. "Rillo, what is–"

"Shut up."

He'd never spoken harshly to her before. He strode over and peered behind her at her arms. "Wow. This looks uncomfortable. And you've been crying. You're a mess. You must have really pissed him off."

"Rillo, what are you doing?" She felt him fumble behind her.

"I'm letting you go. Huh. Did you know this wasn't really tied to anything? Interesting."

"I don't want to be let go, Rillo, please–" She really didn't. She wanted James to come back so they could talk this out and if she had to endure this all night, she would.

He squatted down in front of her. "You've had quite an adventure, and your master is getting concerned that you're under the wrong influence. He convinced the Board of Slavery that this man has twisted your understanding of your place here on Midros and they've agreed to let you finish your week at a later date. I'm taking you home." He helped her scoot forward until her arms dropped off the chair seat behind her. Pain lanced through her shoulders and she cried out. He stood up and tried to pull her to her feet but she pulled away from him.

"No! I want to see James first! Please, let me see him first!"

He shook his head, his hands on his hips. "James?" he repeated. "Not 'Master James'? That's exactly what I'm talking about." He motioned to the other guy who handed him something and before she could register what it was, a ball gag was shoved between her teeth and fastened behind her head. She fell into a frenzy then, rolling away from him on the floor, her arms still bound behind her with the belt. She crashed into the side table in her struggles and heard the lamp fall off to the floor.

Rillo yanked her up, the other guy grabbed her other arm, and they dragged her out of the room and down the hall. She never stopped yelling for James behind the gag until she was shoved into a large vehicle and they turned towards her master's home. Then she cried.

* * *

It should have been the proudest moment of his career. After grabbing the references from the archives, they had decamped to a lab at the nearby university, which someone had pulled a lot of strings to open for them this evening. His conscience pricked at him every second, though he was glad that despite his anger he'd thought enough to leave her arms unrestrained to the chair. If she kept still, she'd think she was bound, and it would be uncomfortable as hell, but teach her a lesson. If she struggled, she'd find out it wasn't actually tied and she could get out quite easily. He hoped she'd realize her mistakes and accept the pain until they could talk.

He hoped she'd forgive him for the unforgivable things he'd done, and said.

Raym's scientists were giddy, slapping backs. They ran a few calculations, tried a couple of quick experiments, verified that they agreed this was probably the answer, then opened a cabinet marked "Infectious disease samples", revealing a sink, shelves, an assortment of liquor bottles, and plastic cups. They drank a toast to James. He listened to them spending the money they'd be making, but his thoughts were only on Lydia and the promise he'd made to her. When he felt he'd been reasonably polite, he made his excuses and left. Raym caught up to him.

"You headed back to your nice bed warmer?"

James turned on him. "Fuck you! She's so much more than a bed warmer. She's incredibly intelligent; as intelligent as any man in that lab we just left."

Raym pulled up short at his anger. "A slave? They're usually dumber than a wall. What the fuck has gotten into you with her?"

"What do you think happens to their brains when you don't ever let them use them? You do realize that there is an entire universe out there where women are equals of men? Your little planet here is an anomaly. An anomaly courtesy of the galaxy's thirst for paeolate and its willingness to overlook basic human rights. Do you even remember being at college? We had women in every class. We had women professors. There's something about this planet that makes everyone here forget reality." He turned and began walking again.

"Yeah, I remember." Raym's voice was soft, and James turned around in surprise. "I remember Cynda. I thought... well, I thought that we might end up together someday." James had forgotten about her. She was first in their class, on her way to a lifetime of accomplishments. She'd dated Raym for a while until he revealed where he was from, and she dumped him immediately. James didn't blame her. Raym was destined to take over his father's company on Midros, so he wouldn't be moving anywhere else. Cynda would never become anyone's legal slave. Last James had heard, she owned her own biotech company.

They were both silent on their way back to the hotel.

"You've really fallen for Lydia, haven't you?" There was no more mocking in Raym's voice as they arrived and walked back into the lobby.

"Yes. And I don't know what to do about it." A movement caught his eye and he saw the concierge motioning him over. Confused, he crossed the lobby to the man's desk.

"Good evening, sir. I regret to inform you that your Service Companion's Master terminated the contract early. Here is the refund of your fees for the remaining days." He handed James some money and a slip of paper. "Your receipt, for business expenses."

"Lydia?" James was confused.

The man shrugged. "I don't know her name. But her master's assistant presented proof of ownership so we had to release her to his custody."

"Wait – Lydia's gone?"

"Yes, sir. That's what I'm saying. And that's the refund for your unused days. You can use it to get another slave–"

James was already sprinting across the lobby and up the stairs. He tore down the hall and crashed into the door before remembering to wave his hand in front of the sensor. When the door finally burst open, he saw the awful truth.

Lydia was gone.

He stared in shock. The side of the room where she'd been secured was in shambles. The small table was knocked over; the lamp lay shattered on the floor; even the heavy chair sat askew. The diary lay upside down on the floor, tossed to the side of the couch when the table fell, no doubt.

She hadn't gone willingly, and there was a little part of him that was glad of that.

Raym arrived in the doorway behind him. "Shit. I'm sorry, James."

"I need to find her."

"James, man, you need to understand that she's his property. There's nothing you can do. You have no rights to her at all."

"I need to see if she's all right! Dammit, look!" He swept his hand across the view of the struggle. "Please! Just let me see that they didn't hurt her. Please, Raym!"

Raym sighed. "I'm going to regret this. Come on."

* * *

They returned to the lobby.

"You need to stay here, and stay quiet, and just let me figure this out, okay? Give me about fifteen minutes." Raym stared him in the eyes, and James mentally stood down for the moment.

He wandered over towards the gift shop while he waited, his mind not seeing the store or any displays, just his last vision of Lydia, bound, uncomfortable, crying because of his anger and his careless words...

Stupid. He'd called her stupid. And he'd seen the hurt on her face, worse than any beating she would ever get. He cursed himself. If he ever got her back, even for five minutes, he'd apologize over and over and over...

His eyes focused on the window display. Ironic. It was an assortment of black collars, for use by the women who were visiting. From a thin black strip that was probably too small to be legal outside the hotel, to a stiff wide posture collar, guaranteed to remind a slave of her place by holding her neck in an uncomfortable position.

These were collars of women who chose slavery. The collars of happy women, who were cherished by their masters, who had the freedom to take this collar off and walk away any time they wanted.

He spotted one towards the back of the display. About 5cm wide, it looked stiff, but it was covered in black silk and bound around the edges with soft red velvet. There was a D-ring on the front with a silver tag hanging down, blank and ready to be engraved. The post lock at the back was designed for a small padlock, the key to be held by someone entrusted with the wearer's submission.

He hardly remembered going in the shop, but he grabbed the collar from the display and pulled out the envelope with the refund from the concierge. The shop attendant, a slave with a silver collar, looked at his choice approvingly. He told her what he wanted engraved on the tag, and she said she'd send a message when it was done. He left the shop, feeling oddly calm.

Raym was waiting impatiently by the door. "Where were you? I got the address. Mitchil Duruma, 56 Lilton Mountain Road. Here's our ride."

Re-Imprinting

Lydia was in a fog. She'd arrived home two hours ago. Her master greeted her at the door, his face a blank mask. She went to her knees awkwardly, her hands still bound behind her back and her mouth still gagged. Her tears had been all cried out and she was numb.

"Lydia, I care for all of you here, and that's why I always, always, have someone from our household check on you throughout your Service week. I'll never forget Alicis' suicide, and I vow to never let something like that happen again. Rillo or someone else has been following you each time you left the hotel, making sure you looked healthy and safe.

"But what we saw actually made me very concerned. This man who rented you, he's an off-worlder, who knows nothing of our ways, and he told you things and let you do things that were very, very, harmful for your mind. We saw him sit next to you on the ground in the park. We saw him walk with you through the forest and treat you more as an equal than a slave. Every time you emerged from his hotel room you looked less and less like the Lydia you used to be. And then it became obvious today, when Rillo saw you sneak through the hotel lobby by yourself with a black collar on, that you need to be brought back into our ways, to be reminded of the love and caring we show you here, so that you can remain happy with us."

"I'm sorry, Master," she pleaded unintelligibly, misery pouring out in her plea.

"Under the circumstances, the Board of Slavery granted my request for a respite for you. You can finish your week at a later date. In the meantime, I think the best thing for you is re-imprinting."

She looked up at him in horror and frantically shook her head. "Master! No!" she screamed through the gag. "Please! I'll be obedient! Please!" Re-imprinting was the stuff of nightmares. She'd never known someone who'd had to go through it.

"I'm sorry. It's for the best." He turned his back on her and Rillo hauled her to her feet. Once again, she went ballistic, fighting, kicking, struggling, until another assistant appeared and grabbed her by the ankles, pulling her off her feet. They carried her past Bena and Didi who had shocked looks on their faces. They carried her to a door she'd never been through before in all her years, a door she'd been told to never go through. They descended stone steps and she felt the temperature drop with each step down.

She continued to fight as they carried her into a cell carved out of the rock walls, complete with bars on the front. They put her feet on the floor and pushed her back against the wall, fastening her arms out and above her head and her feet apart. Rillo produced a pair of scissors, and though she pleaded with him not to destroy the one and only thing she had to remember James by, he put the scissors to the dress and a few minutes later it lay in shreds at her feet. Her bare skin was against the rough stone and her nipples contracted into hard tight points in the cold.

"If you can spend the next twelve hours completely quiet with no sound of any kind, we'll turn the temperature up. If you make any noise, even a whimper, the clock is reset. Do you understand?"

"Please don't do this!" The gag in her mouth was still making everything garbled.

"I can double the time. Do you think you'd like to stand here in the cold for 24 hours?"

No! She shook her head frantically.

"I'm going to take the gag out of your mouth now. You'll be silent."

She nodded. He removed it, pulling some hair, and she yelped.

He shook his head. "Starting over, and so soon. Well, better now than eleven hours from now, right?"

She bit back a retort.

He saw. "That's good. You're relearning already." He walked back towards the bars. "See you in twelve hours. By the way, if you make a noise, the time will be reset, but we won't announce it. You'll just have to wonder if you just condemned yourself to another twelve hours, or if by chance we didn't hear it. But we'll hear it." He slammed the metal gate shut, locked it loudly, and walked away. A moment later, the lights went out.

* * *

She was cold. So, so, cold. It was all she knew there in the blackness and silence. And she was tired; it had been late evening when she'd arrived home, and the adrenaline of the last few hours was wearing off. She spent a while mentally screaming at herself for sneaking out of the hotel room. If she hadn't left, she might still be there, tucked into the warm bed with James, his arm draped over her and his weight providing the most pleasant sort of restraint. Then her mind focused on him and she mentally called out to him, even as she knew it was futile. James might find her, but he wouldn't be able to do anything. The law said her master had an absolute right to do this. But in her mind, she saw him storming the gates of the house, calling her name, pushing aside anyone who got in his way until at last he arrived in her prison, where he released her cramping arms and legs and pulled her cold body into the heat of his embrace.

She fell into an uneasy sleep, her head falling forward. The sleep would have been welcome except she was terrified she'd make a noise and not know it. She dreamed of him, of leaving this place, of a place where she was free...

She came awake with a start. Had she cried out? Oh, please, no! Please don't start the time over! She'd do anything now to just be warm, and to sleep...

She was shivering uncontrollably. Her teeth rattled. Did that count as noise? Tears ran down her face, falling onto the bare skin of her chest where they ran in a cold line down her body to drip on the floor. Eventually she had to pee. There was no way to make that quiet, so she just let it go and noiselessly cried some more, in the cold and silent darkness...

* * *

James was silent on the way to the Duruma manor, until they were close. He turned to Raym. "I want to buy her."

Raym choked back a laugh. "Do you have any idea how expensive she is? Pretty, young, and owned by someone important? She's prime! There's almost no one who could afford her."

"I'll sign over every share of the paeolin oxide profits to you, if you'll give me the money."

Raym looked shocked. "James! You have no idea what you're doing. You could stand to make a fortune with this! "

"I don't care. Can you advance me the cash?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, but James, she's just a–-"

"Don't finish that sentence. Ever." He glared at Raym.

"Sorry. Yes, I can come up with the cash. If he'll sell."

"He has to."

* * *

To James' surprise, they were received without fuss. Duruma, a large, broad man with blue eyes and a pleasant smile, sat down in front of them.

"Raym! I haven't seen you since your father died. We still miss him. How is your mother?"

James gritted his teeth.

"She's fine, thank you. My father's will left her to my oldest brother and I think it's a good place for her to be."

"That's good. I hope she's happy there." An older woman arrived with a tray. "Cassa?"

