Her name on Earth and in the records of Earth’s Hostage Corps was Roxanne Sparks. Here on Ustan, with his collar gracing her neck, she was formally Roxanne Slavegirl, with her slave-number serving as a third name when that was needed on various forms. Most of the time, however, she was simply his Roxanne, his valued and well-treated human slave woman.
Roxanne’s unfurred skin was among the darkest seen in human females, and she referred to herself as ‘Black Irish.’ That was a human joke, playing on the frequently seen difference between mane and skin color in humans. Roxanne was first-generation from the ‘Irish’ part of Earth, with ancestors from ‘Africa’ by way of ‘North America.’
Her mane was even darker than her skin, true black and tightly curled. In lushness it easily matched the manes of bisnik females, even if it lacked the great length that made human female manes so exotically attractive. Beeron didn’t care about the relative shortness of Roxanne’s hair; he found her attractive and exotic just as she was.
She was still sleeping this late morning, snuggled affectionately close to his blue-furred body, and wearing nothing but her restraints: The shackles he had locked on her ankles for the night, and the slave collar that she always wore. Escape wasn’t practical for slave women, but custom had to be respected. The informal code of the Hostage Corps – both the human and bisnik Corps – called for a slave woman to try to run away if her master grew slack in his precautions. That didn’t mean his beautiful alien female would go shackled all of the time, or even most of the time – just often enough, each day, to show that he cared, along with an occasional day where she spent most of her time in restraints.
Like all the women in the Hostage Corps, Roxanne had volunteered. Interstellar law disallowed direct exchanges of prisoners of war, and so starship crews captured in the Long War were exchanged for female hostages who were then sold into a gentle slavery. It was a matter of planetary pride, on both sides, to treat these alien slave women decently, and this was the reason, according to Uncle Antoonii, why the war between Ustan and Earth had become the Long War.
For last night’s bed-games, Beeron had bound his Roxanne thoroughly, exciting her with a sense of deep helplessness. He had also kept her ankle-hobbled for their brief and simple encounter earlier this morning. In a bit she would awaken again, and he would unlock her, letting her get on with today’s late start. In the meantime, he it pleased him to simply continue his inspection of her.
Roxanne’s lack of horns was not an alien feature. Bisnik women didn’t have horns either. The proportions of her body were also less than completely alien. Everyone knew that bisnik and human women could wear each other’s clothing, given the proper choice of size. Except for shoes, of course. Bisnik and human feet looked like they could wear the same shoes, but human slave women needed special made-for-humans footwear, just as bisnik slave women on Earth needed made-for-bisnik shoes.
“Master?” Roxanne said softly, asking if he were awake. Beeron silently answered her question by sitting up. She grinned, human-style, and slipped into his lap for a short cuddle. On another morning, a different silent answer would have set her to work with a body-brush, attending to his sleep-ruffled fur. They had come to know each other well in the twelve years since he had purchased her. Twelve years exactly, in fact, which made today a significant date.
=O+O+O=
Roxanne finished dressing in a summer version of what bisnik Ustani called ‘Going-out Wear’; clothing that could be given a loose translation, in human English, of ‘Sunday Best.’ She’d picked a top of pink and yellow flame-cloth, with short puffed sleeves that covered half of her upper arms. Her pantaloons, chosen by Master Beeron, were made of a velvet-like material that wicked heat away, brick red with deep yellow accents and reaching to mid-calf. Between the two was a broad-belt of classic nylon webbing, one that Master Beeron had subtly modified to be a slave belt. In addition to the usual attachment point for a carry pouch, it had connections that Master Beeron could use to secure Roxanne’s cuffed hands in front, behind, or to the sides.
She held back on picking out a pair of sandals. Master Beeron would want to choose those for her as well – and would most likely pick out ‘no sandals.’ Bisnik women went barefoot more frequently than women on Earth, and ‘When on Ustan’ naturally applied to the human slave women in that respect.
Master Beeron had chosen the male-uniform version of Going-out Wear: Polished low boots, slacks of light-colored and lightweight matene, and a cream-colored shirt with short sleeves and an open collar. He also held an anklet in his hand. That made it certain she was to go barefoot today.
“Left ankle, please, my Roxanne,” he commanded, handing her the anklet.
“Yes, master.” Roxanne bent down to lock it on. It was her usual slave anklet, custom-sized to fit her. The attached bells had been replaced, however, and their superior jingle revealed them to be actual silver.
Straightening back up, Roxanne saw Master Beeron’s face twitch with a suppressed bisnik-style grin. She decided to play along.
“No shoes, master?” she asked with her best piteous look.
“No shoes today, my dark-pretty. It amuses me to deprive you of them.”
Master Beeron’s grin broke out, and Roxanne giggled. She held out her hands for the wrist-leash and he locked the cuffs in place. He then attached the leash to the cuffs, and led her out of the house. Roxanne followed prettily, her anklet jingling. Master Beeron hadn’t hobbled her yet, but she knew that he would. Today she would spend much more time cuffed, hobbled, and otherwise restrained than she normally would. It came with Master Beeron paying special attention to her on this anniversary day.
The walkway beside the street was elastacrete, a much nicer surface for a barefoot woman to walk on than the old pre-space concrete. Their destination was just two houses down: The home of the Riid couple. Maaneel Riid Baaldin threw parties as a hobby and his mate Beetee Riid Fuul had been Roxanne’s first bisnik woman-friend here on Ustan.
Roxanne gave herself the old reminder against thinking of Maaneel and Beetee as ‘married.’ She’d only slipped that one time, years back, and she still felt embarrassed by it. Most bisnik thought of ‘marriage’ as this decadent thing, kicked off with a big fancy wedding and likely to end with big expensive breakup. They preferred ‘mated’ as the term for a serious commitment without the drama. Given the long and soggy history of divorce on Earth, Roxanne had to admit that the bisnik had a point.
Instead of a big wedding, mated bisnik couples held larger celebrations on significant anniversary dates, which by tradition fell every six and twelve years, instead of every five and ten. The common custom was to begin with a brunch hosted by the couple’s friends, and that was what Master Beeron and Roxanne were here for. After a fashion, at least: He had purchased her exactly twelve Ustan-standard years ago today.
Most of their friends had already arrived, with Jeesmaan Huubar Skiinor arriving right behind them, followed closely by Edanna Nuneez Saffo. Jeesmaan was the former and possibly current owner of Slavegirl Mei-Qui, who had gone back to Earth as Mei-Qui Lee due to a ‘legal emergency’ there. Everyone was waiting to see if the Powers That Be would allow her to return. Edanna was a moderately notorious author of mysteries and matchmaker fiction, and the half-sister of Tiim Nuneez Dameen, the owner of Marci.
Maaneel was at the door to greet them. “Welcome, Beeron. Welcome,” he said to Roxanne. “I wish you a long stay.”
“Thank you,” Roxanne answered, returning his bisnik-smile with the human version.
Maaneel went on to welcome Jeesmaan and Edanna, while Master Beeron wrist-led Roxanne inside to greet their other friends: Slavegirl Marci and her Master Tiim, the Popee couple, Edwiin and Shaari, and Beetee, who embraced both Roxanne and Master Beeron. But then Beetee was a short and maternal sort who hugged all of her friends, including the human slave women.
“It is good to see you again,” Beetee said, and added the customary greeting to a human slave woman, “I wish you a long stay.”
“Thank you,” Roxanne answered.
Master Beeron flashed Roxanne a deliberately human-style grin, and she felt a surge of affection toward him. Nestling against his side, she felt his arm give her a gentle squeeze. Then Maaneel called for everyone to sit down and eat, and Roxanne had to step back to let Master Beeron unlock her wrists.
They all sat down to the traditional anniversary brunch. Traditional, at least, when the couple were both bisnik. There were those who considered it a cheerful mummery when a bisnik master and his human slave woman celebrated, and then there were those who objected – not because of any insult to the tradition, but because they didn’t want the opportunity to celebrate arising in the first place.
Roxanne’s Aunt Pamela, for example, didn’t quite understand how the Hostage Corps worked. She’d supported Roxanne’s decision to join, but then had expected Roxanne to be sold to a new bisnik master every two or three years – “For the experience.” as she put it.
Then there was Antoonii Ciitis Jaak, Master Beeron’s uncle and the family pacifist. He objected to anything that made any part of the Hostage Corps ‘traditional,’ including traditional anniversary celebrations. Uncle Antoonii’s complaint was that the exchange of POWs for slavegirls worked too well already, that it had become a racket that neither Ustan nor Earth wanted to end.
The brunch included scrambled eggs and iced tea, not because of the two human slavegirls present, but because those two Earth foods had long since become naturalized on Ustan. There were also ozoo-fruit slices, biscuits and flatcakes made of native flours, and faarku bacon-sausage.
