It was a shame that the proximity alarm went off when it did. Twenty minutes later, and Kini and Cember would probably have been drying each other off after a communal shower; ten minutes earlier, they would have been tidying away everything loose on the starship's cabin level, a useful precaution before one switches off the artificial gravity. As it was, their two naked female forms were floating in nul-g in mid-air, as each tried to outdo the other, tongue to pussy.

Kini's tongue was deep inside Cember, and working hard, timing her thrusts to what she was herself experiencing. She'd practically got her nose in Cember's honeypot, and the juices were running down her chin, and forming impossibly long strands. It was not the moment for a full-volume klaxon alert -- they both jerked so hard she very nearly came there and then.

They went their separate ways. Kini drifted by the switch, and clicked the grav unit on, before grabbing a tee-shirt just as the "aroogah!" was joined by the even more urgent sound of bells. Hull integrity had been breached.

"Oh, fart," she muttered, grabbing a pair of Cember's panties from the hook by the door. "Can't a girl get any peace around here?"

Gravity had come up gently; now it rippled, and the lights flickered and dimmed. Cember was putting a jumpsuit on, as Kini hurried along the tiny corridor, and began climbing to the control room.

Kini buckled in at the command console. "It's not my fault", she said when Cember joined her, to stare at the image of a large, sleek starship with Revenue Patrol markings. "The sensor net was up -- the damned Patrol starship must have been cloaked, it had its tractors on us before our poor mainbrain even knew it was there."

"Poor mainbrain -- what about poor us?  We've got a cargo of Terra-style wodka, circuit boards, porno loops, proscribed software, and those stupid cherries in brandy you bought, and not a penny of duty paid, partner."

"We should have gone legit," Kini said, trying every control within reach; nothing happened, and at last 'All Systems Down' flashed on the screen.

"Now is not the time to tell me that, my blonde buddy," Cember commented, gripping the back of the chair hard enough to choke it. "You are a little too late."

"You're right there, lady," a new, male voice said from behind them. "Stand up and turn round nice and slowly, and we'll all stay healthy."

Kini unstrapped herself and stood up, and they turned round, to see a rather large stun-gun and an even larger space marine, in full combat armour but carrying his helmet in his spare hand. Clean-shaven, with short black hair, piercing blue eyes, a good tan -- he was actually rather magnetic, Kini decided.

"Well, you're the best-looking pair of smugglers I've ever caught," he said, keeping the stunner carefully aimed at them. "If I'd known, I'd have worn my dress whites, not my armour."

Kini wanted to protest her innocence, but it seemed pointless. She could hardly pretend to be a hitchhiker, could she? She wished she was properly dressed; a tee-shirt to mid-thigh and Cember's party-pattern paper panties might not create the right impression.

"What... What happens now?"

A new, female voice answered: "You get ready for a change in vocation", Lieutenant Laila Cranleigh said. She was a little taller than either Kini or Cember, with dark, gently curling, quite close-cropped hair, and the elasticated pressure suit showed off her figure very nicely. Her smile was undoubtedly cynical, but that didn't stop Kini from demoting the male marine by one place on her own personal seduction list.

Cember and Kini had been through decontaminations electronic, electrostatic, and aquatic, and were now dressed in ill-fitting paper overalls and lightweight plastic boots as a bored- looking senior rating ushered them into the admin office. Lieutenant Cranleigh looked up from her screen, and smiled lazily, like a cat sizing up a pair of mice. A well-fed cat, Kini hoped. She now wore a crisp white shirt, navy blue tie, and grey shorts.

"So, what is to become of you... December Travis Marquez and Clarice Kinsolving Grant- Smythe, isn't it? As citizens of Union and Malvern respectively, planets belonging to the Protocol, normally we would ship you back to our base in System Four, try you for duty evasion and attempted sanctions-busting, and send your cute little bottoms to a mining colony for a decade or so."

She leaned back, put her hands behind her neck, and stretched in a rather attractive manner, her shirt pulled tight over her breasts to show the shape of her nipples. She gazed at her two prisoners, savouring the moment.


The word hovered between them. Was it unfortunate for the Lieutenant, or for Kini and Cember? Was there some technicality that would let them avoid ten years as miners, or as rest and recreation for miners, on some gods-forsaken high-grav planet?

"Unfortunately, we apprehended you within the Lang system, and, while its ban on the unlicensed use of high technology may make the planet itself seem primitive, they insist that their own laws apply in such situations. This means... Well, I could scare you most unreasonably by saying that your lives are forfeit. but the nominal death sentence is automatically commuted here.

"Now, how do you ladies feel about slavery?"

Lieutenant Cranleigh accompanied them on the shuttle. Kini and Cember had their wrists cuffed together, and weren't in a position to cause trouble, so there were no guards, just the lieutenant and the pilot.

"It was bad luck for you," she was telling her charges. "I don't think that a Patrol vessel has been in-system here for a decade, but it was the easiest way to get me here, to start a three-year stint as Protocol liaison to Langholm. So -- when we picked up your readings, the captain decided to indulge his natural curiosity."

Kini mouthed an unusually rude pair of words, which, if vocalised, could easily have singed her palate. She then gave a little bow involuntarily, as the shuttle touched the ground, and the engines cut out.