James forced himself to accept a cup from the silent woman, who peered into his eyes for a long moment with an intensity James didn't understand. Then she dropped her gaze and resumed handing out the fragrant beverage to the other men.

"And your pharmaceutical company. How is business?"

"Business is good. We have a few new drugs we're going to introduce at the interplanetary convention next month."

"Your father would be proud." Duruma cleared his throat and put his cup down. "Now what can I do for you gentlemen?"

James was supposed to let Raym do the talking. He was supposed to remain cool and reserved. He threw that idea out the window. "I want to buy Lydia," he blurted.

Duruma stared at him for a long minute. "She's not for sale."

"I'll pay you anything you ask."

Raym put a hand on James' knee but he ignored the unspoken rebuke.

"Young man, I agreed to see the two of you out of respect for Raym's father, who was a good friend of mine. But what you're asking for is out of the question. First, she would cost more than you have, I guarantee it. Second, even if you did have the money, you are not a citizen, and therefore unable to purchase slaves on Midros. Third, it's because of your atrocious behavior this week that she is currently undergoing re-imprinting. When she emerges from it, she'll be happy again, not tormented with ideas that are inappropriate for her status, and she'll remember you only as a vaguely pleasant memory. The most important reason, though, is that I care for her, and do not think you would be a good master to her." He stood up abruptly. "My staff will see you out. Good day."

James' fists were balled up so tight the bones felt like they were cracking. Under the glaring eye of a very large bodyguard, Raym took his arm and pulled him towards the front door and outside into the night.

As soon as they were settled into the small autocar, Raym leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Goddammit! You can't just waltz in there and demand he sell her to you! It doesn't work like that! It's a negotiation, a delicate dance, and you were supposed to let me do the talking!" He shook his head.

"You act as though she's a piece of merchandise to be bargained over."

Raym turned, looking at James directly. "She is. And if you can't get that through your head, you will never get her."

James pressed his fingers to his temple, struggling to understand. "What is re-imprinting?"

"Yeah. I was hoping that went over your head." Raym sat back and gazed forward.

Now James stared at Raym. "You'd better tell me what the hell you're talking about."

"Re-imprinting is a way to help a slave remember who her master is and why she's devoted to him."

"Keep talking."

"James, you're not going to like this–"

"Tell me, goddammit!"

"Everything is taken from her. Food, water, warmth, comfort, sound, light, speech, even the ability to lie down – and it's only returned with perfect obedience. The key to its success is that the slave hears her master's voice as she's rewarded, telling her what a good slave she is. If she disobeys, whatever was just given to her is removed again and she does not hear his voice, and it's only when she's perfectly obedient once more that she gets it back. She learns that all the good things in her life come from this man, and all she has to do to get them is obey him. Everything else becomes unimportant."

"And everyone else is forgotten." James stared at the floor. "Just as surely as if she had a giant dose of Oblita." He laughed – a harsh, sharp sound – "If our time together were a bad memory, she could take Oblita and be done! But it's because she was happy for a few days that she now has to go through this horror!" James' voice was rapidly rising. "This is barbaric. Do you not understand how barbaric this is?"

Raym wouldn't meet his glare. "It is a little more than I'm comfortable with, I'll admit. I don't think I'd ever do it to a slave myself. I'd rather just sell her if she doesn't love me anymore."

"Love? That's what you think this is? It's brainwashing! These women have no choice but to be devoted, because their very life depends on your good will!"

"James–"

"Shut up. Duruma said I can't buy her because I'm not a citizen. How do I become a citizen?"

After a moment, Raym nodded and tapped new directions into the autocar's computer. "We go here."

* * *

The wall behind her was warming up. She could feel the heat beginning to soak into her deep-chilled bones at last. She cried silently in relief. A whisper floated through the darkness, too quiet to startle her.

"Lydia... don't talk... I'm here and I'm going to touch your cheek." Master's voice was soothing and when his warm hand touched her skin she leaned into it in relief. She couldn't see him in the inky blackness but she sensed his presence in front of her.

His voice was louder now, but still soothing. "Lydia, I'm so proud of you. You made it through the first session. We'll make sure the room heats up and you'll feel the heat all the way through your body, I promise. Are your arms and legs cramped and numb?"

She nodded. "Water" she begged silently, wondering if he could even see her mouth forming the words.

"If you stay silent for twelve more hours, we'll let you lie down."

Twelve more hours? No! She almost screamed. Please! She struggled in the chains in futility. She felt his hand on her cheek again and she turned her mouth into it. Water! she begged again.

Suddenly Rillo's voice cut through the darkness. "If you fail, you'll go back to the previous level. If you resist or protest, you'll start over again, in the cold."

She stilled immediately, hanging her head in defeat. Master stroked her hair. "I know you can do this. I love you." A moment later, she sensed they were gone.

* * *

By the time they released her, she'd been shackled to the wall for at least twenty-four hours. She had no way to know if it had been longer, for there was nothing in her world any more except darkness filled with pain and strange dreams. She couldn't stand, of course, and it was Master's arms that caught her and laid her down on the concrete floor, and then gently rubbed her wrists and ankles until the feeling came back. He praised her over and over while she repeated her silent plea for water into the darkness and the palm of his hand.

"You're doing so well, my dear. I'm not going to let any permanent harm come to you, I promise. Do you believe me?"

She knew deep down that he wouldn't let her die, so after a minute, she nodded.

"You can have some water tomorrow." She almost screamed but he must have sensed it because his hand, always caressing her cheek, moved to lightly cover her mouth.

"One more day. That's all. And in 12 hours, a little test. After tomorrow, you can have all the water you want."

* * *

She slept for a long time, curled up on the concrete floor with her head cradled in her arm. When she awoke, it was to the same silence and darkness. She tried to think about James and the few days they'd had together, but it was all jumbled in her mind.

She finally heard the whisper that always preceded her master's touch.

"Twelve hours to go, my dear. I imagine your thirst must be intense by now." She nodded. "Here's the first little test of your obedience. I'm putting a tall glass of water over in the corner. I want you to ignore it until I tell you to drink it. Only 12 more hours. I know you can do it."

He stroked her cheek once more and was gone.

She cried silently in the darkness at the unfairness of it all. She tried to sleep, but her mind couldn't rest from its fixation on the unseen glass in the opposite corner. Was it real? He didn't say she couldn't touch it. She felt her way down one wall and then the next one. Her hand bumped into something hard that sloshed.

It was real. Oh, gods there was water right there. She tried to make herself move away, to think of something else, but the more she tried that the worse the craving became.

She didn't know how the glass got in her hands, but suddenly she was drinking the coolest, sweetest water in her entire life. She gulped it down, terrified that it would be torn out of her hands any moment, but she got to the bottom and nothing happened. She set the glass down, unsure, already regretting her actions.

She sensed a presence in front of her, and it grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. This was not her master. She was propelled back over to the wall and her back was pushed hard against the concrete. It was too much and she cried out for the first time, almost startled by the sound of her voice, begging, pleading, apologizing, struggling, but the voiceless presence merely secured her arms and legs to the shackles once more and left her. She cried loudly now, not caring, as she felt the room temperature begin to drop...

Waiting

"Two weeks? Are you fucking kidding me?"

The official looked at James skeptically. "Two weeks to verify your identity, your credit, your background, and enough time for you to regret your actions and change your mind. Why are you in such a hurry to become a citizen, anyway?"

Raym reached into his pocket and pulled out a large wad of cash, something rarely seen and highly valued for its un-traceability. He peeled off several large denomination bills and placed them in front of the man's wide eyes. "Love."

The man scooped the bills up and shoved them in his pocket. "Ten days. That's the fastest it can be done, even for love."

* * *

Time had ceased for her. She made it through the cold again, then the warmth, then the concrete floor, always comforted by her master when she succeeded. Knowing the water was in the corner this time was tough but she dug her nails into her palms until they bled and the pain took her mind off of it. When her master finally placed the glass to her lips, she was absurdly grateful. He promised water would be brought every couple of hours from now on, as long as she obeyed. She nodded furiously and kissed his hand over and over.

Now he bound her hands behind her back. "Ready to work for some food?" She nodded again. "I want you to take some pain for me." She shuddered. "Each time you take it without making any noise, you get a little bit of food. At first, it will be very plain, but as you show me your gratitude, the food will improve. If you can't stay quiet, I'll leave for a while, and then we'll try again. Please present your bottom."

She scrambled to obey, her bound hands making it awkward to get to her knees, but she placed her cheek on the concrete and raised up the highest that she could.

She was barely in position when the sting of a whip sent a shocking pain into her ass. She fell over and screeched at the unexpected intensity of it. She didn't have to see to know he'd disappeared.

The next time, she was mentally prepared, and made it through the five lashes. She heard a dish placed in front of her. She bent over and sniffed and wrinkled her nose at the strange smell. It seemed there was a little of everything in this bowl. She took a taste and spit out the strange-tasting mash of meat and vegetables as her stomach revolted. She backed into a corner and sat, remembering what she ate in Didi's kitchen every night. It wasn't fancy, but Didi was a wonderful cook. She longed to be back there, in the peace and quiet and camaraderie of her sister slaves. She was loved there.

It was clear after a while that Master wasn't going to come back until she ate, and anyway she was starving. She pushed her nausea down and ate the wet greasy mess as fast as she could, and slurped water until she couldn't taste it anymore.

She made it through most of the pain sessions; she'd always eroticized pain, and while there was no arousal in sight here, she used her mental tricks to find endurance. She failed once when he whipped her breasts, earning her another meal of greasy mash in a bowl thrown on the floor by Rillo, but when she succeeded, Master praised her and held her and told her how much he cared for her. She lived for that praise, and making him happy became almost more important than anything else.

The passage of time was irrelevant. There was only this. It always had been, and it always would be. She wondered during brief moments when the end of her trials would come and what she would have to do to get there, but those moments were sporadic. She thought about her few days with James, but his face was fading in her memory. Master was much more real to her now. Making him happy made her happy, and content. That was important.

After nine sessions of pain with a food reward, she was eating unflavored oatmeal with delight. She was grateful to him for feeding her such good food.

As he held her and she curled into his arms, he asked if she would like to have her arms unbound. She nodded eagerly. They had hurt unbearably at first, but had subsided into a constant, dull ache for a while now. He released the clip that held them together, and slowly brought them forward, rubbing them tenderly until she could move them herself.

"Would you like to get cleaned up?" She hadn't even thought about what she looked like for a while now. She didn't know how long she'd been here without bathing or washing her hair or brushing her teeth. She realized her hair had probably gotten into the food she'd bent over to eat, and her breath must be atrocious. She picked up his hand and said a silent "yes!" into the palm, then kissed it.

"I'll send Bena in to help you wash. She can't talk to you, though, yet. After she's done, your next task is that I want you to kneel for me, arms straight out and face to the floor. Concentrate on my face, for twelve hours. If you sleep or move, that time won't count."

She nodded and he left. She didn't know if it was time to start kneeling yet, but the longer she knelt the happier he would be with her, so she got into position. She'd been there not long when she felt a presence in front of her. A delicate hand touched her shoulder, and Bena's perfume filled her senses. She felt a cloth with warm water start to wipe her down. It felt as though each swipe of the cloth removed a layer of fear, and doubt, and unsettled memories of another time that she longed to be rid of. Each cool, clean limb felt freed from the past. There was only the future, now, and her master would keep her at his side and care for her, forever.

Bena took her time and washed every bit of Lydia, gently moving her one way then another until Lydia was clean. Then she leaned over a bucket while Bena washed her hair. Lydia sat back after toweling it dry with a smile on her face, content, as Bena finished braiding it.

She felt Bena place her cheek against her own, and she turned to kiss it in thanks, but Bena held her head still.

"James waits for you." The almost inaudible whisper sent a lightning bolt through Lydia. Her breath grew ragged and she trembled. Bena held her tight.

"Why?" Lydia whispered back. Why would Bena risk severe punishment to tell her this?

"I have known the love of my master. Every woman deserves that."

Lydia's calmness vanished in one heartbeat. Her thoughts, no longer serene, tore from their moorings, suddenly clashing and swirling as though a typhoon had been set loose in her mind. She barely felt Bena guide her into a kneeling position, pushing her down until her head touched the floor, arranging the damp braided hair over one shoulder, and moving her arms straight out. She was grateful for that, because she probably couldn't have done it herself.

A flood of memories came rushing back. James holding her arm so she could walk beside him. Sitting on the ground with her. Laughing at a joke together. Taking her roughly in the ass.

Knowing she could read Br'ini, and not telling anyone.

Kissing her deeply.

Seeing her as an intelligent woman.