The native Ustan foods had become familiar to Roxanne, just as the bisnik themselves had become familiar. Master Beeron, Maaneel, and Marci’s Master Tiim didn’t look anything alike to her, despite all three being husky men with blue fur and short horns along the sides of their foreheads. Likewise Beetee, Edanna, and Shaari didn’t look anything alike despite all three being blue-furred, hornless women on the petite side. Roxanne could now see the different shades of blue, the subtly different horn-forms of the men, the not so subtly different mane-stylings of the women, and the various differences in facial features and ear shapes.
Eating gave way to the other guests asking Edanna about her latest book. Master Beeron and Marci’s Master Tiim both declined to join in, and Roxanne took that as permission to try to offer a distraction. Marci, however, beat her to it.
“That’s why I don’t ever ask Edanna about her current project,” the other human slavegirl piped up. “She’s my evil step-sister.”
“But not too evil,” Edanna said.
“Yes, but if I annoy you too much, you might put me into your next book and then do something mean to me.” Marci offered an exaggerated shudder. She and Edanna then exchanged a look of cross-species, step-sisterly approval.
Marci’s Master Tiim then rose to indirectly join his half-sister’s defense. He said, “Maaneel, Beetee, we thank you for this brunch, in the name of the couple Beeron and Roxanne. Now we must take Beeron and Roxanne away and leave you with this mess.” He waved a hand at the remains of the meal. With chuckles all around, the brunch broke up.
Master Beeron and Roxanne offered informal words of appreciation to Maaneel and Beetee, in place of the formal thank-you that anniversary etiquette disallowed. Roxanne then exchanged hugs with Beetee again before Master Beeron locked the leash-cuffs back on Roxanne’s wrists.
=O+O+O=
Like many of the current models, Beeron’s groundcar had a single driver’s seat in front, a design that mimicked the styling of the much rarer (and more expensive) aircars. Roxanne and Beetee sat together in the passengers’ seats behind – Beetee had decided at the last moment that she had to come along. A second groundcar with Tiim, his Marci-slave, and his half-sister Edanna followed them to the shopping complex. The Popee’s had transmitted a gift coin to Beeron and Roxanne’s cell-things, after electing to stay behind and help Maaneel with the clean-up.
The older and now less common anniversary custom was for the friends of the couple to present gifts purchased ahead of time. Giving money in the form of gift coins (or ‘cash’ in the old days) echoed this. The new practice, however, was for friends to take the couple shopping, and to pay for items that the couple chose for themselves.
The local center, Luuj-Tree Star, was small compared to the big malls of Lop-Lop, but then the great shopping city of Lop-Lop was one of a kind. Compared to malls outside of Lop-Lop, Luuj-Tree Star was large enough, with enough big stores and small shops to fill most needs.
Beeron and Roxanne had visited here often enough to have a routine. Roxanne would wear a pair of disposable sock-shoes to cross the parking area, with Beeron leading her on a wrist-leash. Once inside, Beeron would unlock the cuffs, leaving Roxanne with only a belled wristlet or anklet – and of course her collar – to remind her of her captivity.
Today, Beeron handed Roxanne a key when he opened the back door of the groundcar. This being a special occasion, he had locked – or rather had made her lock – her ankles close together for the ride to Luuj-Tree Star.
As Roxanne unlocked her ankles, Beetee commented, “That’s why I could never join the Hostage Corps. Having to wear that sort of ankle-clamp would drive me up into the attic.”
“Even if you had to build the attic first,” Beeron said.
“And I’m no good at all with tools,” Beetee said.
Roxanne got out of the groundcar and handed the key back to Beeron. He glanced down to check both that her ankles were properly hobbled and that she had slipped on her sock-shoes. As she held out her hands for the wrist-leash, she turned her head and said, “They do warn you that the Hostage Corps isn’t for everyone, Beetee. At least on Earth they do; I’d expect them to do the same here.”
Beeron said, “And I am fortunate that the Hostage Corps does suit me.” He locked the cuffs onto Roxanne’s offered wrists with a deliberately human-style grin. She returned a credible attempt at a bisnik-smile.
Beetee started to walk away, chuckling and shaking her head. “I’ll meet you at the entrance,” she said over her shoulder.
Beeron took this as an excuse to hug Roxanne, receiving an enthusiastic kiss in return. Primal deities! He really had been fortunate in his purchase of her, twelve years ago. However, they couldn’t stand in the parking area all day, and so Beeron began to lead Roxanne toward the entrance, trailing after Beetee.
They hadn’t taken three steps before their cell-things warbled. Both of them. Roxanne’s cell-thing was of course a slave woman’s version that Beeron’s could monitor from his own, but in this case the same message had been sent to both of their devices.
It was Uncle Antoonii. He had sent a stiff text of congratulation and best wishes, along with an electronic gift-coin.
Please accept this token, the text ended, along with the assurance that my opinion on the subject does not extend to wishing ill of Roxanne or any other Earth-human woman. In fact, if you have no better idea, you might purchase a new hyper-cooker for her use.
The gift-coin had a substantial balance. Beeron took that, along with the stiffness of the text, as a sign of Uncle Antoonii’s sincerity.
=O+O+O=
After Master Beeron unlocked her restraints, Roxanne stretched and giggled and pranced, listening to the new-silver jingle of her slave anklet. For a moment she considered trying to provoke Master Beeron into restraining her again, and instantly decided against it. Instead she took his offered arm, and they walked together down the mall’s aisle, among their friends.
Their first stop was at Faarlees Footwear. Or at least that’s how Roxanne translated the name in her mind. A literal translation would have been ‘Faarlees Foot-Clothing,’ which sounded almost as odd and quaint in the original Ustani as it did in the English translation. In any case it was a shoe store, and thus a place for one of Master Beeron’s gifts. A small sign claimed that it could produce shoes to fit human feet, but Roxanne was skeptical of such claims. She shared a knowing glance with Marci.
They were a party of six. By species, Roxanne and Marci were outnumbered by the four bisnik, and by sex Master Beeron and Master Tiim were outnumbered by the four females – the two human slave women, plus Beetee and Edanna. At the moment, Beetee and Marci’s Master Tiim were helping Master Beeron look at boot samples, while Edanna joined Roxanne and Marci in examining the store’s cobbler. At that point Roxanne realized that their party had a third division: Beetee and the two men were shod, while Edanna and the two human slavegirls were barefoot. Roxanne decided not to mention this oddity, or at least not until after they’d left the shoe store.
Faarlees’ didn’t offer old-style ready-made shoes. Instead, once Master Beeron had chosen the style he wanted for his new footwear, he would download his lasts from his cell-thing and the cobbler would construct the shoes or boots to fit.
“Did you know,” Marci said, “that a ‘cobbler’ was originally a person who made shoes, rather than a machine? In both English and Ustani – I looked it up. And ‘lasts’ were likewise physical blocks of wood that a cobbler-person used to make sure the shoes fit the buyer.”
“I knew about antique wooden lasts,” Edanna said. “I didn’t know about cobblers once having been people. I’ll have to remember that, for the next time I write a historical fantasy.”
As a professional author, Edanna was interested in all sorts of odd bits of information. Now she looked at the two human women and asked, “Are you sure that a cobbler – the modern machine-type, I mean – couldn’t be set to make shoes that would fit both bisnik and humans?”
“I’m sure.” Roxanne winced at the memory. “I’ve had three pairs that they claimed would fit despite being made by a bisnik cobbler. One pair I could put on, but couldn’t walk in because they hurt too much. The other two pairs I couldn’t even get that far with.”
Marci nodded. “There may be a cobbler somewhere that can make shoes for both bisnik and humans,” she said, “but if there is, I don’t know about it.”
“That’s too bad,” Edanna said. “I wanted a pair of subtly ill-fitting shoes for my latest book. But subtly, not blatantly.”
“You’ll think of something,” Marci said.
“It’s odd that bisnik and human feet look so much alike and yet have those subtle differences.” Edanna looked down at her own feet, and glanced at the feet of her two human friends.
“It’s one of those biological things that still haven’t been properly computerized,” Roxanne said, following Edanna’s gaze. “Even with the disposable sock-shoes, I have to special order – ” She stopped short as her eye caught a familiar logo. Stepping over to the display, she picked up the box of sock-shoes. Priidee sock-shoes, just like the box in Master Beeron’s groundcar. Only these were the transparent kind. “I didn’t know they sold these in stores,” Roxanne said. “I thought they had to be ordered on the net.”
“Those are the kind I use,” Edanna said, “and I always have to order them on the net. So Faarlees carries them. I’ll have to remember that.”
“They fit you?” Marci asked Roxanne. “I’ve found that even bisnik sock-shoes fit poorly on human feet. But I’ve never tried the Priidee brand.”
“So try them out,” Edanna said. She pulled out her cell-thing. “One pair as my treat; I want to see how they work for you.”
When the shopping party left Faarlees, the purchases included a pair of low boots for Master Beeron and a box of Priidee sock-shoes (female extra-large) for Roxanne. Marci just had a note on her cell-thing; it was ‘not done’ and ‘bad luck’ for the friends in an anniversary shopping party to buy anything for themselves.