The door hissed open, letting in hot sunshine and the smell of dry earth and sun-baked grass, and Cranleigh unstrapped herself and her charges, while the pilot let down the steps. The landing jets pinged metallically as they cooled; a terran-pure bee buzzed inside, made a swift circuit of the cabin, and flew back out again.

They stood in the doorway. The sky was a flawless blue, framed by whitecapped mountains in the far distance. There was dry-looking grass, a few trees not far away, and less than a mile from the ship, the white-painted town of Cheltenham, looking like something from one of Kini's favourite Zorro movies.

"It looks as if they've taken their terra-forming pretty seriously here". the lieutenant commented. She pointed to two men approaching on horseback; one wore a formal grey suit, the other leather trousers and vest. "That's our welcoming committee, ladies -- since we radioed ahead, one for you and one for me."

Once the three women were safely on the ground. followed by the luggage and supplies Lieutenant Cranleigh was bringing, the horsemen had arrived, and swung easily out of their saddles.

"I'm Speaker Talbot", the suited man said, offering his hand to Lieutenant Cranleigh. "It's good to meet you, and welcome you to our world, m'sera."

"I'm Lieutenant Cranleigh, sir, and I'm glad to be here."

"You bring us two criminals -- or slavegirls, rather. I took the liberty of inviting Vern Cardwell along, to look after them."

"Thank you."

Carwell was tanned, muscular, and well-built -- but the way he was staring at Kini and Cember wasn't warmly flattering. "They should do well at auction," he said without preamble. "Shall I take charge of them, lady?"

The lieutanant produced a key, and unlocked their handcuffs. "I expect you would rather use your own restraints on them."

There was nowhere to run; even the shuttle had taken up its steps again and closed its door, to wait until the area had been cleared before starting its lift-off sequence. Kini watched as Cardwell rumaged in his saddlebags, and then glanced at Cember, who just rolled her eyes.

Cardwell's wrist-cuffs were lined with a soft plastic, but otherwise made of shiny chromed steel; when closed they would make two cylindrical tubes about two inches long each, welded together at a slight angle. Kini made no resistance as her wrists were gathered behind her and inserted into the cuffs, which were locked with a sharp, final click. She gave a shiver, despite the heat and her overalls, and then watched as Cember's wrists were similarly secured.

"Lieutenant, please ride in with me, while M'ser Cardwell walks his two charges in," Speaker Talbot said, holding the reins of the horse Cardwell had rode out on. "A cart can collect your baggage later."

She nodded towards Kini and Cember. "When will they be auctioned, sir? I have a mind to be there."

Cardwell looked over, then gripped the front of the paper overall Kini was wearing, and tore it down from neck to crotch. He grinned, ignoring Kini's blush and Cember's desperate look, then tore the last of the paper away; except for the lightweight, semi-transparent ankle-boots, Kini was now naked. "At dusk, m'sera, in the marketplace. You can't miss us!"

Kini and Cember had been probed and prodded by a local medic, who had also examined their teeth as if they were horses. Vern Cardwell had watched it all with a grin, and then, looking Kini straight in the eyes, touched her - well, she described it to herself as intimately. Nobody had ever done anything like that to her before, at least not without buying her a drink or two and moving on to a little gentle foreplay, and she jerked in surprise. She had the distinct feeling that, along with walking into town in the nude with her arms locked behind her, this was one of many new experiences that were coming her way. Her lips stretched into a slight grimace... or it could have been the beginnings of a pout, or even, unlikely though it seemed, the ghost of a smile.

She watched as Cember got the same treatment, and shifted her weight from one leg to the other, just a little.

Cardwell turned to Sonntag, a short, middle-aged man with a clipboard, who was standing by the door. "The blonde's a bit cool, but with potential - and this one's promisingly responsive, she can warm my bed any night."

"My name is Cember -- and my fat-headed companion's called Kini."

Cardwell gave her a level of attention she'd not received before, his eyes half-closed. "You girlies have been real good, I hate the wailers and the kickers, so I'll overlook your lack of manners, black-hair, this once."

He moved towards the door, then turned back, and gazed at them again. "Besides, you're not entirely a slave until you're bought and collared, so it would be a hard master who had you whipped, I think.

"I'm going to be real nice to you, since you're off-worlders, and give you a little advice on etiquette," a word he pronounced 'etti-keet'. "Item one, you don't speak until you're spoken to, or if it's important you ask permission first. Item two, you don't look a free person in the eyes, unless the pair of you are in the throes of passion." He grinned. "Let's see, item three is that you don't use a free person's name, they're all 'master' or 'mistress'...and the rest should be pretty much obvious, though I'll wager there will be a few red lines on your cute little buns before you get the way of things."

He paused at the doorway. "Oh, your names were what you said, girly - once you're sold and collared, they are whatever your owner wants to call you. I had one slavegirl myself a few years back, for the first few months I didn't give her any name at all. She actually wept with relief when I finally did her the honour of naming her, did Titty."

He left, nodding to Sonntag, who glared at the two women, and finally approached.

"Now, some girls like to be awkward," he said in a sharp, annoyed-sounding voice. "They slouch, let their stomachs flop down, and sell for coppers instead of silver pieces, and generally try to spite their sellers."