* * *

She scarcely moved for the twelve hours. She concentrated as hard as she could, but not on her master's face. It was James' face she saw as clear as if he'd been sitting in front of her. She relived every moment they'd had together. She concentrated on the sights, the sounds, and the smells they'd shared. Each time a muscle would cramp she'd reach for another memory to get her through the pain. Only once did she permit herself to move to get water. She fell asleep at some point and dreamed of him reaching for her, telling her to hold on. Though she woke regretting the time lost to sleep, she felt his presence even more deeply now.

When Master came in again, she felt a calmness she'd not felt since arriving in this darkness. She leaned into his caress, but now it was an act.

"That was amazing, my dear. We've almost reached the end. Are you ready to be returned to the ones who love you, and demonstrate your obedience?"

Yes, she nodded. As long as it's James. At least she had the privacy of her thoughts, even if everything else had been ripped away from her.

"I'm going to have you start talking again. There are only two things I want you to say. The first is 'Thank you, Master.' Go ahead, try it out."

How long since she'd spoken? She had no concept of time. But James waited for her – that was all that mattered. She opened her mouth and only a croak came out. She cleared her throat. "Th-thank you, Master." It came out as a scratchy whisper.

"Good! Now, 'I love you, Master.' "

"I love you, Master." A little better.

"Good. Your voice will get back to normal pretty quick. But for now, that's all you say, understand?"

She nodded.

"Here's the last task. You'll repeat each phrase, pronouncing it completely and carefully, not rushing, and meditating on it as you do. You'll do it for ten hours, kneeling on the floor like you've been doing. Like before, if you stop for any reason, that time doesn't count. Each time you repeat the phrase, think of how much I care for you and how grateful you are for the home you have here. The lights will be coming back on as you do this, symbolizing your return to life."

"Thank you, Master."

He patted her head and left. She slid to her knees and began repeating the phrases she'd been told to say over and over, but instead of her master's face she saw James, and it was to him that she repeated her devotion over and over as light began to creep into the room.

* * *

James looked up from his computer. "Duruma sent me a very stiffly worded reply. He's agreed to see me again, and states he will be able to show me first hand that Lydia is happy where she is. He hopes I'll accept the invitation with the understanding that this is the last time I'll see her, and that I'll agree to leave peacefully once I've spoken with her."

"She's done with the re-imprinting then. James, she isn't going to respond to you like she did before. She will probably not even acknowledge you. Her master will be her only focus now."

"I have to see that. If she shows no signs of wanting to be with me, I'll leave. But if she does..." He left the thought unfinished, but Raym couldn't.

"You'll what? Duruma won't sell her. That's final. End of story. There is no happy ending for this, James. It's probably better if she doesn't even remember you. She has the rest of her life to live, long after you're gone, and pining for you will just make her miserable."

Raym's words hit him in the gut. Though he wanted to lash out in anger, maybe Raym was correct. Better that she not remember what she couldn't have.

James knew he'd never forget her, though.

* * *

Duruma greeted them formally and invited them to sit. Once more, pleasantries were exchanged. James made himself respond, replying to the questions about how he'd met Raym, and what his plans for the future were, while his stomach churned and his brain screamed at him to talk about Lydia. Eventually the conversation reached a pause, and James made his move.

"Sir, I'd like to show you some things." He pulled out a sheaf of papers. "I'm legally a citizen of Midros now. I have a job with Raym's company, and I've bought a small house about a mile from here. I plan to stay, sir. And I have enough money from an investment I've made to make you a fair offer for her." He handed the papers over. "As for the other issue you had, well, you were right. I've never owned a slave before and I behaved poorly with her, giving her choices and freedoms she isn't equipped to handle. Raym and I have had a number of conversations about slaves and what's best for them. I'd welcome your guidance in this matter as well. I'm hoping you will reconsider selling her to me." He'd rehearsed those words so often it almost sounded like he believed them.

Duruma spent several minutes perusing the papers before shuffling them together and handing them back. "Young man, you think me heartless. I do know what it is to love someone deeply." He motioned to the older woman who had served them cassa and was now standing near the wall. She moved to his side and he placed his arm around her waist. "This is Bena, my First Slave. We've been together for twenty-five years, and I love her as much as I did the day I bought her." He squeezed her hand and let her go. She returned to the wall. "I didn't put Lydia through re-imprinting because I wanted to punish her or torture her. I want her to be happy with her life. And what you did upset that happiness. What I did was to make sure she doesn't spend the rest of her life longing for something she can't have. Now she'll see me as the focus of her happiness again, as it should be."

"Until you decide to sell her?" James knew he wasn't helping his situation but he was losing control of emotions tightly gripped for too long.

"You off-worlders are so quick to judge! My commitment to my slaves is as strong as their commitment to me. I would never sell one who is imprinted to me. She'd be unable to function anywhere else. She would most likely waste away with longing. Even if she were with you. I'm sorry. But it's too late."

A little something in James died. There was no point to all this. He nodded, a quick, short acknowledgment of defeat. "I appreciate, sir, that you'll let me say goodbye to her, then."

The broad man nodded. He looked over at Bena, who hurried out of the room. "She's just come out of re-imprinting this morning. She'll be very quiet. It's normal until she gets used to the world again."

The men all sat in uncomfortable silence until the door opened again. James stood up. Lydia entered and his heart jumped. She was pale and thin, dressed in a simple white dress that clung to her form. Her hair was braided down her back. She stared at her master for a long moment then walked towards him, her eyes never breaking away from his gaze. Even James could see there was no one else in the room as far as she was concerned.

She knelt at Duruma's feet, her gaze now on the floor, her head bowed in complete submission.

"Lydia?" Duruma's voice was soft and unexpectedly tender. "There's someone here to see you and say goodbye."

She looked up at her master as though she didn't understand what he was saying, and then finally looked over towards James. She squinted as though she was trying to place him, then closed her eyes and shook her head, and returned to her submissive bow.

The air rushed out of James' chest. She no longer knew him. Lydia – the Lydia he'd loved – was gone, and coming here had been a really bad idea. He needed to leave, now.

Duruma was looking at him expectantly. He nodded curtly to the man and turned to go. But he had to tell her something, even if what he said would mean nothing to her anymore.

"Lydia, I want you to know that I will never forget you." The words hung in the silent air and then vanished, and James followed Raym to the door.

Reunited

When Master had finally opened the concrete cell and led Lydia up the stone stairs a while ago, she'd been shocked to discover it was early morning. Night and day had been abstract concepts to her while she'd been down in that small room, but for some reason she assumed it would be the end of the day when she ended her trials.

The sunlight streaming through the windows was shockingly bright; the sensory deprivation of the quiet dark cell made everything in the normal world too big, too bright, too loud. The smell of burnt toast assaulted her senses and her stomach threatened to rise up into her throat. She heard Didi berating Frini for burning the toast, and though it was hardly louder than a normal conversation, the noise bounced around in her head. Lydia heard someone shushing Didi, reminding her that they were supposed to stay quiet right now.

Master kissed her cheek. "Welcome back, my dear. Everything will overwhelm you for just a day or two. Sleep for as long as you need, and come downstairs when you're ready." She nodded, her eyes still closed against the sunlight. Bena's arms wrapped around her shoulders and she guided Lydia up the stairs to the quiet sanctuary of her small room.

Lydia wanted to ask Bena a thousand questions but the older woman put a finger to Lydia's lips and shook her head. All her questions were forgotten anyway as soon as she sat down on her little bed, feeling wonder at the softness of the sheets. Bena guided her down to the soft pillow and it only took a moment after the blanket was pulled up before she was asleep.

* * *

"Lydia," Bena's voice cut through her deep sleep. "Lydia, I'm sorry, but you need to wake up."

Lydia blinked her eyes open in confusion. Master had said she should sleep and she really just wanted to stay curled up here. But Bena was persistent, pulling the blanket back and tugging Lydia to a sitting position.

"What-?" Lydia tried, then swallowed, and Bena just smiled her enigmatic smile and shook her head once more as she efficiently combed out Lydia's hair and re-braided it.

"You'll be needed downstairs in a little while," was all Bena said. She helped Lydia into a simple white shift, then guided her through brushing her teeth and washing her face. The simple acts seemed to be beyond her ability to complete by herself.

Bena led her down the stairs. The sunlight's intensity was still strong and every noise filled her mind and erased all thoughts of other things. They entered the kitchen, quieter now between meals, and Bena motioned to a chair at the large table in the center. Didi flashed a smile at her as she sat and brought over a cup of cassa. Lydia accepted it gratefully. Bena squeezed her shoulder and hurried out the door.

Lydia still didn't know what was going on, but the taste and smell of the cassa pushed every other thought aside and she sipped it in silence. When the doorbell rang, she jumped in fright, almost dropping the steaming cup into her lap. Didi cursed and rescued it just in time.

A few minutes later Bena returned. "Lydia, Master wishes for you to join him in the study."

She was strangely unconcerned about what was going on as she followed Bena down the hall. It was as though her brain hadn't quite caught up with her body's release from prison. Lydia knew there were thoughts – important thoughts - she should be thinking about, but her senses were on such overload that managing to navigate the outside world was all she could cope with at the moment.

The door to the study opened and Lydia saw her master sitting in his usual chair. His intense gaze captured her and held her an immobile prisoner until he motioned to her. She crossed the white carpet, her bare feet silent on the thick fibers. Her sole focus was on him. Her master. The one she loved. For some reason that didn't seem quite right, but she knelt at his feet and bowed her head. The contentment she expected to feel in his presence was missing. She was confused.

"Lydia," he whispered from above. She raised her head up to look at him, once more captured in his blue eyes. But – the color was wrong. Her master's eyes were brown.

"Lydia, there's someone here to see you and say goodbye."

She followed his gaze to the side, where another man stood, framed against the sunlight from the window. His face was in shadow and she squinted, trying to make out his features, but the intensity of the sun behind him was too great and she had to look away. Whoever he was, he wasn't her master, and that's all who mattered.

Right?

Then what was so wrong?

There was long silence and then she heard the sound of footsteps walking away. They stopped.

"Lydia, I want you to know I will never forget you."

The voice pierced though her heart, her soul and her mind like a thunderclap. The curtains over her mind fell away and there was daylight. Broad, glorious daylight.

"James?" she whispered, her voice uncertain. "James?" She swung her head towards the man. Now that he'd moved, she could clearly see his face and she knew without a shred of doubt that there stood the master of her heart and soul. The man she loved. She staggered to her feet, lurching uncertainly, but when he reached out to her, she dropped to her knees, gazing up into his confused eyes. "I knew you'd come!"

James stared at her, then looked over her head towards the man who used to be the center of her life.

"Lydia," the older man asked, his voice betraying confusion, "who is your master?"

She looked down and fidgeted with her hands for a long moment as the men waited silently for her response. Gathering her courage, she looked up and over her shoulder to him. She struggled to control the emotion in her voice. "Sir, James is the master I will always love."

She saw Duruma throw a glance at Bena, who smiled the tiniest of smiles. He tented his hands under his chin and closed his eyes. The room was quiet, even the air waiting expectantly on his next words.

"Lydia, would it make you happy to have James as your master?"

She stood up slowly, finding the strength to stand on her feet now, and walked over to his chair to kneel again. Picking up one of his hands, she nuzzled it against her cheek. "Sir, you've been so good to me over the years, and I know I'm lucky to have been owned by you. I'm so sorry if I've disappointed you, but, yes, my happiness lies with James as my master."

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "If you've somehow imprinted to him, I can't keep you, as much as I love you and am going to miss you. Go with my blessing. I'll get all the papers arranged."

Joy swept her heart. The intense sunlight that had flooded through the windows and overwhelmed her senses now seemed to proclaim the brightness of her future. She stood up once more. "Thank you, sir."

She turned back to James, who pulled her into his arms with a stunned look on his face.

* * *

The paperwork took a while to finish, so Lydia had time to pack her meager belongings and say goodbye to the women who were her family. As sad as she was to leave them, she was so giddy that she floated through the kisses and hugs. She gave an especially long hug to Bena.

"Thank you, for everything. Will he be really angry at you?"

"Don't worry about me. He and I have our understanding. I disobey him, he punishes me to remind us both who's in charge, and the world is right again." She pulled back to look into Lydia's eyes. "For women like you and me, when we find the right man, submitting to him isn't a struggle. Being owned by him can bring great joy."

"I'll see you again, I promise." She let the woman go and they walked back down to the study where James was signing the last signature. She was pulled into a bear hug by her old master – strange to think of him that way – and he held her there for a long moment before he released her to James' waiting hand.

Then they were out the door and in the autocar. Raym plugged in the address of the hotel and the vehicle took off soundlessly.

"Well, I own a slave. This is really, really weird." James was leaning back in the seat, holding Lydia on his lap. She buried her face in his chest.