=O+O+O=
Beeron led Roxanne past Doo & Speeraan Gifts. His party would stop there later, he decided, on the way back to Keenmuur and the mall entrance nearest their groundcars. In the meantime his human woman clung to his arm in a most delicious way, her slave anklet jingling. He considered putting her back into the wrist-leash, but not very seriously. Waiting a time before restraining her again would be delicious too. For both of them.
The shop Beeron wanted to visit next was Three Zeedin Liquors. He could see its holosign further down in the mall, with an azure, a copper, and a silver-white zeedin galloping without riders, saddles, or bridles. That supposedly marked them as wild zeedin, but their colors made them domestic. Or perhaps feral. Earth still had some of their feral zeedin-equivalents left, he understood.
Some of the liquors there would give sick headaches to Roxanne and the other human slavegirls. But then some of those liquors would also give sick headaches to many bisnik. Booze worked that way, often enough, and in any case most of the fruit-beers, grain-brandies, and other ethanol-containing beverages in Three Zeedin were tolerable to both species. Beeron remembered Uncle Antoonii grumbling about the close bio-compatibility of Ustan and Earth as being one of the causes of the Long War.
“But Uncle Antoonii,” a younger Beeron had said, “without that bio-compatibility, we wouldn’t have iced tea.”
The Uncle Antoonii of that time hadn’t appreciated the comment.
Roxanne brought him back to the present by saying, “I still can’t believe they allow a liquor store in the mall.” Beeron hid a smile. His dark human slavegirl always said that when they came to Three Zeedin.
“Are the Earth authorities really more strict about alcohol?” Edanna asked.
“Not more strict,” Tiim’s Marci-slave answered. “Strict in a different way. On Earth, the liquor stores are encouraged or required to stand alone, or to be part of food stores. Here the authorities discourage and prohibit that.”
Beetee said, “Booze is sold in food stores, on Earth? I could wish to have that here on Ustan.”
They entered Three Zeedin, exploring an already-familiar territory. Moving past the racks of fruit-beers and other fermented beverages, they came to the rows of grain-brandy and other distilled liquors. Beeron checked for a bottle of King’s Gold, a traditional North Land spirit that he particularly liked – and that was costly enough to make a worthy anniversary-purchase. As was often the case, however, it was out of stock.
Tiim and Marci led the way to the area devoted to drinkware and bar accessories. Beeron and Roxanne followed, with Beetee and Edanna behind them.
Beeron paused to examine a display of stemware that Tiim had passed by. Beetee and Edanna came up to look as well.
“Pretty,” Edanna commented.
“Pretty,” Beetee said, “but too fancy for too much money.”
“I thought I was supposed to decide that,” Beeron said mildly. “Roxanne and I. It is our anniversary, after all.” He picked up one of the crystal glasses and looked closely at it. “Pretty,” he said. He handed it to Roxanne.
Roxanne examined the glass even more closely. Beeron admired the elegance of her hands, with their dark backs and pale palms. They were graceful when freed from the wrist-cuffs.
“Pretty, master,” Roxanne said with a too-innocent sweetness, “but too fancy for too much money.” She set the glass delicately back on the shelf.
Beeron followed Roxanne’s glance to Beetee and Edanna. The two free women had the tight expressions of a bisnik trying not to laugh. He touched Roxanne’s broad nose.
“Behave yourself, wench, or I shall express my displeasure,” he said with mock-severity.
Roxanne lowered her head, half-hiding her smile, and answered in the same spirit. “It shall be as master wishes.”
Beetee giggled. Edanna coughed.
They caught up to Tiim and his Marci-slave, who were looking as a display of ceramic and ironglass mugs of various colors and designs. One of the ironglass mugs caught Beeron’s eye for its tackiness. It featured the three galloping zeedin of the shop’s logo, but with three nude female figures riding bareback.
Roxanne picked up a ceramic mug with the traditional humorous warning against mixing opposing forms of drink. She looked it over before silently handing it to her master.
Beeron considered it. “No,” he decided, and gave it back to Roxanne to replace on the shelf. He admired her graceful hands again, and made a note to kiss her thoroughly before putting her back on the wrist-leash. Not here, however. He could wait.
Marci joined Beetee and Edanna to gossip over a set of squat ironglass stemware. Beeron, Roxanne, and Tiim silently considered the rest of the display.
“Anything?” Tiim asked at last.
“Not here,” Beeron said. He turned to Roxanne. “Do you wish to beg, my dark-pretty?”
Roxanne shook her head. “No, master.”
Tiim called, “Come here, my Marci-slave. We are leaving now.”
Beeron had Roxanne take his arm, and the two master-slavegirl couples led the party back out into the mall.
=O+O+O=
Roxanne didn’t really expect to find anything at Vulraag’s Wild Kingdom. It was a big outdoors and sporting-goods store with (among other things) a section for various traditional ball games, a section for boating and fishing, a section for camping and hiking, a section for historical re-enactments of various pre-spaceflight eras, and a gated-off section for hunting and target shooting with a sign reading: Children and slave women not allowed unless accompanied by parent, owner, or legal guardian.
It wasn’t illegal for the human slave women of the hostage corps to handle weapons. It just resulted in a requirement to fill out enough forms to choke a zeedan (or a horse), followed by an unpleasant bout of psychological evaluation.
The party wandered through the various departments (other than the hunting section) admiring the various items without any intention of buying anything. Until, that is, they came to the section of items for camp and cabin cookery. There, Roxanne saw Master Beeron’s eye light on a beverage chiller in the form of an antique wooden cask. The larger one would hold twelve traditional bisnik mugs, which worked out to about eight and a half modern units or about ten human liters. The smaller one would hold two-thirds as much.
Master Beeron selected the larger cask.
“Are you sure?” Tiim asked. “Twelve mugs will be enough to make your horns glow. Even with your Roxanne-slave helping you drink it.”
“Yes, I am sure,” Master Beeron answered. “Despite the label, I don’t intend to fill it with booze.”
There were also three or four models of hyper-cooker on display, all of them specialized for cabin and camp-wagon use. Roxanne thought she could do better at Keenmuur, at the other end of the mall.
“She can do better at Keenmuur,” Beetee said, echoing Roxanne’s thought.
Edanna chimed in to agree. Marci added that they could always come back here. Roxanne saw Master Beeron and Marci’s Master Tiim exchange glances and hold their peace. Eventually they departed, with a new-packaged keg added to their purchases.
Back at the entrance, Roxanne saw Marci glance up at the Wild Kingdom holosign with its mascot vulraag (a sort of fox-lion native to Ustan). “Just how realistic is that vulraag?” Marci asked.
Roxanne made a so-so gesture with her right hand. “It’s a mild caricature; not really cartoony.”
“You can look it up later.” Edanna gave Marci a deliberately human-style smile, and added in a teasing tone, “If you really want to walk slowly, I can ask Tiim to hobble your ankles.”
“I take your point, my evil step-sister,” Marci said as they hurried to catch up with Beetee and the two men.
“But I’m only a little evil,” Edanna said.
The regrouped party made their way back down toward the Doo & Speerman’s entrance. Roxanne felt the usual public-area crinkle of the mall-way’s flooring under her feet. That flooring wasn’t quite what a visitor from the past would recognize as a carpet. Other elements would have been familiar. Luuj-Tree Star borrowed from its mall-ancestors of previous times: The Rocketroni period, the Green-lawn period, the Millennial period, and even from primordial malls like the Grand Bazaar, with goods brought in by animal-drawn wagons and wooden sailing ships.
Roxanne and Marci drew the usual politely curious glances from the other shoppers. They stood out with their furless skins and their overall Earth-alien appearance, partly concealed and partly accented by the bisnik-style clothing they wore. Their slave collars also marked them for a second look from passers-by.
What didn’t mark them as unusual were their bare feet. About a third of the female bisnik shoppers were going barefoot, like Edanna. Of course, that was their own choice, while in Roxanne’s case it was the choice of her Master Beeron. That both pleased and teased her. On the other hand, Roxanne was glad that she and Marci weren’t the only barefoot females here – and on the third hand, Master Beeron’s decree that she go unshod today wouldn’t have been practical if the custom hadn’t already been popular with bisnik women.
Another bisnik gave Roxanne and Marci an up-and-down look, followed by a polite nod. Well, display was one of their Hostage-Corps duties; they were on Ustan to be seen.
“That’s another reason why I couldn’t join the Hostage Corps,” Beetee said. “All those men looking at you.”
Roxanne returned her usual answer to Beetee’s usual complaint. “You’re just jealous.”
“Besides,” Marci said, “it’s not just men. Women looking at us too.”
“They’re envious of your manes,” Edanna said. “Of your hair.” She used the human English word. “I am too.” Looking at Roxanne, she added, “Yours is still longer than mine, even if it isn’t as long as Marci’s. Besides, it has that satyrette curliness to it.”
They entered Doo & Speeraan Gifts. Unlike either Three Zeedan Liquors or Vulraag’s Wild Kingdom, a salesclerk immediately popped up. She was an older bisnik woman who beamed a professional bisnik smile at the group.