He tapped Kini's stomach for emphasis, and she pulled it in. "Let me just tell you who buys slaves for coppers. Farmers, mainly, and a few of the poorest workers who need extra hands for the more menial tasks. So, awkward, oh-so-smart girls end up fed, housed and worked harder than the more expensive farm animals, and in a year or two look twice their age -- act it, too." He paused again, and licked his lips. "Look your best, and you will be bought by a better owner, maybe share their bed, maybe be a pampered body-slave or a domestic servant. Not a picnic, until you are used to it maybe, but a better life than pulling a plough from dawn to dusk."

Kini stood behind the platform, still naked, still with her wrists clamped behind her, but now with the number 3 marked on her left breast. She watched as Cember, number 2, stood on the platform beside Vern Cardwell, facing the small crowd. This whole thing was awful ... and yet, didn't it share some points with those exciting little fantasies that scooted across her mind in bed at night, while a few fingers made themselves at home between her legs? Seeing Cember naked and helpless, check; even sharing that situation, check. Not that Cardwell was her idea of the person to put them in such a predicament. For a start, she thought, moving her hips idly, he just isn't my type...

"This cute little muffin was caught hours ago by revenue men, up in outer space," Vern was saying. "She's a smuggler, she's new to this world, and it looks as if she's got all the right equipment in perfect working order, folks, if you know what I mean."

With a hand on her shoulder, he made Cember turn in a circle, to display herself to the crowd. Was that Lieutenant Cranleigh in the second row? Yes, it was ...

"Certified sound in wind and limb, and we'll throw in a free identity collar. I'm starting the bidding at three silver pieces, who'll give me that? She'll need training, but, hell -- everyone needs a hobby, right?"

"Three silvers," a tall, fat man with long greasy hair and an apron to match said confidently, hands on hips.

"Four." This came from a thin, hard-looking woman with close-cropped hair.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we can do better than this. Cutey here may not be a virgin, but she's new to the collar, a blank slate on which to write your own desires." He smiled at the rather ornate turn of phrase, and put his hand on her back, urging her to stand up straighter. "Now, do I hear five?"

"I'll bite, Vern," a middle-aged woman with too much makeup and cleavage shouted good- naturedly. If she didn't run a local brothel, she was doing her best to impersonate somebody who did.

"That's what I heard," Vern replied, to general laughter. "Gemma Elvgren bids five -- and she'll recoup her costs from us within a fortnight, won't she, gents?"

"Seven," the thin woman said, and Kini heard the book-keeper Sonntag mutter to Vern's back, "I wish she wouldn't try for the pretty ones."

'"Well, Gemma -- or how about you, Jorge? Am I drinking in your tavern tonight?"

Jorge was the greasy, fat man. He was staring at Cember and making some pretty obvious calculations. Kini decided that any tavern he ran was selling more than beer, and shuddered. Selling less than beer, too, as he probably watered it. Her own finger-play fantasies didn't run to that, not every day of the year...were Jorge and Gemma the only choices in this two-horse town?

"If you're coming tonight, Vern, you can break her in for us -- I bid ten silvers, and she'll be my only purchase here tonight."

Vern shrugged; that rather killed the bidding, as there were other lots to be sold, and Jorge was promising not to bid against the others on them if they didn't drive him higher on Cember. "For ten silvers, to Jorge O'Leary of 'The Randy Slavegirl', lot two is going ... going... Sold!"

If that was the name of the tavern, old Jorge was as hot on subtlety as he was on personal hygiene, Kini thought, and then felt a flash of fear as she realised that she and Cember had been split up. Cember was helped down to join O'Leary, but Kini didn't have time to watch, as Sonntag helped her up the stairs and into the limelight herself.

Vern was back on the stage, and moved her gently into position. "And lot three is our dark-haired cutey's buddy-buddy, also sound in wind and limb, and with the regular collar thrown in. Blondie here may not look quite as ready for rogering, but there are some nicely- banked fires inside, and up her slit is the place to find them. So, Gemma -- if anyone here can start me off, you can, correct my darling?"

"And I can keep you coming, too, dear," she said, with a cackling laugh. "Two silvers, I'm bidding."

"Now, you'll have customers queuing down the street for off-world fanny, Gemma -- you'll pay for her by midnight, if I let her go that cheaply."

Gemma smiled; that was fine with her. Kini looked around the crowd, hoping for other bidders. O'Leary had Cember kneeling by him, and was taking pleasure in rubbing the auction number off Cember's breast, while he waited for the auction to finish, so that he could pay for his purchase.

"Since these two girlies are government prisoners, the money will go to the town hall," Vern said encouragingly. "Maybe they'll use it to fill in some of those pot-holes, or it may just make the difference and they'll cut our taxes next year."

Somebody at the back of the crowd made a comment about pockets being more likely to be filled than pot-holes, to good-humoured applause.

The hard-faced woman who had under-bid for Cember was watching Kini. What would she want with a slavegirl? Kini decided she didn't want to find out. At least you knew where you were with a brothel; while Kini prefered girlplay, she wasn't exactly a stranger to men, and surely some at least of her johns would be pleasant? She didn't quite persuade herself, and straightened her back, pulled in her stomach, and attempted a smile, which, although it didn"t convince anyone, at least showed a fine set of flawless white teeth.

"Four silver pieces," the hard-looking woman said.