"Lydia, are you really okay?"

She nodded without lifting her head. "It's just that everything is a little overwhelming, sir. The re-imprinting, well, it's very, very, quiet and mostly dark." And painful, and cold, and frightening, and a thousand other things I don't want to talk about right now.

"I'm going to take care of you, I promise." He stroked her arm and the touch was warm and reassuring.

She looked up at his face. "Are you really a Midrosian citizen now, sir?"

She saw him exchange glances with Raym. "It was the only way I could legally do this. But Lydia, there's something I need to tell you. I want us to leave Midros. For good."

She sat up to look at him directly. "All right."

He raised his eyebrows. "Just like that? No concerns?"

"One thing I had during the last two weeks was enough time to think of anything I wanted to. I thought a lot about what living as a free woman might be, and I really want that, sir. Besides, the part of me that is a slave wouldn't dare disagree with what her master has decided." She gave him a wisp of a smile.

"Hmm. I think there's a long conversation in our future about this. But right now, Raym thinks there's another concern."

She turned to look at James' friend, almost having forgotten he was with them. She couldn't look him in the face at all. The re- imprinting?

"Lydia," he said, "it's really rare for slaves to be taken off the planet because some slaves just don't do well in space."

"What do you mean, sir?" It was hard to talk to him, too.

"At least half of them develop nightmares a day or two away from Midros. The nightmares continue and sometimes become hallucinations, and often incapacitate the slave for the entire trip. And it doesn't get better when they get back here. Some slaves have had to be dosed with Oblita to give them relief. We don't know why it happens, but sometimes they're just too fragile to endure something as difficult as space travel. If that happened, and you weren't coming back, I'm not sure how James would fix that."

James made a noise of disgust in his throat. "Too fragile to sit around for five days, eating and watching vids?"

"I'm just telling you what's happened, okay? I've seen it, and it isn't pretty."

"We're not staying here."

"Why not? You can do whatever you want in the privacy of your own home."

Lydia and James exchanged looks. There were some things she'd never be safe from if she was here.

"Lydia," James asked, "are you willing to risk whatever happens in space?"

"Yes, sir. Please."

"There's another concern." Raym was persistent.

"What now, Raym?" James sounded annoyed.

"If they have reason to suspect you aren't coming back, they might make it a little difficult to buy tickets. It's not against the law, but it's just really frowned upon to leave, with a slave, for good. " He paused. "There's an alternative. Take my ship."

"Your ship?"

"Yes. Tell them you're going to go back to your planet to pack up and move. It sounds reasonable and they would never expect that you wouldn't be bringing my ship back."

"But I'm not. I can't keep your ship!"

"Just a little while. I'll make some excuse to leave on a commercial flight and meet you someplace to collect it in a few weeks."

James nodded and stuck out his hand. "Thanks. For everything."

Raym took it and they shook. "Hell, I should just give you my ship, with the profits that are about to pour in!"

* * *

Inquiries were made at the hotel concierge desk and remarkably, there was a launch opening in two hours. It was just enough time to pack up James' belongings and eat lunch. Lydia knelt on the patio under the table, and James kept a hand on her shoulder the whole time. She appreciated the touch.

When they got to the lobby, James gestured for Raym and Lydia to wait for him. He approached the concierge desk. Before he got there, though, his name was called out. A slave hurried out of the gift store with a bag that she thrust into his hands. "I thought you'd left and forgotten this, sir."

James took the bag. "Oh. Thank you." He thrust it under his arm, his thoughts still focused on the large man behind the desk and the object James hoped he could acquire.

"Good afternoon." He casually pulled out a large wad of cash, and just as casually laid it on the desk.

The concierge's eyes widened. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I understand that the hotel keeps a special key on hand for emergencies. A key that unlocks Midrosian slave collars. I'd like to buy that key."

"Sir! I cannot condone the removal of a slave's collar, ever!"

"Relax. I'm not going to take the collar off. She's my slave, legal and all, and she'll stay that way. But we're going on a little trip, and I like to be prepared for emergencies. Only emergencies. I just bought her and I'd hate to lose her to something stupid right away."

The man eyed the cash on the table. James casually added a bill to the pile. Suddenly it was gone.

"I'll see what I can do. Stay here." He disappeared through a door. A few minutes later he came out and handed James an envelope. James did a quick handshake and rejoined Raym and Lydia.

"Sir –?"

"We'll talk about it later."

* * *

The ride to the spaceport outside town was not a long one. They wound around the wide-open plains dotted with private craft until they came to a medium-sized ship. James whistled.

"I'm in the wrong occupation! It definitely pays to go into Dad's business."

"Shut up." Raym punched him with a smile.

It didn't take long to get clearance from the port authorities, though they were skeptical about the wisdom of having Lydia on board. They bought James' story of going home to pack up his stuff and move back to Midros, even commenting that it was no wonder James wanted to settle here, with a slave that pretty. James laughed and agreed, and once the virtual backslapping and winking was done he settled into the pilot's chair. It had been a few years since he'd flown anything, but he'd been pretty good – and Raym's ship was the latest model with all the automatic systems. All James had to do was program in the destination, take his hand off the controls and take a nap until they arrived in three days. They waved Raym off and closed up the hatch, and a moment later, the press of acceleration briefly pinned them to their chairs. It only took a few minutes before they were clear of the atmosphere and Midros receded into the distance.

The Future is Bright

Lydia looked out of the small windows, her face alight with wonder.

"You've never been in space before, have you?" He loved seeing her so excited.

"No, sir..." she breathed, her gaze still on the star field displayed before her in glorious bursts of light. "Born and raised on Midros."

It suddenly occurred to him that she may have left someone behind. "Lydia, do you know who your parents are? Are they on Midros?"

"I don't know where else they'd be, but no, I don't remember them. I don't really remember anything until I was, oh, probably nine or ten. Is that strange, sir?" She turned to look at him now.

He shrugged and smiled. "Child development isn't a specialty of mine. I'm sure it's normal, though."

"Maybe they give the girls Oblita to make them forget being removed from their families?"

The thought staggered him. It would make sense. So much perfect, awful sense.

"I don't know," he said softly. They watched together for a while, lost in their own thoughts.

"I guess I do feel a little strange leaving and taking the secret of that room with us," she finally said. "Do you suppose anyone else will ever find it?"

"Yes; if we found it, someone else will. I just hope it's the right people."

She turned around to face him. "By the way, where is the diary?"

"I thought a long time about what to do with it, and decided that if that room was going to stay a secret, the diary needed to stay there with it. It chronicles women's history on Midros and explains how the room came to be, and though we aren't able to do anything to make change, perhaps someone else can, and she'll need it to guide her."

"I wish we could have done more."

"Me too." He pulled her into his lap and she leaned back, nestling in his arms.

"Lydia, I am so, so, sorry for what I said to you back in the hotel room, about being stupid. And I will never forgive myself for hitting you in anger. I was so scared because of what might have happened, but that doesn't excuse what I did. It was so unbelievably wrong."

She was silent for too many heartbeats before she began to talk. "Never, in all my life, has someone – a man – apologized for saying or doing something to me. What I did was stupid, and I know you were talking about my actions, not me. As for hitting me, well, it wasn't a big deal compared to other times I've been punished."

He knew she didn't understand that she had a right to not be hit. "That doesn't excuse what I did."

"James, maybe I don't understand how men and women relate in your world, but I sure don't want to spoil what we have because you can't forgive yourself. I forgive you. Isn't that enough?"

Was it? Hitting was the wrong way to begin a relationship. Wallowing in guilt wasn't a very good way to begin a relationship, either. He decided to accept the gift she was giving, even if she didn't know why she was giving it.

"Thank you. Yes. It's enough. More than enough. I hope you will understand someday how much."

* * *

"So are you ready to leave the rest behind?"

She was still cocooned in his arms. "What do you mean?"

He fished in his pocket and pulled out a thin metal tube. One end was flattened; the other had a blue light.

"What's that?"

He grinned. "A key. To your collar. Would you like to take it off?"

Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her throat. "I've never had it off since the day Master – my old master – placed it there, when he bought me."

"You don't have a master anymore. You're free. The moment we left Midros."

"What about you? Aren't you legally still my master"

"A slave contract that's enforced off Midros? Not a chance. No other planet in the known universe has slavery."

She shook her head. "How did I end up so lucky to be born there?" The sarcasm in her voice made him chuckle.

"So, you ready to get it off?"

"Yes. Please." She sat up and lifted the braid off the back of her neck. He inserted the narrow end of the tool in a barely visible slit and held it there. The light changed to red, and a seam appeared where there had been none a moment before. He removed the tool, pulled the ends of the collar apart, and slid it off her neck.

"Wow." Her hand went to her throat. "It feels strange. Empty."

"Well, get used to it, because you'll never have to wear one again."

"No. I suppose not." She stared out the window.

There was a note in her voice he didn't understand. "What's the matter?"

She shook her head and smiled. "Nothing. Just so many things to get used to."

"What would you like to do first when we get to Prima?"

She turned back to him, her excitement visible again. "You live on Prima? Is that where we're going?"

"Yup. I have a sister there, too. I think you'll like her. She teaches at the university."

"The University? Really? Ohh..." This time he understood what she wasn't saying.

"The next term starts in a few weeks. Want to register for some classes?"

To his astonishment her excitement vanished.

"What's the matter, honey?"

"James, I have no way to pay for something like that."

He took her face in his hands and turned it towards him. "Look at me." Her eyes rose reluctantly to meet his.

"You have plenty of money."

Her brow wrinkled.

"Do you know how much money that new drug is going to bring in?" He named a figure and she gasped. "And you found the answer. I couldn't tell Raym how it happened, or he'd know your secret, but there's now a clause in my agreement with him that says in the event that you obtain your freedom, half of my shares transfer automatically to you. He thinks I'm nuts. Anyway, you're free. And very wealthy. So am I, as a matter of fact." He grinned. It was a very nice feeling.

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open. "Why would you do that?" she managed at last.

"You earned it."

"But I was just doing what you told me to do. Why would you give me money for that?"

"Because in the rest of the universe, when you perform a service for someone, you get something in exchange. In this case, you get to share in the financial benefits." He saw the doubt in her eyes. "Lydia, you have a lifetime of conditioning to get over. I know this is hard for you to understand. I'd like to help you, if you want me to. If you don't, though – if you'd rather go your own way now that you are free – the money is still yours."

"You think I should leave you?" There was panic in her eyes.

"No! I hope and pray that you'll stay with me. But if you ever decide you're ready to start over without me, that's okay. That's what freedom is. You aren't obligated to me in any way. Only your desires are what's important." He held his breath. To come so far, then lose her, would kill him. But he couldn't tell her that now.

"Then my first decision as a free person is that I want to stay with you." Her eyes were fixated on her hands, which were twisting themselves into knots in her lap.

He put his hands over hers, stilling the tense fingers. "I'm really, really glad."

"Will you still spank me occasionally?" The question came out so soft he wasn't sure he understood it for a moment.

"Uh, yes. It would make me very happy to do that." His cock twitched and agreed.

He felt her relax once more and reflected that he was a lucky man, indeed.

* * *

Maybe it was the re-imprinting; maybe not. All she knew was that any time she left the comfort of his arms that day, to stretch, to eat, or even use the bathroom, she felt bereft. As though she was incomplete. He seemed to feel the same way, though, reaching to pull her back to him as soon as she returned to his side.

They talked for hours, about his home, and his family, and what life was like for women. She worked up the courage to tell him about the re-imprinting and she felt him stiffen with anger. She tried to explain she held no ill will towards her old master; if she had to be a slave, she knew he wanted her to be as happy as possible with her life. She didn't think James understood what she was saying and she told him so.

"Lydia, I understand that he thought he was doing the right thing. But I believe that the fundamental task of a master is to take care of someone whose submission you are given, in a way that's good for her, not for the master. Yes, I would expect a slave or submissive of mine to obey me, but if that obedience caused her real physical or mental distress, then that's incredibly selfish on my part and I don't deserve her. I have to earn her trust, to earn the right to be her master."

Earn the right to be her master. She mulled that over. "That's an idea I've never heard before," she admitted. "In my world, masters take obedience. They enforce it. Everything that is done is for their benefit, not ours. I gave my master my trust after a while, but he never set out to earn it." The realization of how unfair the system was shocked her.

"I know," he said softly. "And it makes me sad that someone like you who is so incredibly eager to submit has had that submission taken for granted."

"Would your slave be allowed to go to school, or leave the house when she wanted, or make friends with other women?"