“Welcome to Doo & Speeraan’s. I’m Teemiila. Welcome to all of you,” she added as she took in the variety of the party. “I wish you both a long stay,” she said to Roxanne and Marci. Then to the group as a whole she went on, “Is there anything I can help you find?”
Master Beeron explained that they were an anniversary shopping party, and what they really needed was room to browse.
“Of course,” Teemiila said. “If it turns out that there is something I can help you with, just let me know.” Before she departed, she smiled again at the two human slavegirls. She was delaying her departure to satisfy her curiosity, Roxanne suspected.
“Exotic manes,” Edanna pronounced as soon as Teemiila was out of earshot. “She was envying your exotic manes.”
“She was charmed by the exotic anniversary couple,” Tiim said. “You should introduce yourself, Edanna. I would lay a bet that she is a fan of your stories.”
Given room to browse, the party spread out to do so. Doo & Speeraan’s featured an eclectic collection of the luxurious and the silly. Among other things, Roxanne saw an overrefined set of outdoor-grilling tools, three models of multi-tools, water plants in sealed glass globes, a personal weather-station, massaging mats, male- and female-bisnik grooming sets (but not any for human females), various clockwork sculptures powered by mechanical springs (including one that professed to be an antique timepiece replica), a table-ornament maze of glass pipes through which colored liquids ran, and a cell-thing sanitizer.
Roxanne followed Master Beeron to where Tiim and Marci were looking through a rack of garishly colored shirts. Genuine Earth Style the read the holosign above the rack, and then in smaller lettering, VOROBAR Trade Consortium.
Master Beeron picked out a shirt decorated with brightly-colored antique aircraft, the really old kind, with propellers. “Genuine imitation Earth shirt, best quality made in Siveer City,” he intoned as if quoting a huckster.
Marci tilted her head at the holosign. “If it came here through VOROBAR, it could be an actual Earth shirt.” Her Master Tiim nodded and gave her hair an approving caress.
“That is so,” Master Beeron said thoughtfully. Roxanne nodded in understanding.
The VOROBAR Trade Consortium was the chief player in the trade between Ustan and Earth. Everyone knew about that trade existing, despite the ongoing Long War between the two planets. Fewer knew just how much trade there was. It couldn’t be kept a secret, but it was kept discreet.
“Check the tag, master, I beg you,” Roxanne urged.
Master Beeron nodded and checked the tag, a little square of flexible microscrap that told automatic washing machines how to treat the shirt. He displayed it for Tiim, Marci, and Roxanne to read. Printed on the tag was the bisnik-readable backup of those instructions, along with a word in human English lettering: Honolulu.
“Well now,” Tiim said, “If that tag does not lie, then this really is a Hawaiian Earth shirt.” He added, “My Marci-slave spent time in Hawaii, in her childhood.”
Marci nodded. “That’s right,” she told the group.
“I read about it in her dossier, before purchasing her,” Tiim said, “and afterwards I read more about the places on Earth where she had lived. Earth is not all alike everywhere, any more than Ustan is.”
A sudden sense of mischief moved Roxanne to ask Marci, “Did your Master Tiim inspect you before your purchase, the way Master Beeron inspected me?”
“Of course.” Marci raised her nose into the air, playing the stereotype of the shameless slave woman. “My master shows a proper masculine prudence, unlike the silly females of this world.”
Beetee giggled. Roxanne saw Edanna roll her eyes – another of the gestures bisnik and humans had in common.
“Tiim, can’t you control your alien female?” Edanna asked.
“I could,” Tiim answered deadpan. “But why should I?”
Beetee said, “It’s your right and proper punishment, Edanna, for being Marci’s evil stepsister. Just like in the older versions of the ogre-tales.”
“But I’m only a little evil,” Edanna said.
=O+O+O=
Beeron expected the end of the shopping party to come quickly after leaving Doo & Speeraan’s. They’d go to Keenmuur, they’d buy a hyper-cooker for Roxanne and a set of decent groundcar tools for himself, and then the shopping party would come to an end. He smiled to himself. Roxanne could rest her feet – with her ankles close-shackled – in the groundcar.
The hyper-cooker and the groundcar tools were as quickly purchased as Beeron expected. The tools in particular pleased him; they were good-quality, rather than the over-fancy and overpriced set offered at Doo & Speeraan’s. Then Beetee popped up from wherever she’d been to say, “Beeron! Roxanne! You must see this!”
‘This’ turned out to be a new, small department of Keenmuur devoted to human slavegirl goods. Beeron didn’t think it could sell very much, he’d guess that Roxanne and Marci by themselves would be a fair chunk of their customer base. Tiim said, “They might be selling to the wishful owners of imaginary human slave women.”
“I’d expect so,” Edanna said. “I had a character like that in one of my books.”
“Or they sell to women who want to imagine themselves in the Hostage Corps,” Beetee said. “Either in our Hostage Corps and pretending to be collared on Earth, or pretending to be in Earth’s Hostage Corps as human women living here.” She selected a mug emblazoned with the logo ‘Ustan’s Best Master’ and held it up. “Beeron? Roxanne? What do you think? Tiim, would you be willing to cede the title to Beeron on his anniversary day?”
“Certainly,” Tiim said.
Beeron saw Roxanne nodding. He considered making her beg that he accept that mug, and decided against doing so as having too much irony. “Yes,” Beeron said, and a boxed mug went into the stack of purchases.
Roxanne held up a chromed sphere. “What’s this?” It was just under a hands breath in diameter and had a hole through the center like an oversized bead.
“It looks like a grav float,” Marci said.
Tiim took it, did something to split the sphere in half, poked at the controls revealed inside, closed it again, and released it. He looked at the others with a smug expression as it floated in mid air.
“It is a grav float,” Edanna said. “It’s to hold up a hobbling chain or hobbling cable, to keep it from dragging.”
“How much is it?” Beetee asked. Beeron and Tiim both checked with their cell-things as Beetee looked for a label. “Oh!” she said.
“The path of high technology,” Tiim said. “A gizmo will have a high price; for years and years only institutions and the very wealthy can afford it. People expect the high price to last forever. And then the price drops. That is what happened here.”
“It’s not a bad price,” Beeron said, half to himself. “Not bad at all.” He could imagine Roxanne being pleased to have this gizmo managing her ankle-hobbles. He could also imagine this gizmo making it practical to put her in ankle-hobbles much more frequently. He looked at his dark-human slavegirl. “Want?”
Roxanne grinned a broad human grin. Beeron guessed her to have been following his thoughts. “Want, master,” she said.
=O+O+O=
Just as Roxanne expected, Master Beeron tried out the new grav float at once, hobbling her before they left the mall. He also gave the wrist cuffs and leash into her possession, teasing her with them for the ride home.
They stopped at home only briefly; Master Beeron decreed that they wouldn’t change clothing until it was time to go out for dinner. Roxanne did wash her hands, face, and feet. She also made bold as to wipe Master Beeron’s horns with a wet washcloth. It wasn’t nearly as slutty as licking those horns, but it was still something that a bisnik woman would be horribly embarrassed to do to her man in public – and Roxanne had been on Ustan long enough to pick up the same attitude. In private, however… Master Beeron gave her a huge bisnik-style grin and swept her into a possessive embrace. Roxanne, with her arms free, was able to hug back, and thus encouraged a tighter embrace than Master Beeron would have applied if bound.
When Master Beeron finished kissing Roxanne, he secured her wrists with the cuffs he’d been teasing her with and led her wrist-leashed back to his groundcar.
The next item of their anniversary day was to see the Naabmuur Mechanical Circus. Just the two of them; tradition called for a mated couple’s friends to be present for the brunch and shopping of their anniversary, and then to let them be for the entertainment and dinner.
At the arena hosting the circus, Master Beeron parked the groundcar, opened the passenger door for Roxanne, and paused, looking at the parking lot pavement. Roxanne followed his gaze. It was a coarser pavement than at Luuj-Tree Star.
“Hmm,” Master Beeron said. He plucked a pair of the new sock-shoes from the box and slipped them into a pocket. Then he touched the bridge of Roxanne’s nose. “Stay here, for the moment.”
“Yes master.”
Roxanne watched Master Beeron step around to the rear of the groundcar and heard him open the boot. A minute later, she heard the boot close again, with Master Beeron returning with an unfolded hand-truck.
“I’d forgotten about that, master!” Roxanne said. It had been some months since he’d last used it, and over a year since he’d used it on her.
“Then you can become familiar again,” Master Beeron said. He pointed, and Roxanne obediently got out of the groundcar and stood on the hand-truck’s base, her back to the hand-truck’s frame. Master Beeron strapped her in place, leaving her wrist cuffs and ankle-hobble (with the new grav float) locked on her. The strap buckles didn’t lock, but they were deliberately positioned so that Roxanne couldn’t reach them. After a quick double-check, Master Beeron ran a finger over the arch of her ear. “No escape for you, my dark-pretty.”
“Even if I got loose from the straps, master, I’d still be cuffed and hobbled.”
“That is so,” Master Beeron said cheerfully as he started to wheel Roxanne toward the entrance of the arena.