"Four," echoed Vern. "Thank you, M'sera Stanwyck. But come on, people -- if blondie goes out on the farm, we'll never see her again, though I'm sure you'll be bidding on her offspring in a few years. Let's keep her in town, eh?"

"Six," Gemma said, though her expression was grimmer than before; cash was tight today, and she could see her chance of buying a truly fresh attraction starting to fade.

Kini swayed her hips slightly, and hoped Gemma could outbid the Stanwyck woman. Better a sex object than a baby machine. Even better not to have tried the darn smuggling run, but it was a bit late for second thoughts like that.

"Seven," M'sera Stanwyck said, with a thin, predatory smile. She looked round, as if challenging anyone else to top her.

"Twelve", a voice said, confidently. Kini looked down. She knew that voice -- it was Lieutenant Cranleigh...

It took a while for the remaining lots to be sold; three more young women, two male slaves who, Kini noted with mild annoyance, were allowed breech-clouts, a team of four horses, and a large, over-toothed dog which Vern swore killed snakes, tuskers, and 'curls', whatever those were. Kini knelt by her purchaser, who idly stroked the hair at the nape of her neck. And then it was time to pay; when their lot number was called, they approached the trestle table where Vern Cardwell and his book-keeper were waiting, just in time to see Cember being led away, collared and leashed, by Jorge O'Leary. She looked awfully small and vulnerable; Kini remembered with a start that she herself must look just as defenceless.

"Twelve silver pieces," the lieutenant said, producing the coins from a shiny red leather purse, and placing them on the table.

"Plus one silver, twenty copper in buyer's premium," Sonntag said cautiously, a well-chewed pencil in his hand.

"My apologies," Cardwell said. "I should have made that clear in my spiel, you being a newcomer. We can waive it, if you like..."

"No, if that's the custom, I am happy to go along with it," she said mildly, digging out another pair of coins. The book-keeper grubbed some change out of his cash-tin. "Besides, you run a very entertaining show, Vern."

"Thank you, m'sera," Vern said, getting to his feet. "I suspect you will find you've got a bargain there; it's a good time of year to buy. I've known even a skinny blonde to reach twenty or more, but there just wasn't a soul out there tonight with the cash to go as high as you did."

He produced a length of metallic tape, about an inch wide and almost eighteen inches long, but no thicker than a piece of paper. "Now, this may not look like much, but it's about the highest tech on Langholm in general use."

He wrapped it around Kini's neck; like something alive, it snuggled against her skin, and the overlap twitched and melted into itself. It looked like a band of shiny metallic body-makeup; it felt cool to Kini for a moment, but soon warmed to her skin temperature.

"Isn't that rather tight, Vern?" The lieutenant was looking at it with great interest, and Kini was rather annoyed she couldn't see it herself.

"Bless you no -- no more than her own skin is. It's part of her now, though any auctioneer or slave trader can remove or alter it for you,." He brought out a dull metal box, not unlike a child's hand-calculator. "This encodes her details, or reads the collar, in case she strays. Runaways are normally hamstrung if caught, but I always suggest putting on an instruction not to do anything permanent like that, first time. Are you with me?"

Lieutenant Cranleigh nodded. "If this slut should dare to roam, whip her well and bring her home."

Vern Cardwell gave a hoarse, surprised little laugh, and Sonntag whickered and wheezed. "Nicely put, m'sera."

He began to key in the details. "I'll put that word for word, plus 'no permanent damage', my details as vendor, yours as owner, including the address ... and have you got a name for blondie?"

She looked at Kini. "Well, she used to be Clarice Kinsolving Grant-Smythe, but we would need a bigger collar for that, I suppose. Truth to tell, I'm rather fond of her nickname. 'Kini', so let's use that."

"So, slave-name 'Kini," he repeated. "Purchase price twelve silver. That should be enough... I'll pipe it aboard."

He touched the box to Kini's collar, and pressed a button. There was a brief hum, and he pulled the box away. "That's it," he reported. "We can loan you a leather collar and leash, to take her home, if you like."

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary," Lieutenant Cranleigh said with a rather fetching smile in Kini's direction. "She's got nowhere to run to, has she."

Protocol Liaison's quarters in town were unremarkable; the whole of the upper floor of a two- storey, white-painted building facing onto a cobbled square. The ground floor was divided into six shops; the stairs up were between a hardware store and the town's one butcher. Kini, still naked except for the flimsy plastic boots, and still with her wrists pinned behind her, followed Lieutenant Cranleigh up, and waited while she unlocked the varnished wooden door at the top.

Her luggage had now been delivered, and was carefully arranged in the main reception room. The walls inside were white-painted too; there were carpets and rugs in various colours, Kini saw as she followed her owner on a tour of the apartment, though all the floors showed their wooden planking around the edges. The kitchen was large, with a wood-fired range, an enamel sink with wooden draining boards, and a surprisingly efficient-looking fridge-freezer in the corner. In each room, the lieutenant flipped a switch, and electric lights came on; she smiled, and soon the whole floor was illuminated. There were massively upholstered chairs, a generous double bed with brass rails at its head and foot, a sofa, a rough-hewn but carefully polished dinner table and chairs... The place was under-furnished, but what there was seemed appropriate, with a strangely timeless quality.