"If going to school would make my slave happy and fulfilled, I would insist on it. If leaving the house or making friends would be healthy for her, I'd give her my blessing. There might be times when she's earned a discipline or punishment that I would curtail those activities for a time, but never enough to cause her true harm. Because I want to do what's best for her in the long term, and figuring out what is best for my slave is a heavy responsibility that I take very seriously." He paused. "I realize this sounds exactly like what your master said he was trying to do. I guess the difference is that a slave's submission to me has to be something she truly desires, not because I've manipulated it. And if she no longer wants to give it to me, she's free to leave and go wherever she wants, and she never has to serve anyone else if she doesn't want to. No one has the right to demand her obedience."

"So I could be free, and be a slave, at the same time?"

He chuckled. "As absurd as I'm sure that sounds to you, yes."

"Actually, that sounds nice. Belonging to one man but knowing my life isn't limited by the people and laws around me is my idea of the perfect balance."

He was quiet while he stroked her hair, and she worried she'd said something wrong. After a few minutes of silence, a huge yawn almost split her face in half.

"You didn't sleep very well down in that place, did you?"

"No. I was so desperate to get out of there I tried to stay awake to finish the part where I had to thank him." She shuddered. She'd been so tired, and so overwhelmed by the noises when she came out that she'd almost lost the link to James she'd been concentrating on for more than ten hours. If he hadn't spoken out loud...

"Let's go get you settled." He stood up but instead of putting her feet on the floor he carried her into the large stateroom. Luggage was strewn across the bed so he set her down carefully. He picked up the nearest bag and started to toss it to the floor.

"James?" Lydia interjected. "I'd be happy to put all this away."

"Lydia, you aren't my slave."

"I know. But I like organizing things. May I?"

"I guess. All right. Would you like something to drink? Raym has a fully stocked liquor cabinet."

She looked at him blankly, having no idea what to choose, since she'd almost never had liquor before. He laughed at her expression.

"I'll get you something cold and wet and bubbly. How's that sound?"

"Fantastic."

He disappeared and she busied herself putting clothes in drawers. She picked up one pile and accidentally caught the handle of a small leather case that was underneath, knocking it onto the floor where it popped open. She dropped to her knees; her first instinct was fear that she'd be caught prying into things that were none of her business – especially since the words on the papers on top were in Br'ini. Then she took a deep breath and relaxed. Yes, these were James' papers. But he wouldn't get angry if they came out by accident. Besides, she'd just spotted her name.

She knew she shouldn't, but she deciphered the title at the top. "Contract for Sale of a Slave". Oh, of course. The papers for her sale. To her surprise, she didn't want to read it, at all. Maybe someday James would let her, but today, she didn't want to think any more about it. The future was too exciting. She slid the folder back in, then realized there was something else in there. It was the bag that the slave at the hotel had shoved into James' hands as they were leaving. She shouldn't look inside; it was none of her business, she shouldn't...

It was a collar. A beautiful black leather collar, with red trim, and a tag hanging off the front. She read the tag: Lydia, Beloved Slave of James.

Beloved Slave?

What the hell?

She sat down heavily on the floor. She needed to think. Confusion mixed with happiness surged through her heart. He loved her – the word was right there, not that she'd doubted it after what he'd done. But slave? They'd just had a long conversation about this subject – but he'd never even mentioned he hoped she would stay his slave. If he'd wanted her to belong to him, why had he freed her? Why hadn't he given her this collar? She'd have accepted it willingly, joyfully.

Had he changed his mind? She remembered his silence when she mentioned she'd like to belong to someone like him, and she thought she'd made him uncomfortable.

No. The revelation hit her like a thunderbolt. He didn't want her to accept him as her master; he wanted her to choose him.

She tucked the beautiful strip of leather away in the case. When the time was right, she would ask him if she could wear his collar.

The Darkness of the Past

Bombs exploded, showering debris on the huddled group. They'd been here for a day, and there was no water or food. The crying from the littlest kids had finally stopped when they became too weak to continue.

Her mother was holding her brother, and every time the sky rained dirt and broken fragments she curled a little tighter trying to shelter him. She was reaching out to Lydia, to pull her into safety, too, when the very air lit up with fire and her mother disappeared before her eyes and she screamed...

"Lydia! Wake up! Lydia! You're dreaming!"

She forced her eyes open. James had flipped on the light and was hovering over her, his eyes full of concern. The memory of the explosion still filled her mind, the screams and smell of burning debris as fresh as if she was actually there.

"James? What happened?" She sat up, breathing hard, rubbing her forehead as though she could rub the memory away.

"You started screaming. Are you okay?"

She nodded, though she wasn't entirely sure. "It was a nightmare. I dreamed I had a mother and a brother...." She stopped. "Wow. I've never done that before. You don't suppose this is what Raym was talking about, do you?"

James made a dismissive noise. "It was a dream. That's all. Let me get you a drink of water. Do you think you can go back to sleep?"

"Yes, sir." I don't know. The dream still lingered at the edges of her mind.

He pulled her into his arms as they settled back down. His warmth and strength comforted her. Soon he was sleeping again, lightly snoring, and she found herself relaxing into his embrace and falling into sleep...

She was too numb to feel grief. She put one foot in front of the other. Mrs. Milken, their next door neighbor, took her hand and urged her forward. Mr. Milken was gone, too, just like Mama, but Mrs. Milken said she could stay with them since she was all alone now. There was no one left in her family. No one to sing to her at night, or make her favorite cookies, or hug her when she was sad...

She jerked awake, sobbing, feeling the tears streaming down her face. James was holding her tight. "Shhh, shhh... It's okay..."

"My mother – she was dead, and I was so sad." She hiccupped between the sobs. "But it doesn't make sense. There was war. And bombs. I know it's just a dream, but it seemed so real." Once more, the dream hung at the edges of her mind, almost like it was waiting for her to relax before it pounced again. "Sir, I'm afraid to go back to sleep. Would it be all right to stay up for a while? You should sleep, but please let me read or play cards, or something?"

"I'm not leaving you alone. Besides," he teased softly, "now it's my job to care for you."

"It is? Why?" She was genuinely confused.

"Because when someone loves another, it's his job to take care of her."

"You love me?" Though she'd seen the tag on the collar, it was different hearing him say it out loud. The declaration startled her.

"Yes, I do."

"I-I, um, love y–"

He put his fingers on her lips. "Shh. I hope you love me, I really do. But love is different than imprinting. And your love has always been tied up with being treated decently, being fed, being grateful to simply not be sold to someone else. I want you to take time to learn what real love is, and how to love someone without ignoring your own needs, before you declare your love for me."

She chewed this over in her mind. He was right; she was going to need time to sort this out. "Can I say I care for you?" She needed to have some kind of statement to show her feelings.

"Yes. And that makes me very happy." He kissed her, a short, tender kiss that held the promise of many more to come.

"Now," he changed the subject, "let's stay up, together, for a while. This will help." He handed her a mug of cassa, with cream. He remembered how she liked it, she noted with delight.

"Thank you, sir. I could have gotten that myself."

"Part of the job of caring for you."

She could get used to being taken care of, she thought, as she sipped the drink.

He showed her how to use the vid player and they watched something that was supposed to be funny, but the blanket of fear crept back over her. The cassa helped her stay awake for a while, but eventually it began to wear off. She nodded off once but woke almost immediately, panicking. She got up and paced the floor, trying to keep moving. The dream was a constant presence, creeping into her mind like the tendrils of some evil vine any time she relaxed.

"Lydia," James said at last when she was so tired she'd started weeping, "what about a tranquilizer? Not to keep you asleep, but to maybe keep you from being so frightened of what you're seeing."

"So I might still dream, but it won't scare me as much?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know for sure. But you can't stay awake for the next three days until we arrive on Prima. Maybe if this dream plays all the way through in your head, you'll be done with it."

"Are there tranquilizers on board?"

James laughed. "This ship is owned by the head of a pharmaceutical company. It's stocked with every drug known to humans, and a few that aren't."

"All right." She was terrified, but he was right. She took the offered pill, and they moved back into the small cabin and settled in the bed, spooning, with James behind her and holding on tight...

"Run faster!" Mrs. Milken was trying to drag her and carry the baby at the same time. What were they running from? They reached a bombed-out building and Mrs. Milken pulled her down behind a wall. "Shh! Stay quiet!" Lydia nodded and hoped her heart wasn't beating too loud. All at once there was a loud explosion on the other side of the wall. Lydia screamed as dirt and smoke filled the small hiding space. Suddenly a hand reached out of the smoke and grabbed her arm. Something yanked her off her feet, and a large hand went over her mouth. She kicked and screamed but he was too big. He tossed her down on the ground and she hit so hard she couldn't breathe for a minute. He didn't seem to notice, for he flipped her over and tied her hands behind her back, then yanked her to her feet. By now she could breathe again and she opened her mouth to scream but a large cloth was stuffed into it and tied over her face and she couldn't see...

She'd been stuffed into the sidecar of a cycleglider for hours, curled over to protect her face from the wind as they flew across the ground. The blindfold had slipped down a while ago but in the wind she didn't dare open her eyes. She'd run out of crying and screaming a while back. Finally, the glider came to a stop. Loud, boisterous voices called a greeting. She peeked through her eyelids, then sat up cautiously. Her movement caught the eye of one of the men off to the side.

"Fuck! What the fuck did you grab her for! She's way too old!"

"Hey, she looked smaller when I grabbed her. Besides, there weren't any others to get. This place is picked over. It'll be fine." He hauled her out of the sidecar and propelled her towards a tent in the center of a large group of cyclegliders, vehicles, tents, and several dozen men dressed like none of the soldiers she'd seen in this war. They looked even crueler, if that was possible. Her bonds and her gag were removed and she was shoved through the door.

The tent was packed with little girls, from about two to six years old. Lydia was nine, though small, and was clearly the oldest here. They all looked up at her as though she'd come to take them home...

She woke with a gasp, but this time was different. James had been right. She was calm, as though she were off to the side watching it, instead of it happening to her. This time the story kept playing in her head even when she was wide awake. She had visions of individual girls, clear pictures of the boxes of food shoved at them, even the arrangement of the stars in the sky when she dared to peek out of the tent that night.

And the constellations were completely different than those on Midros.

James held her while she described what she'd seen. And then she told him what she'd been thinking for the last few hours.

"Sir, I don't think these are dreams. I think they're memories." She waited for him to tell her she was being silly, but he merely squeezed her hand.

"Yeah. I suspected that after the second one."

The scenes rolled clearly though her head now. "They kept us there for just another day and then a huge ship arrived. Well, it was big to us. We were all shoved and prodded on board. I think I was the only one to realize that we were leaving home, and we might not be back. It was one big hold inside with dozens of pillows and blankets – and diapers."

"It wasn't the first time they'd done this," James said rhetorically.

Lydia shook her head. "No. It wasn't. Even I could see they had a system that worked pretty well. And we traveled for at least several days until we landed."

"On Midros."

"Yes. On Midros. Sir, I think it's safe to say that many women on Midros today arrived as kidnapped girls from elsewhere, and the people doing the kidnapping were called the Orphan Hunters."

"Who?"

"Remember the entries in the diary about the refugee program for kids? Later on I read entries about a group called the Orphan Hunters who were suspected of bringing girls to the planet who'd been kidnapped from other planets. You were right; it never made sense that there were so many women on Midros."

"And they were given Oblita to make them forget where they came from, before being mixed in with other girls from Midros who were also given Oblita, so that no one remembered anything."

Lydia agreed. "But why am I remembering it now?"

"Because you've left Midros. Remember, kids who left Midros had to take the paeolin oxide, but kids who stayed didn't. We still don't know why."

She twisted around to stare up at him. "The paeolin dust in the air?" she whispered. "We breathe it every single day of our lives. Could our bodies convert it to paeolin oxide?"

"We thought of the paeolin in the air, but the concentration isn't high enough."

"But it isn't just in the air. It's in everything. Our food, and our water, too."

James nodded. "That's the theory I have, but I'd need to do some research to see if that's true."

"And that's why some slaves who've left the planet have nightmares," she guessed. "Some were born on Midros, so they have few bad memories. But the ones that weren't — they're remembering when they were kidnapped, but they were so young the memories were probably not well formed. I was older. I remember everything..." Her eyes filled with tears and James held her tight.

Dammit! She just found out she had a family, and she'd lost them all over again. It was so not fair! "I had a mother, and a younger brother named Matias, and a father... and my father was killed the day before we left home. We were trying to reach my aunt's house; it was in a safe zone, but the fighting caught up to us. But it wasn't just the enemy who was trying to find us, it was the Orphan Hunters."

"That is an unbelievable violation of law on every planet." He shook his head slowly and she could see the disbelief in his eyes. She was sure it mirrored that in her own.

"Lydia, do you remember what planet you're from?"