The entrance was busy if not quite crowded, and being strapped to the hand-truck attracted more even attention to Roxanne than she normally would have received.
“Trouble?” a bisnik woman asked.
“No, no trouble,” Master Beeron said cheerfully.
Roxanne confirmed, “No trouble,” and the woman nodded and pointed a forefinger at the ceiling in the bisnik equivalent of a ‘thumb’s up.’
Once inside, Master Beeron wheeled Roxanne to a bank of lockers and began to release her straps. A security guard approached, his uniform marking him as an arena employee, rather than belonging to the circus.
“Sir and, um, ma’am. You’ll have to leave the hand-truck behind.”
“Yes, I know,” Master Beeron answered.
Bisnik didn’t visibly flush; instead they showed jitters of embarrassment. Roxanne realized that the security guard was much younger than she’d first though, on seeing him jitter. She wasn’t as good at judging bisnik age as she might wish, even after her years here on Ustan, but she suspected that a human his age might have pimples. He stared at her with wide-eyed curiosity as Master Beeron finished folding the hand-truck and stowed it in a locker.
“Welcome,” the young guard said to Roxanne, hurrying before Master Beeron could turn his attention on him. “I wish you a long stay.”
“Thank you.” Roxanne gave him a chained curtsey, keeping her ankles even closer together than her hobble required.
This flustered the young man even further. “Sir.” He nodded to Master Beeron and scurried away.
Master Beeron gave the arch of Roxanne’s ear an approving caress and handed her the locker’s old-tech mechanical key. “Keep this for me, please,” he said.
“Yes master.” Roxanne tucked the key away, hindered just slightly by her wrists being cuffed. She then held out her cuffed hands for a wrist leash. But instead of attaching the leash, Master Beeron slipped his left arm behind the cuffs, bringing it around so that Roxanne could cling to his arm with both of her hands.
“Come along, my dark-pretty,” Master Beeron said.
“Yes master,” Roxanne repeated. She gave his arm a squeeze of appreciation and they walked together to enter the circus proper. Their cell-things both warbled as their virtual tickets were inspected and approved, and they stopped at a booth inside for over-priced iced tea and a bag of puffed starch-shrooms. The last were the same sort of mushroom used for the bisnik equivalent of french-fries, and thus were the bisnik equivalent of popcorn – if popcorn were made of potatoes.
In the auditorium proper they found their seats; bench seats divided by painted lines rather than by armrests. Master Beeron produced a padlock, and then had Roxanne sit and shorten the hobble chain, bringing her ankles close together. He then sat down beside her and attached her wrist-cuffs to her slave belt, not directly, but with a short length of chain. Roxanne leaned against Master Beeron, and he put his arm around her.
“Comfy?” Master Beeron asked.
“Yes, master,” Roxanne said. She raised her hands above her lap to the extent the chain allowed, a little over a quarter-unit, or about thirty centimeters. “This is still better than being strapped to that hand-truck.”
“I did not hear you complain. You were lazy enough to appreciate it.”
“I’m still glad it was a short ride, master. But yes, I did appreciate it. And I’m glad they replaced the floor-cleaning system here.”
Roxanne had been in this auditorium before, a few years ago – no, almost five years ago now. Master Beeron had brought her here, not for a circus, but for a musical theater performance, and the automatic floor-cleaning system had been showing its age. The new system was much crisper, the kind that operated continuously on a low cycle, and Roxanne’s bare feet appreciated it.
As was so often the case, Master Beeron guessed what she was thinking. “It amuses me to keep you barefoot, my dark-pretty,” he said. “It goes so well with your collar.” He patted the pocket holding a pair of sock-shoes. “This is for emergencies only, so do not get your hopes up.”
“I won’t, master,” Roxanne said. She considered adding something impish, and decided she didn’t need to. From the twinkle in his eye, Master Beeron knew that she was thinking it.
The pre-circus acts had already started, even though it was still a good half-hour before the official beginning of the show. Clowns circulated among the audience, joking and performing sleigh-of-hand tricks. A petite female clown with pink-dyed fur, a tiny hat, and oversized pantaloons passed by. Her hat rang, and she took it off and pulled out an antique alarm clock (bisnik style, of course). She looked at it, showed it to Roxanne and Master Beeron (and Roxanne noted that it did show the proper time), and slipped it into a pocket in her pantaloons. From another pocket she then pulled out a saucepan. Holding it in her left hand, she used her right to pluck out marbles, first from Master Beeron’s ear and then from Roxanne’s, dropping each marble into the saucepan, one by one. After a dozen marbles, she covered the saucepan with a lid and shook it. It didn’t make any noise. She then removed the lid and pulled out a rubber chicken.
It was a rubber version of the Earth bird, naturalized here on Ustan like iced tea, as part of the Earth-Ustan Food Exchange. Like iced tea, chicken eggs and meat had become popular here on Ustan as part of the Food Exchange. But Master Beeron said, “I did not think that rubber Earth-chickens did well on Ustan.”
The she-clown gave him an exaggerated shrug, dropped the chicken back into the saucepan, covered and shook it, and pulled out a rubber sausage. Beaming in triumph, she held it high, and Master Beeron and Roxanne both applauded, as did the other audience members seated nearby. Roxanne couldn’t really clap her hands with her wrists cuffed, but she could hold them up to the limit of their chain and call “Bravo!” (Or rather the equivalent word in Ustani. Roxanne still took care not to slip into English except when Master Beeron commanded her to do so.)
After slipping the saucepan and sausage back into her pantaloons, the she-clown leaned over and whispered into Roxanne’s ear. “Welcome. I wish you a long stay.”
“Thank you,” Roxanne whispered back.
The she-clown offered a genuine bisnik-grin, under the permanent one of her clown make-up, bobbed a curtsey, and moved on to the next section of the audience. Roxanne watched from four or five meters away as she pulled out three balls and began to juggle. Then the balls went high into the air and the she-clown swept off her tiny hat to catch them as they came back down. Inverting the hat, she showed that the balls had vanished.
The clowns in the audience all slipped away as the official starting time approached. The lights over the audience dimmed, and those over the circus ring brightened. On the dot of the starting time, the ringmaster appeared, carried into the ring on a tray held by a huge and obviously mechanical bisnik-ogre.
=O+O+O=
Beeron leaned forward. This was a new wrinkle. The mech-ogre was a big brute with a metallic blue sheen, squat but still standing between three and four units tall – twice the height of a man. It held a tray over its head, on which the ringmaster stood with perfect aplomb.
The ringmaster was dressed in a sky-blue variant of the traditional ringmaster outfit: Old-time, gaudy, and not at all clown-like. He wore a glorious hat that he doffed as he bowed to the audience in four directions.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” He spoke with the fruity accent that went with the traditional ringmaster stereotype. “Young and Old! Welcome! Welcome to the Naabmuur Mechanical Circus!” He paused, waiting for the cheers to die down. “And our first act, the Fabulous Euusali Zeedin Riders!”
The mech-ogre carried the ringmaster back to the outside the ring – to a position where he wouldn’t block the view of any of the audience, Beeron noted. Music played over the sound system, and a parade of a dozen mechanical zeedin entered the ring, all with bell- and plume-decorated harnesses. Six of the mech-zeedin bore riders, wearing nearly as little as their mounts, and standing on their mount’s backs. The zeedin trotted in a circle around the ring as the riders performed handstands, flips and other acrobatics. Then the mech-zeedin formed two counter-rotating circles in the ring, and the riders leapt from one mount to another. The climax came with several flips where the three sets of riding pairs exchanged mounts simutaneously, as the zeedin trotted past each other in opposing directions.
Beeron nodded vigorous appreciation and applauded. Beside him he heard Roxanne cry out in delight. It was impressive.
The dozen mechanical zeedin then formed a circle facing outward and sidestepped, slowly circling around as the kept their heads toward the audience. The riders standing on their backs preened and bowed. Then the mech-zeedin and their riders departed in a storm of applause.
The ringmaster returned to the center of the ring, still standing on the mech-ogre’s tray, and announced the next act: “…the carriage of Naabmuur’s Clown-Town!”
The music started up again, and two of the mech-zeedin returned, pulling an undersized carriage into the center of the ring. The clown driving it hopped down with a backflip and opened the carriage doors with a flourish. A clown emerged from the carriage, and then another and another. It was a classic gag, yet it was still amusing and amazing to see more clowns appear than that little carriage could possibly hold.
In all, there were over a dozen clowns. Beeron recognized the pink she-clown who had entertained them during the pre-show, running around with the others, juggling, doing pratfalls, and generally (ahem) clowning around. The little carriage drove off, and the driver-clown returned, riding a unicycle and joining in the gags.
Eventually the clowns departed, with one last janitor-clown sweeping up the mess with a comically oversized broom and dustpan.
“I should get you one of those,” Beeron teased Roxanne.
“But where would we keep it, master? There isn’t room in any of the closets.”
Beeron decided not to pursue that and turned his attention back to the show.