The lieutenant returned to her luggage, and opened one case. "Now, Kini, you may be wondering why we are here. Being Protocol Liaison on a border world like Langholm is a boring job that nobody else wanted -- but I figured that a little volunteering couldn't hurt my record, and it should give me lots of time to study for my Board."

"But why have you bought me?"

"I was coming to that", she said with a broad smile, and produced from her suitcase a rubber ball a little over 1.5 inches in diameter, threaded onto a leather strap. "Now I've got a short test for you. If you fail I will apologise, lend you some of my clothes, and get you out of that collar, with the offer of a job here, and passage off this world when my tour of duty ends. Now, that does sound fair, doesn't it?"

"Well..." Kini took some encouragement from this, but found that the fact that Lieutenant Cranleigh was advancing on her holding what was undoubtedly a ball-gag, which she had brought all the way to Langholm in her personal luggage, rather took the edge off any relief she ought to be feeling.

The lieutenant brought the ball up to Kini's mouth. "Now, open up, my little slavegirl," she said encouragingly, and tapped the rubber against Kini's lips. "This is part of the test."

Kini allowed the ball to be slipped in between her teeth, and felt the straps being pulled tight, and buckled behind her head.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Kini shook her head, and her owner smiled, and brought a small key out of her pocket. "Now let's get rid of your wristcuffs, shall we?"

Off they came; Kini flexed her shoulders, cautiously felt at her collar, which just felt like extra-smooth, slick skin, and then rubbed at her wrists, which despite the padding showed red and white pressure marks.

But what was this? Next out of the suitcase was something in sturdy black leather... A belt, about six inches wide at front and back but narrower at the sides, with some 'D' shaped rings attached, and buckling with three separate straps. Lieutenant Cranleigh put the belt around Kini's waist, and pulled it tight, buckling it behind her, and locking the buckles with tiny padlocks. It felt cool, and smelt wonderfully of new leather, but it did constrict her, pulling her waist in. What sort of test was this?


"Patience, Kini. I haven't told you my other reason for coming to this planet -- the fact that slavery is legal on Langholm, and that people are very open-minded about how slaves are treated."

She returned to her suitcase, and pulled out something else made from black leather; soft leather this time, with laces and straps dangling. Some sort of boot, perhaps? Kini rolled her hips slightly, and chewed down on her gag.

"Now, I've always been... interested in slaves. The whole sado-masochism bit, really, but on a civilised world, with a willing partner... Well, it gets to be just some sort of game, doesn't it?"

As the new leather item approached her, carefully held out for Kini to see, she recognised it: a 'single glove', designed to ensnare both a girl's arms behind her. The lieutenant pulled both her hands together behind her, and pulled the soft leather up her arms, past her elbows, and then brought the straps round under her arms, up over her shoulders and down at the back, then buckled them, to keep the glove from working lower. She began to pull the lacing tighter, bringing Kini's arms hard against each other.

"What luck encountering you, out in space, Kini," she went on. "I was lucky the captain let me join the boarding party... it gave me a chance to check the computer log."

She gently helped Kini out of her boots. "You'd be surprised how much gets recorded on those rental starships, my darling." She threw the boots into a corner, and returned to her suitcase again. "Oh, your zero-gee love-making with the lovely Cember was hot stuff, and I made a chip of it ... but I couldn't help noticing how you liked her to take the lead in it."

The shoes she showed Kini now looked impossibly delicate, with spindly stiletto heels almost four inches high. A locking band around the ankle was an integral part of each shoe...a built-in ankle-cuff, in effect ... and the two bands were joined by a thin, tinkling gold-plated chain no more than eighteen inches long.

"And then I checked the log for your bedside viewer. I do compliment you on your choice of porno loops from your cargo: 'The Trap', 'Lesbians in Bondage', 'The Leather Mistress', 'Slavegirl Sluts'... I know them well, and I managed to enchip them, and a few more, for those long evenings to come."

Kini's foot was carefully slipped into one shiny, golden shoe. It fitted perfectly. The strap clicked shut around the ankle. The lieutenant helped Kini to keep her balance while she stepped into the other shoe, and then that strap was locked into position, as well.

Lieutenant Cranleigh stood back, to admire the effect. The 'single glove' and high heels did wonders for a girl's posture: shoulders well back, breasts well up. And Kini looked absolutely delightful. She sighed. Still, self-control was necessary; a test was a test, and a promise was a promise.

"Now stand still, my sweet, because it's time for your test ... And I am afraid it is just a little bit personal, for which you have my apologies."

She knelt in front of Kini, and stroked Kini's fine blonde pubic hair with one finger, before feeling along her vaginal lips.


"Patience, Kini. Let's see, your lips are definitely engorged, aren't they? I think I'll investigate further."

She parted Kini's labiae. "Ah, that's easy. Pink and slick...oh, you're secreting nicely, aren't you? I must be doing something right, I think." She went a little further with her finger, and Kini squirmed and gasped.

The finger headed for Kini's clitoris, and stroked round it. Kini squirmed some more, and was breathing raggedly, as her owner got to her feet, and gently felt Kini's nipples.

"Oh, yes... I could cut glass with these, couldn't I?" She stepped back again, and looked at Kini, flushed and gasping and pink.

"Congratulations, slavegirl -- you've passed!"