She stared into the distance, sorting through the waves of memories that flooded her mind. Then she nodded. "Deminos. We lived in Arbor City." Her voice cracked. "And my name is Lydia Acoff.

Bureaucracy

"Mr. Morel, I'm sorry, but the BIA doesn't get involved in local issues." The woman on the other end of the vid screen hadn't spared them more than a glance since they connected. She found the paper she was looking for on her desk and handed it to someone off screen.

James was incredulous. "This is not local! These women have been kidnapped from other planets as children and enslaved on Midros! That's a violation of interstellar law!"

"And who is bringing this accusation?" She finally looked straight at them.

Lydia stepped into view of the screen. Her face was pale and drawn; despite knowing the dreams were memories, the scenes of her life continued to roll through her mind and interrupt her sleep.

"I am. My name is Lydia Acoff."

"And what's your current planet of residence?"

Lydia looked at James. "We're in the process of moving from Midros to Prima."

"Did you live on Midros?"

"Well, yes–"

"Then you're a slave."

Lydia glanced at James and smiled. "No, not any–"

"Do you have manumission papers from your government?"

"What? No, James - Mr. Morel – said I was free–"

"Leaving Midros does not make you free. Per the Midrosian Treaty of 2274 only slaves officially released by the government on Midros and given manumission documents are free. You have very limited legal rights, even off the planet."

James stepped back to the screen. "What the hell are you talking about? Slavery isn't recognized anywhere any more, except on Midros!"

"And any slave from that planet. Mr. Morel, I'm sorry you don't know the law, but you can't just say she's free. You have to go back to Midros and get them to grant her release."

"What if I refuse to be her master?"

"You can do whatever you want, but if you are the owner of record, she'll be unable to get a job, or purchase anything of significance, without your written permission. Any monies in her possession belong to you. She cannot go to school without your permission. She is not permitted to live by herself. In short, she is essentially a non-person in the eyes of the government."

"How the fuck do they get away with that?"

The official rolled her eyes. "Look, sir, in case you haven't heard, Midros exports something called paeolate. Ever heard of it? I'm sure you have. Without it, everything would be twice as expensive and half as nice. And it's only mined on one planet. They can demand pretty much anything they want and every company and government almost falls over themselves giving it to them, including the ability to control the rights of their slaves off-planet. So I'm afraid you are stuck seeking their permission to get her freedom."

"Will they do it?"

"Never seen it happen, personally."

Lydia gaped at James.

"All right, but she's actually a citizen of Deminos," he argued. "They kidnapped her. She's not actually from Midros. So she's not really a slave, right?"

"If you have proof she's a citizen from Deminos, taken against her will to Midros, yes, she would be free. Do you have proof?"

"Well, I remember when they took me–" Lydia began.

"Sorry. Not enough for the BIA to take action. You have to understand how powerful Midros is. Slaves aren't allowed to accuse masters of illegal activities unless they hold indisputable proof. If it's just your word against theirs, we won't touch it. Do you have proof of this supposed organized effort to kidnap girls?"

"No." Lydia's whisper oozed defeat.

"Then I'm sorry but the BIA can't help you. Good day." The screen went dark.

James pulled Lydia into his arms. "Now we know why owners hardly ever leave Midros with their slaves. They can't free them, even if they want to."

"I'm never going to be free, either," she whispered. "Once I started thinking about it, I haven't been able to think of anything else. At least if I'm not free, you're my master, and I'm not on Midros."

"No. We'll find a way to make it happen. I swear to you." He felt her smile against his chest.

"James, what if there're more references to the Orphan Hunters in the diary? Or references to them in other places, now that we know what we're looking for?"

"Are you thinking we should go back and look?"

She nodded.

"I'm really not comfortable with that idea, sweetheart."

"Please, James. There's no reason we would have trouble going back and leaving again. It's perfectly legal and you haven't done anything wrong. I don't want to be a slave. I don't want them to get away with what they've been doing, to me, and to all the other women. Can you still get into the archive?"

"Yes," he chuckled. "In our rush to leave I forgot to give the key card back to Raym. I still have it. But maybe I should find some place to tuck you away while I go."

"No! Please! If something did happen to you, I'd be stuck someplace without anyone to help me. Besides, you need my help reading Eluiim."

She was right. Despite his misgivings, getting that information seemed the only way to stop this monstrous wrong, and he needed her help to do it.

"I'll go program in the coordinates for Midros."

"I'll put the collar back on." Her statement gave him a sick jolt in his stomach, but he nodded and headed for the pilot's seat.

* * *

Her words had been brave, but Lydia was trembling as they neared the planet she'd spent most of her life on. Freedom had been so close, and this felt a little like going back into a hornet's nest.

She asked James if he thought she'd lose her memories again when they got back to Midros, and he said he thought not, because the other slaves who'd had nightmares still had them when they returned home, and they had to be dosed with – or re-dosed with – Oblita.

It was a mixed blessing to keep her memories. New ones rolled through her head almost every waking moment. Her sleep continued to be tormented until James insisted she take the tranquilizer every night, and then at least she could let the dreams sweep over her and be able to stay more aloof, and asleep. It wasn't just visual memories. She was inundated with smells and sounds: her mother's cooking, which brought waves of tears so intense she struggled to breathe while James held her tight. The sound of her father's laugh as she repeated a silly joke she'd learned at school. The sound of the explosions that had sent her family running into the night, caught by surprise between two armies struggling for control of the government. She'd always had an amazing memory; now it was as though every moment of the nine years she'd spent on Deminos had to be relived, in random order.

And the closer they got to Midros, the more she felt the collar constricting her throat as though it was the first day she'd worn it.

James had decided not to tell Raym they were coming back so soon. There would be questions, and James said he'd rather not have to lie to his friend, or worse yet, tell him the truth. They'd try to be in and out in less than a day, assuming there were launch openings. It was possible Raym would find out, but that was something James said he'd deal with if it happened.

They landed without incident and called an autocar to take them back to the hotel. A few minutes later they were back down in the Archives.

They retrieved the diary and brought it back out to the main table. Lydia planted herself in the chair and read as fast as she could. The entries grew sadder and sadder as they documented the subjugation of half of the population so completely over less than fifty years. There was another brief mention of the secret project with books, but Lydia forced herself to skip that section, for now.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing else." She wished she felt free enough to use the swear words James used, but that was programming she hadn't broken yet.

"Dammit. Let's go back and see what else we can find. I wish there was some kind of catalog!"

Something wrong tickled at the back of her neck. "James, maybe we should leave and find a better way, not here."

"Are you feeling uneasy being here?"

She nodded, glad he understood. "I know this was my idea, and I don't know why I feel like this, but it just doesn't seem like the right place to be any more."

"All right. Let's go—"

The lift signal dinged, a sign that someone was coming down. Lydia stifled a shriek. For a fraction of a second they stared at each other, frozen, before James slammed the diary shut and dashed into the stacks with it, returning with another book that he flung open on the desk. Lydia slid to the floor in a kneel, and James put a hand on her shaking shoulder as he sat.

The lift opened and Raym came out. "Thank the gods! You two have to get out of here. I don't know why, but there are security forces looking all over the hotel for you two. What the fuck are you doing back here? Wait, doesn't matter, we need to get out–"

He pushed the button to the lift and the doors did not open. He hit it several times and then the familiar ding sounded. It dawned on Lydia as she scrambled to her feet that someone had called the lift back up and now they were coming down. They held their breath as they waited. There was nowhere to run.

The doors opened and the front of the room was filled with armed security, pointing weapons at them.

James pulled her close. "Gentlemen, what is the problem?"

A figure moved from behind the line of security to the front. Lydia watched in disbelief as Rillo appeared and stood silent in front of the soldiers.

One of the soldiers spoke. "Lydia, slave of James Morel, you are under arrest."

"What for?" James bellowed.

Lydia watched in horror as Rillo held up the dictionary she'd hidden in the baseboard and last seen the day before she met James.

"For the crime of reading Br'ini."

Lydia's knees buckled and James barely caught her.

"You're kidding me!" he bellowed. "Are you serious? What the hell kind of trumped-up charge is that?"

"Lydia, would you like to tell your master what this is and where you hid it?" Rillo's voice oozed sarcasm.

"It doesn't matter." James jumped in before she could speak. "She's my slave, and I'll deal with whatever issue this is, myself."

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Morel, but this is now a state security matter," the soldier said. "In fact, your ownership of this slave has just been terminated. She is now a prisoner of the state, and will be placed into custody for the next three days while all the legalities are sorted out."

"And then she'll be released to me?"

"No, sir. In three days she'll be executed."

I Am Not a Slave

She didn't quite faint, but she went down onto her knees so hard that James couldn't hold her. She was vaguely aware of loud shouting, of pushing and shoving, and of being hauled back to her feet. She looked around wildly for James as her hands were cuffed behind her back. He was pushed up against a wall with a rifle in his face, struggling against two large soldiers and shouting to her as she was dragged into the elevator.

"Lydia! I'm going to fix this, I promise! I love you!"

I love you too, James. Goodbye.

* * *

From there, it was a blur. A short bumpy ride in some kind of vehicle. A stumbling walk up the stairs of the security building, and a walk down a dim narrow hall. Someone stripped her clothes off. Hands probed and searched, and when they found nothing, she was given a shapeless gray tunic that fell past her knees. Another walk down a cold, bright hall. They stopped her at a heavy featureless door that swung open at the touch of a pad to the side. Hands pushed her inside, and the door slammed shut. She fell to the floor, and finally she cried.

* * *

There was nothing to mark the time with, save the delivery of something resembling food but devoid of taste or texture. The lights never dimmed. There was a pad in the corner to lie on, but no pillow or blanket. She was escorted to the bathroom every few hours in silence, her hands always cuffed, walking past other featureless doors to a dingy room with a toilet. They'd free her hands, she'd take care of business, and then she was re-cuffed and escorted back. She tried to talk once, to ask if she could see James, but a guard slapped her in the face so hard she saw stars, so she never asked again.

She wondered how she would die. The last time a slave had been executed she thought it had been a hanging. She was certain she'd be paraded before every slave in the region, and there would be long speeches about the consequences of disobedience that she would have to stand through. What if I refuse to do that? she wondered at odd times. If she decided to sit down, or just refused to stand still and listen? They might hit her. Or they might make it happen faster. That might be better, to be honest.

She wondered what life would have been like if she'd been free. Would she have gone to school? Would she have learned the things like in those books? Maybe learned advanced mathematics, like the diarist? Decided what she wanted for dinner and cooked it herself? Spent her own money on something she wanted to buy? Traveled to other planets and seen their wonders?

She screamed out her anger until her throat was raw, and she beat on the doors until her hands were bruised. She wept for the lost opportunities in her life, for the lost opportunities for all the women on Midros. And she decided she was done being a slave. No matter what they did to her, it would not be done to her as a slave. She would speak her mind as she stood before the rope noose that would take her life. She would speak the truth to all the women in the hopes that someone would hear what she said and a spark would be lit, somehow.

James. She hoped they'd let him go, that he was far away from here, safe, and maybe telling their story to anyone who would listen in the hopes that someone, somewhere, would see the monstrous injustice that had been done.

James. The only person who had ever respected her. Someday a very lucky woman would have him as a lover, and maybe a master if she chose him.

* * *

Four meals later she was removed from the room, though this time she was turned in the opposite direction from the bathroom. She tried to ask where they were going but the soldier slapped her head again and she bit down on her tongue, swallowing blood as they shoved her through doors and down halls.

Eventually they paused before a plain door in a nondescript hall, but what lay on the other side was not what she expected. They yanked on her arm and pulled her into a huge, ornate courtroom. The walls were white. The floor was white marble and there were white marble columns that rose up to the ceiling. It was filled with men, their voices dropping to a hush as she was brought in.

The judge's bench was beautifully polished wood. She was brought around to the front of the bench, so high she could barely see the man himself. A guard pointed at the cushion on the floor and she almost knelt without thinking. But she didn't. She shook her head.

"Kneel, slave!" The guard was angry at her defiance.

"I will not kneel, and I am not a slave." The words were quiet, but the courtroom erupted with loud angry voices. The judge held up a hand to quiet them at the same time he nodded to the guard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him swing something at her and suddenly her legs exploded with pain as her knees buckled. She screamed as she fell to the floor. She managed to stay on her hands and knees and not go completely down, and once she could draw a breath she looked up at the bench in front of her – now too high to see over – and in the loudest voice she could manage, yelled, "I am not a slave!"

She wasn't surprised at all when a gag was shoved between her teeth, and she didn't fight as her hands were pulled behind her and secured. She was still on her knees, her legs aching from the blow, but it didn't feel like anything was broken.