“From Earth!” the ringmaster cried out from the mech-ogre’s tray, going on to announce the next act: Large mechanical duplicates of Earth-animals. When they walked into the ring, Beeron didn’t recognize them.
They were large animals, tall, leggy, and long-necked. Their metallic ‘hides’ were gilt with dark bronze splotches. They weren’t elephants, and Beeron had failed to catch what the ringmaster had called them. There were six of the long-necks, whatever they were, prancing around in a stately manner while their ‘trainer’ made noise with a whip.
The mech-animals ‘necked’ – banging their necks together in mock-combat. They picked up wreaths and other ornaments handed to them by the trainer. They stepped up onto low platforms and hung those ornaments on the tightrope and trapeze bars overhead. They stepped back down and walked around the ring, giving everyone in the audience a good look at them. Then they withdrew to the entrance, but did not depart.
The ringmaster announced the next act, again from the tray held up by the mech-ogre. “Ladies and Gentlemen! Young and Old! We now present – The Acrobatic Aariino Family!”
The acrobats trotted into the ring, as gaudily (and scantily) clad as the zeedin riders of the first act. They performed flips and cartwheels, and created living pyramids, standing on each other’s shoulders. Two steel rings descended from above, each a unit wide, and the two female acrobats slithered through and around them, while the six male acrobats performed handstands and pole-balancing.
The long necked mech-animals re-entered the ring to join the act. The bisnik acrobats concentrated on height now, standing on each other’s shoulders or using the rings or the poles to more nearly match the height of the gilded long-necks. And then this act came to its end amid applause.
Beeron heard Roxanne crying out “Bravo!” again. He considered unlocking her cuffs, to let her clap properly in applause. He would wait until the end of the show, he decided. He would certainly remove them for dinner, and in the meantime he could enjoy how the restraints teased her.
He reached over to give her shoulder a caress, reminding her that she wasn’t forgotten, and received an affectionate nudge from her head in return.
=O+O+O=
As the acrobats and the mech-giraffes left the ring, Roxanne found herself both amused and annoyed by the way her wrist-cuffs kept her from clapping. More amused than annoyed; she knew it pleased Master Beeron to bind her so – to tease her with his bindings. And she had to admit that watching the circus was a good place to make her extra-restrained. Because the bindings did tease her. She was aware of her cuffed wrists tethered to her slave belt, and of the shortened hobbles locked on above her bare feet. Then there was the slave collar around her neck; not attached physically to anything, but symbolizing Master Beeron’s ownership and gentle mastery of her.
She felt Master Beeron’s caress, and turned to smile at him. She saw the warm affection in his eyes, and knew that he saw the affection in hers. Roxanne half-consciously tugged at her wrist cuffs, testing their security. This was what she had joined the Hostage Corps for.
Roxanne turned her attention back to the circus as the ringmaster announced the next act: “The Return of the Naabmuur Clown-Town!” The undersized carriage entered the ring again, but this time the clowns followed behind it, half of them riding unicycles and juggling, and the other half riding the mech-zeedin – but facing backwards. The carriage driver jumped down and pulled props from the carriage. It seemed to hold an absurd number of props, just as it had seemed to hold an absurd number of clowns, before.
The music changed to a frenetic tune. The clowns did clownish things with more acrobatics and more props than in their earlier act. The carriage and most of the zeedin departed, with two of the mech-animals remaining behind to participate in the gags. Mostly they stomped on teeter-totters with their fore-hooves to send balls, pies, and other objects into the air. Roxanne saw the she-clown from the pre-show walking on stilts. A water balloon flew up into the air; she caught it and sent it back at the clown who had launched it.
A mech-giraffe walked into the ring. The music changed, and the giraffe and the she-clown on her stilts began a parody of a formal dance. It wasn’t quite a waltz – although the bisnik would say that an earthly waltz was not quite this dance.
At the end of the dance, the mech-giraffe affectionately nudged the clown in the chest, and she fell backwards on her stilts. She landed in a net held by pair of rescue-clowns, bounced out of the net onto her feet, and began to physically berate her rescuers with an oversized bat of light foam. The music changed to a quick and merry tune, and the clowns ran around, gathered their props, and departed.
The ringmaster, standing on his tray, next announced an animal-tamer act, with a pack of mechanical vulraags and ragkus. A cage was quickly set up in the ring, and the mech-animals entered, followed by “The Brave Tamer and his Beautiful Assistant!”
The vulraags were fox-lions, and Roxanne could see that they looked much more realistic than the mascot of the Wild Kingdom store in the mall. The ragkus were sabre-tooth bears. The tamer and his assistant put the creatures through their paces, with much snarling and growling, and displays of fangs and claws. They made it easy to forget that the vulraags and ragkus were mechs, rather than actual wild animals.
The tamer and his assistant took their bows and left the cage, only to be confronted by one of the clowns, now dressed in a clown version of an animal tamer’s costume. The clown and the tamer pantomimed an argument, with much waving of arms, which ended with the tamer stalking off. The clown triumphantly hopped into the cage with the wild mech-animals, to a collective “Oooooh!” from the audience.
The clown’s attempt to play the animal tamer quickly turned into comedy, with the clown going through the acts previously performed by the mech-vulraags. As he did so, the mechanical ragkus stood on their hind legs and waved their forepaws, and the vulraags snarled at the appropriate points. In the end, the clown escaped the cage and shook his fist at the wild mech-beasts. The vulraags and ragkus responded with a chorus of roars that caused the clown to back away in exaggerated fear, before turning to run.
“Bravo!” Roxanne called out as the audience applauded. This time she did try to clap; lifting her hands to the extent that the tethering chain allowed and producing the short faint claps allowed by the cuffs securing her wrists.
=O+O+O=
The lights dimmed over the ring, but Beeron could faintly see the mech-vulraags and mech-ragkus departing and the cage being collapsed and carried away. When the lights came back up, the ringmaster appeared in the middle of the ring, standing once again on the tray held by the mech-ogre.
“And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, Young and Old,” he announced in his plumy accent. “The Most Astonishing Flying Fraadly Family!”
It was a third group of scantily clad acrobats, four of them this time, performing on the high wire and the trapeze bars. As they showed their stuff, Beeron ungrudgingly admitted that they really were astonishing. He wasn’t the only one who thought so, either.
“Ooooh!” the audience said.
“Ooooh!” Roxanne said. “Oh my!”
She had slipped and spoken in English, a fault she almost never committed. Beeron made an instant decision to not notice. Taking notice would distract him from the performance.
The performance ended with the four Astonishing Fraadlys standing on the mech-ogre’s tray, bowing in four directions to the audience and receiving a roar of applause. When the applause finally died down, the ringmaster returned to the tray. The mech-ogre held it high, and the ringmaster announced the final act.
It was a grand medley, with clowns on stilts, the long-neck mech-animals that Roxanne had called giraffes, and all four of the acrobat families. The mech-vulraags put in an appearance as well, walking the tightrope overhead from one cage to another.
Beeron made good on his earlier decision and unlocked Roxanne’s wrists, allowing her to properly join in the applause. That applause went on and on, with everyone standing.
When the applause finally ended, Roxanne gave him a spontaneous hug. Beeron squeezed back, feeling a pleased rumble inside and a huge grin on his face. This was why he had purchased her twelve years back.
The lights came up over the whole auditorium, and the sound system started playing one of the three traditional ‘exit the theater’ themes. The embrace ended, and Beeron gave himself a mental pat on the back for coming prepared.
“Locker key, please,” he told Roxanne.
“Yes, master.” Roxanne handed the key over.
“Now hold out your hands.”
Roxanne obeyed this second command with as little hesitation as the first, even if her expression made it obvious that she didn’t want her wrists cuffed again quite so quickly. Well then, he would grant her wish. He slipped a pair of fused-together thumb rings over his slavegirl’s thumbs, and depressed the recessed button with a probe. (That bit of metal was too simple to deserve the name ‘key.’)
The twin rings appeared to be a simple solid piece of chromed plasteel while actually being stuffed with miniature gravitronics. A pair of tractor-rings spun up, insubstantial fields that would prevent Roxanne from slipping the thumb rings off as easily as Beeron had slipped them on – without crushing her thumbs the way mechanical thumb cuffs would. The tiny power supply built into the device wouldn’t last very long, but that was all right with Beeron. He bent down to remove the lock that put Roxanne’s ankles into a close-hobble, leaving the regular hobble in place. When the crowd thinned a bit more, he would escort her to his waiting hand-truck and the exit.
=O+O+O=
“Mmmm. Master. Mmmm.” Roxanne said.
She was sitting on the bed, wearing only her collar. Master Beeron stood over her, wearing even less. His hands massaged her wrists, her ankles, and her feet. Occasionally they would help themselves to her breasts, or to the rest of her black and furless skin.
“That’s enough, my dark-pretty,” Master Beeron said at last. “Now dress yourself.”
“Yes, master.”