The lieutenant looked at Kini for a full minute, eyes gleaming, and then returned to her suitcase, producing a small razor and a sachet of soap. She grinned. "Well, you're a natural slavegirl, as your body has so kindly shown us -- but my idea of a natural slavegirl doesn't have pussy-hair, so you'd better keep very still while I shave you, hadn't you?"

Kini nodded, and watched wide-eyed, while her mistress crouched and tore open the sachet, and applied its syrupy contents to her pubic hair. She began to rub it in lasciviously, going right to the lips, and Kini began to tingle. Now this was a lady who knew where Kini lived; if she objected to getting hairs between her teeth, Kini wasn't going to argue with the remedy.

The first stroke of the razor was cool and smooth; suddenly a part of her most private place was naked and unprotected. Lieutenant Cranleigh worked quickly, stretching the skin smooth and pulling the razor down through the foam, then wiping it clean on a towel. It wasn't long before Kini was completely hairless in her pubic area; the towel was used to wipe the last traces of lather away, and when it was withdrawn, a little string of Kini's secretions formed, stretched and broke.

"Now, that's lots better, isn't it?" She stood up, stretched, and returned to her suitcase, putting the razor and towel down in its lid. "But I've got to go out, now, and I don't want anyone claiming slavegirl hospitality in the meantime -- so I've got another couple of little goodies for you."

They were metal and shiny, one like a slightly over-sized finger, the other shorter and thicker, more like a thumb. Lieutenant Cranleigh held them up for Kini to see. Each came in to a narrow waist only half an inch from its base, which was in turn even larger than before, with a narrow oval cylinder protruding a further half inch from the end. Was that a tiny keyhole in the end of each little cylinder, and some sort of joint halfway along? Kini was no virgin when it came to bondage devices, if only from small-screen viewing and a catalogue or three, so the guess she made as to their purpose was an educated one.


Her mistress smiled, and crouched by her. "Got it in one," she said lightly. "You'd better get used to these, because you don't leave this apartment without them securely in place -- and that's an order, slavegirl!"

"Nnnnk", Kini went, as, smooth and slick, the metal thumb was pushed into her pussy. It was cold, and a shock both physically and mentally; at least she was well lubricated for it.

The lieutenant stood up, smiled again, and slowly licked the remaining plug. "I'd better lubricate this one for you," she said. "Don't try and expel them, or I'll look out a rather bigger pair -- and I'd rather we saved them for a special occasion."

She went behind Kini, and gently bent her forward, parted her cheeks, and began to push the metal finger in, slowly but firmly. Kini made a slow, sensuous squirm, and purred to herself, deep in her throat.

A silvery chain was locked to a D-ring at the front of her belt, then passed through her crotch, and similarly locked into place at the back, tight enough to press into some pink, sensitive places. "I just need to fit a link of chain over the little nob in the base of your comforters, then use a special key to turn the end of the nobs sideways, and it's all locked into place," the lieutenant said. "It tells anyone you encounter that you're reserved for your owner, and that is me -- you remember that."

She surveyed her work, hands on hips, then cupped one of Kini's breasts. "You can't tell me you don't like this, can you?"

"Mnnn. . . "

She kissed her gently, just on the jawline, then on the ballgag itself. "You can lie on the sofa while I'm out, but not on the bed. Don't leave the apartment, or try to escape, or you will make me angry, my pet."

Jorge O'Leary's tavern looked better than he did, thanks to Cheltenham's fetish for fresh white paint. The wooden sign was hung over the door, with "The Randy Slavegirl" written in old-fashioned script, and an appropriately graphic picture. "See, to make you feel at home, we've even named the place after you," he told Cember, and began a brief laugh that soon became a cough. "Jancis and Lena ought to be glad to see you -- you will take some of the pressure off their backs."

He hawked, and spat into a flowerpot just inside the front doorway. "Of course, I've had enough shit-for-brains slavegirls to know that if your belly has to take most of the bumpings for the next few days, instead of being at all grateful they will be jealous and probably gang up on you -- but that's hardly my problem, now is it?"

It was late afternoon, and the public bar was deserted, except for an old man spreading fresh sawdust on the floor. The bar itself was long and massive, apparently made out of a halved tree-trunk; tables and chairs were also crudely made and substantial, and seemed to be bolted to the floor, which suggested to Cember that the tavern's patrons were as fond of fighting as of any other activity that began with an 'f'. By the far wall a number of cubicles were curtained off; one was open, showing a few cushions inside, and a few bits of chain hanging from anchorage points.

"Jancis! Lena! Rest time's over," O'Leary shouted, and two more curtains opened. The two women could have been sisters, they both had curly honey-blonde hair, brown eyes, small noses and generous mouths, plus, like Cember, the slave-collar on their necks. They each wore short-sleeved short jackets, open in front to display their breasts. Not only were the jackets not big enough to cover their breasts, the material was semi-transparent anyway. Each had a thong tied around her waist, with a single piece of leather less than an inch wide dangling from it at the front; as an aid to modesty these were singularly ineffective. They also had cylindrical metal cuffs, including a pair of 'D' rings each, on their wrists and ankles.

"You've bought a new slave, master?"

O'Leary glared at Jancis. "No, this is my grandma come visiting," he said, and stooped to remove Cember's boots.