The sentencing took just a few minutes. Rillo appeared, and she shot him a glare of pure hatred that he ignored. He testified that he'd found the book while preparing the room for a new slave. And that was all it took to convict her. The mere nearness of the book to where she'd been sleeping convinced the judge she could read Br'ini, a capital offense, and she was sentenced to be hung before all the slaves within twenty miles, tomorrow morning.

She knew this was coming – she'd steeled herself to be strong – but when they hauled her to her feet she screamed through her gag and struggled in their grasp. She whipped her head around looking desperately for James but he wasn't there. She knew in her heart that he would have been there if it was humanly possible and once more hoped he was all right.

Then she gave up. She let herself be dragged out of the courtroom, the sounds of the angry taunting voices fading as the door slammed behind her and she went back down the gray hall. When they pushed her through the door of her cell, they didn't release her arms or remove her gag, and she sank to the floor and sobbed.

* * *

They finally released her arms and removed the gag the next time they took her to the bathroom. She was stiff and sore and her legs hurt terribly from the blow to the back of her knees. She didn't resist, and she didn't talk. She ignored the food that came through the slot at the bottom of the door, and it piled up.

Four uneaten meals later, while she was sleeping, the door opened. A soldier entered and ordered her to stand up. She pushed herself to her trembling feet.

"Please," she whispered, all courage leaving her. "Please don't do this. I don't want to die. Please."

He ignored the entreaty as he spun her around and secured her hands behind her back. He grabbed one elbow and another soldier grabbed the other, and since her legs didn't seem to be working so well, they half-carried and half-dragged her out the door. They passed the other doors, and they passed the bathroom, and at last they reached door at the end of the hall. They waited there for a moment, before a click released the lock, and when they opened it what she saw left her unable to support herself even minimally.

Spread out in front of her, on a large grassy expanse that sloped down and away from the building, were thousands of slaves. Women. So silent the birds could be heard in the thick trees three hundred meters away. Lydia could see the reflection of tears on many faces caught by the morning sun. Ringing the crowd on the outside was a line of armed men.

And in between Lydia and the gathered women was a wooden platform, set so that it projected out over the ground as it fell away. There was an upright post and a beam that stood out from that post, and hanging from it was a noose.

Her stomach rose up and she fought to keep it and her rapidly rising panic pushed down. She had something she wanted to do, something she wanted to say, just once, before they shut her up forever, and she needed to keep control long enough to do that.

She scanned the crowd, knowing she wouldn't see James, and yet desperately hoping, somehow, that she would.

"Looking for your former master?" The sarcastic voice of one of the guards in her ear startled her. They had never spoken before. "Don't bother. He must have had some powerful friends because we arrested him too, but had to let him go right away. He left the planet immediately."

James was gone. She was relieved he was safe, though her heart ached to know she would never see him again.

Someone from behind gave her a shove, causing her to stumble in the grip of the guards. Somehow she made the walk from the door to the platform, and then she was standing there in the sunlight, turning to feel the warmth on her face for the first time in days. She winced as she felt the silver collar around her neck being removed for only the second time in her life.

But she had something she wanted to say and this might be her only chance. Steeling herself for the physical blow that would probably come immediately after, she opened her mouth and shouted.

"Women of Midros! You don't have to be slaves! I am not a slave!"

The blow to the back of her legs was much harder this time than it had been in the courtroom and she screamed as she fell onto the platform, hitting her head hard on the wood. She lay there, stunned, wondering idly after a moment why it was taking them so long to gag her. She heard urgent voices, and then the thick leather gag was finally forced between her teeth. She was hauled to her feet but her legs could no longer support her and she screamed in pain, sagging in the grip of the two soldiers. There was a pause and more urgent voices, some coming over the communicators attached to their belts.

A blindfold went over her eyes, and then she felt the scratch of rope around her neck. Panic overtook her at last and she screeched and struggled and fought. She was dimly aware of a great noise coming closer and the sound of feminine screams of fear. The soldier holding her on the left finally reacted.

"What the fuck is that?"

The screams from the women rose in volume as the sound of gunfire erupted. The arms that gripped hers abruptly let go and she fell to the floor of the platform, only to be caught by the noose around her neck. She tried to get her feet to push her back up but she couldn't support her weight and with her hands still bound behind her back she hung, choking and gasping, as the sound of gunfire grew closer. Her mind grew clouded and the sounds faded away.

James! James! I'm sorry I didn't stay alive long enough for you to find me. I'm sorry–

* * *

Her body was swept up into the air. The rope lost its grip and survival instinct made her draw a great heaving gasp of air. The gag was pried from between her lips and the blindfold was slipped off, and suddenly the sunlight in her eyes was too bright so she buried her head in the broad chest she was cradled against.

"James! I knew you'd come!" she rasped, unable to say more.

"No, not James," a much deeper voice chuckled, "though he'll be here in a moment. I'm afraid I'll have to do."

She raised her head and forced her eyes open. An unfamiliar man held her close, his deep blue eyes twinkling as they assessed her.

"Hello, Lydia. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Captain Matias Acoff, of the Deminos Home Guard."

She stared at him in shock, the memory of her father's face echoed in the face of the young man in front of her. Before she could open her mouth to reply, a shout drew her head to the side.

James was tearing out the door of the prison at a run. She cried out and tried to get down from the big man's arms, but he wouldn't let her go.

"No, Lydia, you're injured. Stay still."

James arrived and she threw her arms around him as he lifted her from the Captain. The pain in her legs was fierce but she ignored it as she buried her head in his chest, repeating his name over and over. He carried her off the platform onto the grass and settled down gently, never releasing her. He rocked her back and forth as she cried and shook and clung to him.

"I thought you'd left to get away safe and I was glad but you came back for me I can't believe you're here and I'm safe and not dead..." It all came out in a hoarse rush as she tried to understand what was happening. He held her close and at last, she lifted her head up.

"How did...? What...?" She cleared her throat and tried again but it was all scratchy.

He shifted and she cried out with pain.

"Shit. What did they do to you, Lydia?"

She forced the words out. "I told everyone I wasn't a slave. Hit me behind my knees."

He muttered a curse and moved her carefully to the grass where she lay back and looked up at the sky, idly noticing that there were clouds moving in from the horizon that looked dark. She wondered if they would have made all the women sit in the rain to watch her execution. Would they have left her body hanging in the rain?

James moved a leg and she screeched, but the sound came out garbled. Why was her voice getting worse, not better? She needed to sit up. Lying down made it hard to breathe. She struggled onto her elbows as James ran his hands up and down one leg. Though the pain seared though her she no longer had the air to make a noise over it.

James looked up at her. "Lydia?"

She shook her head. She had no air to talk to him. She struggled for a breath and all she knew was a rushing wind and her head hurt and James' concerned face was the center of a circle of black that suddenly appeared in her vision–-

The Past is Not Dead

She floated in the air, looking down on the little girl playing the piano. Her mother sat next to her, guiding her through the new song and showing her where to put the fingers. The girl was frustrated, but suddenly she got the fingering right and the notes rang out clear and strong and her mother clapped her hands and cheered... And behind it all was the steady beat of the metronome she used to keep the rhythm – tick tock tick tock tick tock tick beep, tick beep, beep tock beep tock beep beep beep beep –

She still felt like she was floating, but now she knew she was in a hospital bed. She listened to the sounds around her and heard the unmistakable rhythm of a heart monitor. She wondered whose heart she was listening to. The only other noise was the quiet breathing of someone next to her. Was it James?

She turned her head to the left and forced her eyes open. It wasn't James – it was the man who had saved her from the hanging.

Her brother?

She felt a squeeze of her right hand and turned her head that way. James sat beside the bed on the right, his face creased with fatigue and worry. At her look, he smiled. "Hi."

"H–" Her throat closed before she could get the simple word out.

He shook his head. "No talking for a day. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

She tried to push some strands of hair off her face, but her hand wouldn't obey her mind and she almost slapped herself in the face. James grabbed the flailing extremity and guided it back to the bed.

"Let me." He moved the offending hair off her face. "It's going to be a day or so before you're back to normal. Your throat swelled up in kind of a delayed reaction to the rope tightening –" He stopped and took a breath, clearly having difficulty talking about her near-death. "Anyhow, apparently the hour right after, um, something like that, is just as dangerous if there's no medical help around. So you were without air twice, for long enough to affect your brain. They think you hit your head on something, too, because there's a large bruise over your left ear. That's why you're uncoordinated right now. They're going to keep you sleepy for the rest of the day while you get treatment for it, and you should feel a whole lot better by tomorrow. Your legs, too. They were both broken but should be almost knitted back together by then, but it's painful, so it's better just to sleep through it."

She nodded while she replayed his conversation in her mind and struggled to digest what he was saying. He was right; her mind was like a fog right now. She let herself slip away.

* * *

The next morning, she woke with her mind surprisingly clear. Her brother was still sitting next to her, but staring out the window, and he hadn't noticed her. She took the opportunity to look at him. He looked so much like the memory of her father, and yet still like the little boy she could now see clearly in her mind.

"Are you really Matias?"

He spun around at her soft and scratchy voice.

"Yes," he smiled, "I really am. And I've been looking for you for years."

"But how did you know where I was?"

She saw James come back in the room with two cups of steaming cassa, one of which he handed to Matias. He leaned over to kiss her before sitting down.

"Welcome back." His voice was tender as he smiled at her and brushed some hair out of her face.

"She wanted to know how you found me," Matias said.

James picked up her hand and held it tight. "I left right after you were arrested, and it was the hardest thing I've ever done. But I knew I needed help. Remember Mareen and Dobas? She works for a ministry on her home world that has close ties to the government on Deminos. I didn't know that at first, but they were the only people I could think of to call for help. She contacted the Deminian government, who was more than interested in what I had to tell them. Lydia, they knew that girls had disappeared during the war sixteen years ago. They had no idea where they'd gone. And the story is repeated on dozens of planets over the last fifty or so years, anywhere there's been war. The Deminian government and other planetary governments have been working together for years following leads but nothing panned out. Until now. And there was one person who was more interested in your identity than anyone else."

She turned to her brother and smiled.

"And when that government heard what I had to say,” James continued, “they didn't bother asking for 'indisputable proof'. They knew right away this was the lead they’d been waiting for. They called up every single active duty home guard, commandeered several large passenger liners, and have basically invaded Midros. At least the city, here.” He laughed. “Apparently it was incredibly easy. Midros hires mercenaries for protection, because few of its citizens want to dirty their hands with soldiering. And mercenaries tend to work for whoever pays the best. Deminos felt this was a good reason to dip into reserve funds, and sure enough, the Midrosian security forces pretty much rolled out the red carpet for them when they arrived. And the Deminians brought something very valuable with them – identity machines. They’re brand new, something invented in hopes it would help find the missing girls. We're able to tell who was born on Midros and who was not, and every woman on Midros is going to be scanned in the next weeks. We've already found thirty-two Deminian women, and 144 others not from Midros."

"What about the women who were born here? Will they stay slaves?"

"I hope not. Now that the BIA has their precious 'indisputable truth' I think the whole government is going to fall. It's going to take a long time for things to become equal for women here, but it's already started. The library is going to be a huge help in that direction. Deminos has stationed guards in the Archive until the contents can be evaluated and moved to a better place."

She squeezed his hand hard, then turned towards her brother. "I saw you die."

He shook his head. "Mama had her body wrapped around me. She took the full force of the blow. I remember seeing you knocked backwards and lying so still. I was trapped under Mama and probably stunned, so Mrs. Milken didn't see me when she grabbed you. A soldier from our side eventually found me and I was sent to safety. Years later I found Mrs. Milken and she told me about your disappearance, how you were physically pulled away from her and there was no trace. Many families had the same story, but things were so chaotic for years that any clues had been destroyed."

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. To Lydia's astonishment, Bena stood in the doorway, her hands clasped nervously in front of her, her eyes cast to the floor.

"Bena?" Lydia croaked. Bena's eyes flicked up, glancing from James to Matias and back, but she made no move to enter.

"Bena, please come in," James invited.

She came in to stand at the foot of Lydia's bed, staying silent with her hands folded.

"Matias," James said, "let's take a walk." Lydia flashed him a grateful smile.

As soon as they had left, Lydia reached out a hand. Bena sprang forward into a startled Lydia's arms and Lydia held her while she shook.

"I can't believe you're okay," she whispered. "When I heard what Rillo did, I begged Master to try to do something and he did but no one would listen to him and then we were all supposed to watch you die..."

"Master tried to stop this?"

Bena nodded. "I've never seen him so upset. He roared around the house and yelled at anyone in the government he could get ahold of but no one would listen. He refused to let any of us go at first until soldiers showed up to escort us, saying we were 'guests of honor'. He came with us and tried to get close to you but the armed guards kept him out of the area the slaves were in. They escorted us right up front. Magrita threw up while we were waiting. She wasn't the only one."