Roxanne stood and began to put on the dinner outfit Master Beeron had laid out for her: Undergarments that still seemed faintly exotic and alien after a dozen years and more, followed by a sleeveless frock of synthetic sea-silk. The frock was night-cut and night-pink, and too formal to be a confection. It had an elegance spiced by a hint of the sort of female barbarian costume found only in historical romances. Edanna had wrinkled her face in doubt when she had purchased it, a few weeks back, while Beetee had been enthusiastic.
There would be no footwear and no wrist or hand restraints at dinner tonight. Master Beeron had promised that. When they returned here after dinner, of course, she could expect to be thoroughly bound.
Roxanne’s slave anklet was locked shut on the dresser-top, a silent command from Master Beeron to leave it behind. She selected her best hair ornament instead, a filigree of space-gold with tiny synthetic rubies. (Planet-mined gold and rubies had an indefinable cachet that neither Roxanne nor Master Beeron cared about.) After a moment’s thought, she added her plain gold toe-ring to her left foot.
Now she could watch Master Beeron finish up with his suit for the evening. It ranked above the Sunday-Best, Going-Out male uniform he’d worn during the day, following the same general pattern, but with ruffles and flourishes of formality. A few centuries ago those touches would have marked Master Beeron as an aristocrat, or at least as a member of the upper-crust. Roxanne tamped down a smile. It was silly, but that suit made her feel proud to be Master Beeron’s slavegirl.
They walked out to Master Beeron’s groundcar again. After Roxanne had climbed into the passenger compartment, Master Beeron handed her a set of ankle hobbles. These were different set from the ones she’d worn earlier, with a detachable chain threaded through the new grav float. “Put these on as we drive to Chinchin’s, please,” he told her. “I expect you to be wearing them when we arrive.”
Roxanne obeyed, and was able to present herself as properly hobbled when the groundcar stopped in front of the restaurant’s entrance. She had barely gotten out of the passenger compartment when Master Beeron picked her up and carried her inside the restaurant. Setting her on her feet, he authorized the auto-valet to park his groundcar. He then offered his arm, and Roxanne quickly took it so as to be a proper slave woman ornament for him as he turned to the chief waiter.
The chief waiter was an elderly male bisnik, with thinning fur and horns faded to a pale ivory. “Welcome Sur.” He half-bowed to Master Beeron and made a formal gesture of welcome, one that went with the old-style form of address. “Welcome Suri,” he said to Roxanne, repeating the gesture. “I wish you a long stay,” he added smoothly.
“Thank you,” Roxanne said.
“Welcome to Chinchin’s. I am motolargo Ruudoof, and you must be Sur Beeron Ciitis and Suri Roxanne Slavegirl.”
“We are,” Master Beeron agreed amiably.
“Your table is ready,” Ruudoof said. He raised his hand to summon a young bisnik woman. “Hiidee will be your table-guide.”
“Welcome to Chinchin’s, Sur and Suri,” Hiidee said. “If you will follow me, please? Your table is waiting.”
Hiidee led them to the entrance of the dining chamber, moving more slowly than Roxanne’s hobbles required. She glanced back and picked up her pace, then glanced back a second time, apparently to confirm that she wasn’t now walking too quickly.
The dining chamber was an atrium, well-carpeted with tables scattered under a number of tropical sloduk trees. Their heavy green leaves provided thick shade against the setting sun, and lanterns hung from the branches. Most of the tables were sized for two, and all had snowy white tableclothes. The padded wood-red chairs at the sides the tables looked comfortable.
They arrived at a table for two with the menus set in place. Master Beeron saw Roxanne seated before taking his own chair, whispering into her ear as he did so that it would keep her from breaking away and running. Roxanne managed to keep from giggling.
Hiidee poured water. “Server Kooleni will wait upon you this evening,” she said. “He should be here momentarily.” She visibly hesitated before saying to Roxanne, “Welcome. I wish you a long stay.”
“Thank you.” Roxanne made an effort to keep her face straight and saw Master Beeron doing the same. When Hiidee left, Master Beeron chuckled.
“She is young and flustered,” he said, “yet at least she didn’t spill the water.” He took up his menu. “I do not normally care for appetizers. Tonight, however, we will order an appetizer tray.”
“The seafood tray, master?” Roxanne asked hopefully.
“Do you beg it, my dark-pretty?” Master Beeron asked with an impish gleam in his eye.
“Yes master, I beg it.” Roxanne wondered just how Master Beeron would tease her this time.
“Very well then,” Master Beeron said. “Should I also ask for barbarian-sticks for my exotic alien barbarian woman?”
And now she knew. “Please no, master,” Roxanne answered. “I beg that you don’t.”
Roxanne didn’t know how use barbarian-sticks. On Ustan they were associated with certain barbarian tribes. Otherwise they were identical to the chopsticks of Earth’s Far Eastern civilizations, in a case of convergent evolution of inanimate objects. But Roxanne had never learned to use chopsticks, either.
“Very well then,” Master Beeron said. “No barbarian-sticks, since you beg so prettily.” He avoided mentioning that he lacked skill with them as well, Roxanne noticed.
Their waiter arrived. “Welcome Sur, to Chinchin’s,” Server Kooleni said. “Welcome Suri, I wish you a long stay,” he added smoothly.
Roxanne once again gave the proper reply to the traditional greeting, and the waiter turned back to Master Beeron.
“Do you wish to place an initial order?” Server Kooleni asked.
“Yes, if you please. Bring us a seafood appetizer tray, without barbarian-sticks. Also,” Master Beeron looked at Roxanne. “Choose a cordial, my Roxanne.”
“Yes master,” Roxanne said automatically. Her mind hiccupped, and then raced as she looked quickly over the selection of cordials in the menu. They were all sweet and potently alcoholic, and most were herb or grain-wine based. She wanted a fruit-based one, or – there! Iseelbelli Manyberry.
Master Beeron nodded his approval of Roxanne’s choice. Server Kooleni nodded as well and silently departed.
=O+O+O=
Beeron took a moment to yet again admire the dark bare skin of his exotic human slavegirl. After twelve years, he still hadn’t tired of doing so. On the contrary, the familiarity he’d gained with Roxanne’s moods, with her foibles, and with her talents had enriched his admiration.
Roxanne finished a last bite from the appetizer tray, and Beeron admitted to himself that she could use ‘civil’ tableware – forks, knives, and spoons – more elegantly than he could. Or at least she could use tableware elegantly with her hands free; if he had locked her wrists in cuffs, it would have been a severe (and unamusing) handicap for her.
Thinking of cuffs… Beeron pulled out a unilink. “Are you still hobbled, my dark-pretty?”
“Of course, master.”
“I should like you to be hobbled more closely.” Beeron set the unilink and its key down on Roxanne’s side of the table. “Connect your ankle-cuffs directly, my Roxanne.”
“Yes master,” Roxanne answered cheerfully.
She’d been looking forward to this, Beeron realized. His initial plan had been to have Roxanne tight-hobble herself when they were first seated. He had changed his mind – and Roxanne knew that he had. She had become as familiar with him as he had with her, during the twelve years he had owned her.
Roxanne passed the key back to him. A moment later Server Kooleni arrived to whisk away the appetizer tray and serve the summer-salad. The cordial glasses disappeared as well, at Beeron’s nod, with refilled water-glasses taking their place.
Beeron poured spicy vinaigrette onto his salad. “I did promise to leave your hands free for dinner,” he said. “What follows afterwards is a matter for my amusement. Perhaps I should bring out the heavy metal cuffs and chains.”
Roxanne drizzled spicy vinaigrette on her salad. She liked it, Beeron knew, as long as there wasn’t too much. He, on the other hand, had received accusations that he liked a little salad in his vinaigrette.
“The weight would be a little much, master, even in bed,” Roxanne said. “If bulk amuses you tonight, you might use the acroplastic restraints.” She crunched her salad.
Beeron crunched his salad. After a time, he said, “They would look good on you.”
“Thank you, master.”
“They would look good on you,” Beeron repeated, “yet they’re more a winter-holiday sort of thing. I believe I’ll save them until then.” He ate more salad before adding, “The rubberized cuffs are a possibility, as are the rubber straps.”
He watched Roxanne consider this. The tight-hobbling of her ankles couldn’t be seen directly, with her seated like this, but he could tell that she was aware of that particular helplessness.
“As master wishes,” Roxanne said. “His Roxanne will not grovel before him, begging for mercy if he chooses so.”
Beeron nodded mentally. That third-person humility was his slavegirl’s way of hinting that she’d enjoy rubber straps. Well, maybe. Yet maybe not, as well.
They finished their salads, and the entree came: ‘Roost and Range,’ naturalized Earth-chicken and prime faarku rib, in this case roasted with a vegetable medley. Beeron had put in the order when the appetizer tray had come out, with Roxanne going nod-nod-nod in agreement. He had also checked with Server Kooleni that the vegetable medley did not include queenplant. Beeron loathed queenplant, despite the intermittent claims touting its healthy benefits, and Roxanne, being human, would find it to be decidedly unhealthy.
Their glasses were filled with greensun-flavored water, rather than any of the more-traditional fruit-beers or grain-wines. The manyberry cordial with the appetizer tray had been enough alcohol for tonight; Beeron kept in mind the infamous folksong about how booze ‘promoted lust and retarded length.’