Holding both boots in one hand, he used a key to remove Vern Cardwell's wrist restraints, and then pushed Cember towards the other slavegirls. "Feed and water her, and prepare her for tonight, girls," he told them. "If she gives you any trouble, deal with her, or tell me and I'll whip her in the morning... and the pair of you as well, if I think you're mischief-making."

With that, he walked behind the bar, and disappeared into the store-room.

Jancis grinned. "He may seem a fat, money-grubbing pig on the outside -- but on the inside, he's exactly the same. I'm Jancis, this is Lena, and you must be one of those space pirates, right?"

"News travels quickly here. My name's Cember, Jancis, and I was trying to be a smuggler, until the Revenue Patrol starship came along."

"We've got about an hour before the tavern really gets going for the evening, Cember. Plenty of time for you to have a pee, get fitted out with one of this dump's so-tasteful costumes and accessories, and join us for a truly delicious meal."

Jancis paused, then made a face. "That is, if you like cold oatmeal with a few scraps of fat and gristle tipped in. But, hey, it could be worse -you should see the pies our master sells here!"

Kini was lying on her side on the sofa when Lieutenant Cranleigh returned. "I've been visiting Speaker Talbot, just to thank him for the quality of these rooms, and ask about employing a local or two," she said, and came across to sit lightly on the edge of the sofa. "D'you need to use our high-class genuine flush toilet yet, Kini?"

Kini shook her head, and rolled over towards her mistress, who stroked her hair idly. "That's good -- a weak bladder wouldn't fit in with your new way of life at all, the way I see it."

The lieutenant unbuckled the ball-gag, and gently eased it out from Kini's mouth; Kini kissed her hand, but said nothing.

"That's my good slavegirl. Let's go over the house rules, shall we? Instant obedience of course, no talking unless you're asked a question, though if there's something important you can ask permission to speak. Affection, and enthusiasm, and no sexual inhibitions, but no playing with yourself ... Proper posture, and always look your best." She idly tweaked one of Kini's nipples. "Complete honesty, if I do ask you something... No looking a free person in the eye, except when we're making love, and no use of a free person's name -- you call me mistress, just as you call any free person master or mistress, if your mouth happens to be empty at the time. Have you anything to add, Kini?"

'Sounds like the basis for a long-lasting and meaningful relationship to me, mistress," Kini said slowly. "But can your slave beg a kiss?"

The lieutenant bent down over Kini, and their lips met for the first time. Kini's tongue licked at her owner's teeth, and gently insinuated itself into her mouth, rubbing against her tongue, and coaxing it forward. Lieutenant Cranleigh put her arms round Kini's shoulders, and hugged her to herself, her tongue exploring Kini's mouth eagerly. They shared their breath, and rode on a wave of sensation, as Kini squirmed and gave a little moan. Earlier, she had been comparing the fate of a slavegirl to the finger-fantasies she had sometimes indulged in... but this was definitely superior. At last, and reluctantly, their lips parted, and the lieutenant let her sink back down onto the sofa.

"May your slave ask a very important question which will probably earn her the spanking she deserves, mistress?"

"I was going to spank you anyway, a little later, Kini -- so go ahead."

"What's your first name, chief?"

The lieutenant smacked her lightly on the bottom. "If you ever use it outside bed, or tell anyone, I'll have you whipped, baby -- but it's Laila. L - A - I - L - A, Laila." She stood up. "Now, I want to go out again, just to get some food for this evening, but I'm not forgetting you, so get up, and go and kneel on the rug."

Kini managed to jerk herself into a sitting position, and then to her feet. "Right away, mistress."

"That's my girl", Laila said, pulling a larger, chunky padlock out of the usual suitcase. "Now, lie down on your tummy."

Kini did so, rather more suddenly than she had expected, landing on her breasts. The pile on the rug was thick, and rather coarse against her delicate skin. The lieutenant gathered Kini's feet together and, ignoring the hobblechain, put the padlock's staple through the chain's anchor-rings on each shoe. There was a ring on the end of Kini's single glove; Laila pulled Kini's feet back until she could hook the staple through that too, and clicked the padlock shut, with Kini's body drawn back tautly, like a bow. Laila pushed down on her back, and Kini rocked to and fro, and gasped. "Mistress..."

Laila crouched in front of her, with another aromatic item of leather held casually. "No talking allowed, Kini -- remember? You're going to spend a little while in quiet contemplation."

It was a full-head leather hood, Kini saw, without eyeholes ... just a pair of nostril holes to breathe through. It laced at the back -- those eyeholes didn't really count, she decided -- and overlapped, with a stiff, roller-buckled collar incorporated. And then Laila showed her the inside.

"What -- what's that, mistress?"

"Oh, just something to suck on, blabbermouth," Lieutenant Laila Cranleigh told her, fingering it lightly. "You can't tell me that you've never had anything of a similar shape in your delicate little cake-hole."

It was matt black rubber, Kini could smell its sharp-sweet scent now, a little over three inches long and about half that in diameter, and realistically moulded. "Only with a man attached", she commented.

"You've no complaints, I hope?"

Kini decided that if slavegirls did have complaints, they were the sort a doctor was called for. "Anything you do is fine with me, mistress."

"I knew you would see it that way, my dear."