"I'm so sorry." Lydia never considered what the others might have gone through.

"Don't you dare apologize!"

Lydia looked at Bena with surprise.

"Master was so angry with Rillo he fired him. He couldn't do anything else, of course, because the law says Rillo is right, but Master will do anything he can to make sure Rillo doesn't work anywhere nice ever again."

"Wow." Lydia wasn't sure she knew what to say.

"Anyhow, I asked Master to let me come see you, to see how you're doing, and he not only agreed, but he told me to tell you that if you ever want to come visit us, you are welcome as our guest."

Lydia thought about that for not more than one second. "Bena, please tell him thank you, and I am very grateful for everything he's done about Rillo and letting you come, but I never want to feel like a slave, ever again."

Bena nodded. "I thought that's what you might say."

"Bena, what about you? Things are going to change now, a lot. I'm pretty sure you'll be able to go anywhere you want, especially if it turns out you weren't born here, too."

She shook her head. "I'm too old to start over. And I really do love Master, and he loves me. So I plan to stay right where I am." She hesitated. "I might, though, try to find my daughter."

Lydia's eyes bugged out. "You have a daughter?"

Bena nodded, her eyes misting. "She'd be about your age right now. My first master was not as kind as Master is. He didn't have a lot of money. He made no effort to keep me from getting pregnant, and when we found out it was a girl, he started hitting me and blaming me for everything. Master felt sorry for me and bought me to get away from him. I didn't start to love him until later. But I had a daughter, and they took her away when she was five. Her name was Sopha and I never saw her again..." Bena's voice trailed off.

Lydia pulled Bena into her arms.

"So what about you?" Bena asked. "Do you know what your master plans to do yet? Will you be leaving again?"

"I have no idea. Part of me wants to leave, to explore the galaxy, to see worlds where women are equal to men, to taste that life. Another part wants to stay right here and see the changes that are going to happen. Maybe even be part of them. There's something that James and I found down in the archives that's going to help with that."

"The women's library?"

Lydia stared at her in shock. "You knew about that?"

Bena shrugged. "Not for sure. It's something that's spoken of in hushed and vague terms and some women think it's just a myth. I think there was a general agreement that it needed to remain a complete secret until someday when, well, we all hoped that the stories from the old women about how things used to be might mean that someday they would be different again. It was something I had planned to tell you about in a few years, so that the knowledge might keep passing on until the time was right."

"I think our daughters' lives will be better," Lydia said, softly. "Maybe not today or tomorrow, but eventually."

"Anyhow, I need to get back. The people from Deminos who are looking for kidnapped women are coming to our neighborhood today. I guess we'll all find out the truth about our origins. To be honest, I'm not sure if I want to know for myself, but Master wants to know, and is very angry at finding out about so many kidnapped women. He really is a decent man, you know."

"I know. In his own way. And I know he wanted me to be happy and that's why he did what he did. But I'm glad that I get to decide what makes me happy, not someone else."

"Lydia, you went through the imprinting with James as your focus, not Master. Do you think that's influencing you?"

"I think I was already imprinted to him, before Master started the process. James was all I could think of from the very start, until I lost myself somewhere in the middle of it. What you did helped guide me back to him. And from then on focusing on Master instead was like ripping a part of my brain out."

"That's what I hoped you'd say. Goodbye, dear girl. I hope that life holds many wonders for you."

They embraced once more, and Bena was gone.

* * *

The two men came back in. "Is everything ok?" James was looking at her with concern.

Lydia considered. "Yes. It is. Or it's going to be. Eventually. James, what's next?"

"That's up to you, my dear. We can leave. Or we can stay. Which would you like to do?"

The enormity of the choice paralyzed her. She stared at him, unable to say anything.

"You don't have to tell me now. The doc says you're ready to be discharged, and there's something we need to do this afternoon."

"What is it?"

"A surprise." His eyes twinkled.

She scowled.

"Hey, now, none of that, or I might have to spank you."

She grinned. "Promise?" Then she remembered they weren't alone and felt her face grow bright red. She peeked at her brother. He was grinning, too, and then shrugged his shoulders as he stood up.

"Gonna give you guys some privacy. I'll see you this afternoon." He squashed his empty cup and tossed it into the trashcan by the door as he left.

* * *

It dawned on her while she was getting dressed that she no longer had the tag attached to her nipple ring. It must have been removed while she was sleeping the day before. She smiled at the sight of its absence.

Walking was still painful but it was second nature to hide her own problems so she tried her best to walk without making a face. However, she was finding out how different it was to have someone whose attention was always focused on her, instead of the other way around. She hadn't made it fifty feet down the hospital hall before he swept her up in his arms.

"Not a word, Lydia. I can see the pain written all over your face."

She opened her mouth to protest, but she loved being in his arms so the protest died on her lips and she snuggled in closer.

"Good girl."

She wanted to be his good girl forever.

Freedom

They stopped back at the ship, and he surprised her with a lovely red dress, long-sleeved, knee-length, and more demure than anything she'd ever been given, and sexy as hell. She looked at James in surprise.

"You don't have to show your body to anyone, ever again, unless you want to." He whistled as she spun around. "You look amazing. Come." He held out his hand and swept her off her feet once more, bending to grab the small case that held the copy of her sale contract. They left the ship and returned to the waiting autocar.

"You're still not telling me where we're going?"

"Nope." He smiled mischievously.

She dared to stick her tongue out at him.

"Remember that spanking I threatened?"

She stuck her tongue out again.

"If that isn't asking for it, I don't know what is," he laughed as he programmed in their destination.

* * *

The autocar pulled up to the Ministries building. She had a healthy awe, and not a little fear, of this place, though she'd never been here. James helped her out and to her surprise didn't pick her up this time. Instead, he held her hand.

"If it gets too hard to walk by yourself, grab my arm like we used to, okay?" he whispered to her as they climbed the steps. She nodded through gritted teeth; the stairs were proving to be more painful than she anticipated.

She'd been so focused on getting up to the top she didn't notice the line of armed Deminian soldiers spaced across the front of the building until she got to the last step. Once through the door, more soldiers were spread throughout the large entrance hall. Midros had truly been occupied, and these men – and women! she noted with surprise – looked to be in no mood to be trifled with. She wondered how many had had sisters, or even daughters, lost to Midros' greed. She didn't think the larger community of planets was going to be very forgiving.

James steered her towards a dais at one end of the hall. Her steps faltered. She'd been on a platform like that three times in her life – to be sold, to be punished, and to be executed.

James put his arm around her and leaned over. "Trust me." He kissed the top of her head.

She took a deep breath, held it a moment and let her fear flow out. She was not a slave any longer – and the entire Deminian army was there to ensure that. She chuckled at the absurdity of that fact. She lifted her head up and even managed to look straight at the faces of the small group of men gathered on the platform. With a shock she realized they were the members of the Slavery Oversight Board. They didn't look very happy, which was probably because there were three Deminian soldiers standing behind them with shouldered weapons.

She climbed the stairs and came face to face with the men. She stared the closest one in the eyes, and remarkably, it was he who broke his gaze first.

There was no preamble. "Lydia Acoff, of Deminos," he began in a stiff, formal and obviously rehearsed manner, "the Slavery Oversight Board regrets the actions that brought you to Midros and resulted in your being enslaved for the last seven years."

"Sixteen," she corrected, her voice carrying across the hall. "You kidnapped me sixteen years ago, at the age of nine. That's when my slavery started, when you forcibly removed me from my home and what was left of my family. Not seven years ago, when you sold me to my first master." She was done letting people tell lies.

His face turned purple and she knew he was not used to being challenged by a woman. He glanced back at one of the soldiers, but he found no help in the man's grim expression. Finally, he nodded. "Sixteen years." He turned to the table to pick up a piece of paper. "This is the contract signed eight years ago when you were sold. The Slavery Oversight Board sincerely apologizes." He took the top in both hands and split it apart, tearing the whole sheet from top to bottom, handing them to a surprised Lydia. Now James handed him the papers he'd taken from his briefcase.

"And," continued the official, who was looking increasingly dyspeptic, "since the first contract is void, so is your resale of last week." The ripping noise echoed through the hall.

In a daze, she took the torn papers. She turned to look at James, who had never left her side. "Am I really free? Officially?"

"Yes. Everywhere."

"May we go now?" She'd had enough of the public glare, and her legs were really hurting.

Grabbing her hand, James led her down the stairs, ignoring the people talking and whispering all around. As they exited the building into the bright sunshine, Lydia saw that the lines of soldiers had turned to face the entrance of the building. There were crowds at the bottom of the stairs that hadn't been there when she'd come in – a mixture of women in silver collars and men in civilian clothes – and when she emerged they broke out into cheers and applause. Every Deminian soldier joined in the celebration. It went on and on as she clung to James' arm, bewildered at the attention. Her gaze landed on a trio standing off to the side – a man with his arms around a woman with a silver collar, who was holding a little girl about four years old. It suddenly struck her that because of what had changed this family would not be broken up. That meant more to her than anything else she'd seen so far and for the first time her eyes filled with tears. The little girl waved and Lydia gave a small wave back and a smile.

James led her down the stairs. By now Lydia was gripping his arm and making small whimpers of pain. The crowd at the bottom, still cheering, moved apart to allow them to reach the autocar. Lydia sank onto the padded seat with a groan and as soon as the door had shut James was at her side, pulling her legs up to rest on his, gently massaging the pain away. Finally, it was no more than a dull ache and she could open her eyes.

"You all right?" James asked with concern.

"Yeah. Yes. I will be now. Thank you."

"My job." He grinned.

She looked out the window at the passing scenery, not really caring where they were headed.

"James, I want to do both."

"Both what?"

"I want to go to Deminos. Spend some time with my brother. See where I used to live, no matter how painful that might be. I'd like to walk the streets as a free woman. Read a few books of my own choosing. Then I think I'd like to come back here, to help the women discover what freedom means. To reunite mothers and daughters. Show them the women's library. But..." her voice faltered.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I don't know what you want to do. This isn't what you signed up for."

"Are you serious? Those ten days of hell I went through while you were in the re-imprinting, not knowing if I would ever see you again, I made a vow that if I got you back, I'd never leave your side. If you want to travel to the ends of the universe, I'll go with you. If you want to stay right here, I'll be at your side."

She didn't respond right away, but looked out of the window at the green grass speeding by. At your side.

"Lydia, what did I say?"

It took more courage than anything she'd ever done before, but this was the moment to say it.

"I'd rather be kneeling at your feet."

Now it was his turn to be silent.

"James, I know about the collar in that case. I came across it accidentally. I also understand that the reason you haven't given it to me is that you don't know if I want to be anyone's slave ever again, and even if I did, you want me to choose you, not just accept you." She opened the case and retrieved the collar, holding it out to him.

"James Morel, will you be my master?"

His face was serious as he took the collar from her. "Why, Lydia? Why would you want a master when you are finally free?"

"Because I love you." He was not going to stop her from saying that anymore. "Because you've earned my trust. Because you'll never take my submission for granted."

He chuckled. "Throwing my words back at me?"

"Absolutely. And because with you as my master, I know now that I'll be the center of your world, even as you are the center of mine." She stared into his brown eyes, trying to read his thoughts.

"If I agree to be your master, it will be my responsibility to show you the universe, to help you learn everything you want to learn, and to live the life you choose. Do you accept those terms?"

Her face beamed. "Yes, sir, I do."

He placed the beautiful collar around her neck, fastened the lock and leaned back, cradling her head in his hands.

"If this collar ever becomes too tight, I promise to remove it for however long you need your freedom. Until then, Beloved Lydia, for as long as you'll have me, I will be your Master."

The kiss was long, and slow, and deep, and full of promises of the future.

The End

Sophie Kisker

Sophie Kisker started composing stories of domination and submission long ago, but it wasn’t until she met others on the Internet that she realized she wasn’t alone. Her stories are sometimes dark and uncomfortable, but they will always have a happy ending. She’s a true believer that romantic love and a riding crop can make a great combination.

During the day, Sophie is busy with job and family, but in the evening, her laptop comes out, her imagination gets going, and she morphs into a recluse who would be happy living in a cave, as long as it had wireless Internet and an espresso machine.

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Other Titles by Sophie Kisker and Blushing Books

Midrosian Chronicles Series

Memories of Surrender

Longings of Surrender

Tears of Surrender

Finding Home Series

An Erotic Tale of Slavery, Love and War

Odyssey

Sanctuary

Refining Fire

A Captive of Fear and Desire

The Punishment Tour

Anthologies

Hero Undercover

Connect with Sophie Kisker:

www.sophiekisker.com

sophiekisker@gmail.com

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