The unilink seemed to be promoting Roxanne’s lust, rightly enough. Beeron wondered if he should have brought a toe-binder for her large toes, as well. Too late to apply it here, and he’d want Roxanne’s feet held well apart, later on. He took a moment to picture her, unclothed and struggling, her wrists and ankles tethered to the corners of the bed. With her giggling about at her predicament.
“There is always the Maagluut system,” Beeron said.
That consisted of a metalized sheet of rubber, with electromagnetic restraints that would allow him to easily reposition Roxanne’s limbs. He could flip a switch off, move an ankle to a new location, and flip the switch back on – and Roxanne would be stuck there.
“I didn’t know you had a Maagluut system, master,” Roxanne said.
“I don’t,” Beeron said. “That doesn’t stop me from considering it.” He ate more of the roast chicken. Unlike the inedible native avians, Earth-origin chicken was actually tasty. After a time, he said, “Now tell me what you are considering, my dark-pretty.”
Roxanne took a drink of greensun-water before answering. “I’m not really considering anything, master, but if you want me to name something at random it would be… rope. Classic nylon rope.”
“A possibility,” Beeron said. “Definitely a possibility. Although from the way you squirmed when I mentioned those rubber straps, I might use belts instead. Leather belts, with locks.”
“I didn’t squirm, master,” Roxanne protested. “Did I?”
Beeron grinned, and held his thumb and forefinger apart in a gesture used by humans as well as bisnik. “Just a little, my Roxanne.”
“Well, maybe a little, master.” Roxanne grinned back, human style.
Beeron and Roxanne finished their Roost and Range (and vegetable medley). Server Kooleni cleared away the plates, leaving only the water glasses. A formal meal traditionally had a short pause before dessert.
“The leather cuffs are also a possibility,” Beeron said as they waited. “You do realize that, don’t you?”
“Yes, master.” After a moment Roxanne asked, “With chains, master, or with those wooden spreader-bars?”
Beeron hadn’t considered that. He covered his lapse with a wave of his hand and a lofty tone. “Either or both. Sequentially or at the same time. Or,” he added, “I might bring out the wooden stocks.” He’d had a set custom-made to secure Roxanne some years back. “We can see if they still fit your ankles.”
Dessert arrived: Spice cake topped with caramel, and accompanied by hot tea. That last was an exotic specialty of Chinchin’s. Beeron saw Roxanne’s eyes light with appreciation, reminding him that hot tea was a commonplace on much of Earth, including the ‘Ireland’ where Roxanne had grown up.
They lingered over their tea. When the last of it had been drunk, Beeron handed over the key for Roxanne to undo the unilink, leaving her in her regular hobble. He then sent her off to refresh herself, while he confirmed the final payment for the meal and took a minute to refresh himself.
They met again at the entrance to Chinchin’s. Beeron stroked Roxanne’s tight-curled hair and then told her, “Open wide.” When she did, he slipped a Coin of Silence into her mouth.
She gave him a look of mixed amusement and annoyance as the gag activated. “mew,” she said, which was all she could say.
Gags were popular with some masters. Beeron mostly preferred not to bother with them, but this was a special occasion. “mew,” Roxanne repeated as he picked her up and carried her out to his waiting groundcar.
=O+O+O=
“mew,” Roxanne said.
She was back home in Master Beeron’s bedroom now, completely nude. Master Beeron had removed her hobble, and had ordered her to strip. Now she stood facing him, wearing only her slave collar. And the Coin of Silence in her mouth, if that counted.
The siliconized disk stuck to the roof of her mouth. It let her breathe and swallow normally, but if she tried to speak, its immaterial force field would fill her mouth. And it was 98% effective at silencing her; all she could do was mew.
Master Beeron stepped forward to embrace her. That felt good. He still wore his shirt and pants, and the feel of his fine shirt-fabric against her breasts was more civilized if just as masculine as the feel of his fur. It felt very good, and Master Beeron appreciated it too, from the way he drew out the hug and kiss. Roxanne felt a silent giggle inside. Master Beeron gagging her this way was a good… gag.
It wasn’t that Roxanne only now saw the amusing side. She had been amused as well as annoyed from the moment Master Beeron popped the Coin into her mouth. Her annoyance, Roxanne realized on the drive back home, was at herself, for not expecting this from Master Beeron, for being taken by surprise. With its source recognized, that annoyance had evaporated, letting Roxanne appreciate this different form of helplessness.
“Sit.” Master Beeron pointed at the edge of the bed.
“mew,” Roxanne said as she obeyed. Master Beeron grinned at her as he removed the rest of his own clothing. He pointedly set hanks of nylon rope on the bed before sitting down beside her and running his hands through her hair and over her bare skin. “mew,” Roxanne repeated. Master Beeron’s eyes twinkled at her as his fingers traced lines around her breasts. He then picked up the controller and deactivated the Coin of Silence.
Master Beeron opened the compartment in the controller, and Roxanne slipped the Coin into it. He then took her in his arms for another long kiss. As Roxanne had anticipated just a few minutes before, the feel of his fur on her breasts was sweetly savage.
“Now lie back, my dark-pretty,” Master Beeron said, “arms up and apart.”
“Yes master.”
Roxanne watched as Master Beeron wrapped each of her wrists in turn, tethering them to each end of the headboard, checking briefly to make sure that the knots were beyond the reach of her fingers. He then turned to her legs, tying them with several bands of nylon rope. Tying them together that way showed that he intended to take his time. A master could take his time with his slavegirl; her captivity meant that he had no need to hurry. His hands and eyes and lips appreciated her as he slowly made her even more helpless. He massaged her feet with an experienced touch that aroused her – and that he knew would arouse her. Roxanne felt her nipples harden. She then felt him tie her feet: A cord secured her two large toes, and another line wrapped around her insteps and arches.
Master Beeron did not immediately lie down beside her. Instead he sat back for a minute to appreciate his handiwork. Roxanne squirmed and struggled, laughing as she did so. She knew that struggling would only want to make her keep struggling – and it did, until she finally stopped to catch her breath. That was when Master Beeron lay down beside her. He touched Roxanne’s slave collar, making her aware of it.
“Now are you convinced that escape is not an option?” Master Beeron asked lightly.
“Yes master.” Roxanne knew that tone. Master Beeron planned to have some serious fun with her – and she looked forward to it. She had let Master Beeron make her look forward to it, with his preparations. She was his purchased slavegirl, wearing his collar and tied with his ropes.
Now Master Beeron began to touch and stroke her. He took possession of her dark and human skin, his masculine hands applying caresses with a confident familiarity. He helped himself to her lips and breasts and belly-button, and to all the rest of her squirming body, driving her to her first orgasm of the night.
The first orgasm was followed by a second. Master Beeron then put Roxanne in a different tie: Wrists bound to ankles, and upper arms to thighs. Again his touch took possession of her dark-skinned human body, imposing the pleasures of captivity on her. Again Roxanne fought the ropes binding her, not to escape her master’s touch but because success in escaping was so pleasantly impossible. He pulled her into his lap after the third orgasm, and she nuzzled and kissed and licked, showing a shameless affection, pleasing him to the small extent that the ropes allowed. He chuckled and held her with a gentle closeness, running his hands through her tight-curled hair. But there was more to come.
Master Beeron put Roxanne in a third tie with those nylon ropes. Classic ropes, ropes of a type that had made women helpless for centuries. Now it was Roxanne’s turn to be collared and captive. This tie secured Roxanne’s arms behind her back and kept her legs apart, with tethers both from her ankles and her thighs to the sides of the bed. Master Beeron adjusted the pillow behind her and teased her collar to again remind her of its presence. Roxanne smiled at him and he bent down to kiss her – another of the many kisses she had received that night. He moved down to rub her feet once more in the way that aroused her so, and then took cheerful advantage that arousal. Once more, he helped himself to her lips and breasts, and to all of her dark and furless skin, the human skin that she knew still fascinated him after all these years. He was a gentle brute, a confident masculine brute as he sent her toward yet another orgasm. A big orgasm, a grand orgasm. Roxanne could tell it was coming as she once more fought the happy fight against Master Beeron’s ropes.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Roxanne said, then “Yes master! Yes master!” as Master Beeron entered her. He was making deep, happy man-noises as he stroked and stroked, and for a moment Roxanne was aware of how well she was pleasing him now, and of just how much she had pleased him during the time she had spent under his touch.
Roxanne’s own pleasure increased even more. It felt too wild to be called blissful. She squirmed, she struggled, she heard Master Beeron make a louder man-noise, she felt every one of the ropes holding her in place, and then the Grand Orgasm thundered through her, rolling on and on and on…
When Roxanne came back to herself, only her left ankle was tied. A wrap of nylon rope secured it, with a long tether, to the bed’s footboard. She felt limp and happy, snuggled up against Master Beeron. He held her gently, his arms full of soft affection, and Roxanne felt her own love welling up for the bisnik male in her bed, for the master who had owned her for twelve years now.
(End)