She gently but firmly put the penis-gag into place in Kini's mouth, and then wrapped the leather hood round her head, checking that the nose was on straight, with the nostrils properly aligned, then began to lace the back together, tightly. "Any problems, slavegirl?"

Kini shook her head gently. It filled her mouth, stretching her cheeks, but somehow it represented security, and her mistress... Laila. A beautiful name, she decided, for a truly twisted individual...the sort of nicely twisted woman that, if she was honest, she had always hoped she would meet.

The collar was buckled, and her nipples were tweaked. They were just clear of the rug's stiff, upright fibers, which was more than she could say for her pussy, which was starting to send her some rather exciting signals. If she rocked just a little', the fibers tickled her nipples, which were already well aroused and incredibly sensitive.

"Don't run away, Kini, I won't be long," she heard vaguely through the leather over her ears, and snorted to herself, as her universe shrank in on her until it was rug-sized, Kini-sized. She was becoming completely aware of the rug; her centre of gravity was at hip level, just about, which meant that a lot of her weight was pressing her pubic area into the coarse, ticklish fibers of the rug. Her newly shaved, unprotected and fully aroused, sensitive pussy. And it pushed the metal finger, the pussy-plug, in a little deeper. She rocked a little, just enough to tickle her hard, imposiibly tender nipples, and began to enjoy the fireworks...

Jorge O'Leary looked at Cember, who was now wearing the same semi-transparent short jacket, open to expose her breasts, as the two other tavern slavegirls.

"Ten silvers? I must have been mad," he commented. "It will have to do, I suppose, but don't give her a waist-thong, she'll have to earn it. And put on her wrist and ankle cuffs, the customers will be here soon."

"Yes, master", Jancis said mildly. Was a waist-thong worth earning? The tiny strip of leather that dangled at the front never exactly protected anyone's modesty, it was more likely to be torn off and used to tie her wrists together. She hurried off to get appropriately-sized cuffs for her new colleague.

O'Leary had returned to the bar, to check the newly-tapped barrel of beer. He turned back to Cember and Lena. "Cember, stay out of sight until Vern Cardwell, your auctioneer, arrives -- if he wants to initiate your fanny into its new career, he can do so, okay?"

"Yes, master."

The barmaids arrived, and the grizzled, broad-as-a-redwood 'mediation consultant', Tiny, employed to crack heads together if the drunks started to fight. Cember had her cuffs clicked on, and was curtained away in a cubicle; Jancis and Lena stood near the bar, ready for their first customers. Normally, the early-evening trade was more interested in beer than sex, but they had to be available. And it had been known for one of their previous partners to ask for
their company at a table, and even to buy them a baked potato -- one of the few items that the tavern's kitchen could actually do rather well.

It was a little later when Vern Cardwell arrived, still in his leather trousers, but with a clean orange shirt and a white neckerchief, plus quite possibly a recent shave. He made straight for the bar.

"Evening, Jorge. How's your new purchase?"

"Waiting for you, Vern, like a bride on her wedding night," O'Leary assured him with a rather grumpy grin. "Want a drink first?"

"Nah," Vern assured him. "I do my best loving sober."

Since O'Leary had felt obliged not to charge for Vern's preliminary beer, this news almost cheered him up. He pointed towards the appropriate cubicle. "She's in number one," he announced. "Enjoy."

He strode across, and pushed the curtain aside enough to enter. Cember was sitting there, on the cushions, and gave him a nervous smile, sitting up.

"Take off that fool jacket first, and get down on all fours," he said irritably, a combination of talking to O'Leary and finally remembering how much work there could be in breaking in a new slave. "No, facing the other way."

There were chains attached to the walls, mainly ending in the type of spring-clip you'd have on a dog's lead; he attached a couple to her ankle-cuffs, to draw and keep her legs apart, and then put a leather collar round her neck, and clicked it directly to a ring set in the floor, so that she had to turn her head sideways, one cheek against the cool stone. He chained one wrist to each wall.

"So, how are you feeling, Cember?"

She didn't reply for a moment, and then had to clear her throat before finally saying, "Nervous, master."

"That's the main thing, girl...remembering the 'master' bit," he said. "Now, just waggle that butt of yours, will you?"

"Fine -- now don't move at all until I tell you."

Cember felt his hands on her butt-cheeks, moving them apart; and then there was a finger stroking along her vaginal lips, surprisingly gently... or was it a finger? "Stay still", she heard. "I'm a modest sort of fellow, not used to going so far on a first date, so I'm going to use my neckerchief to blindfold you, understand?"

"Yes, master."

He tied the cloth, suitably folded, across her eyes, and replaced his hands on her butt. She tried not to react as she felt a gently prodding against her now-engorging labiae.

"Keep still ... Ah, you're starting to perk up, aren't you?"

The prodding was more insistent now... and as a hand was grasping each of her breasts now, she was pretty sure it wasn't a finger.

"Keep your butt high, Cember, and part your legs a bit more."

She obeyed, and gasped as she felt him slip in; it felt big, as his stomach came forward to touch the back of her thighs. He stopped, then. No pumping, just a presence inside her, a large, warm male presence, impaling her, but not moving.

"Now, girl, you tell me what a slavegirl does."

"Anything she's told to, master," Cember replied, breathing heavily.

"Even if it offends her modesty, is that?"

"A slavegirl doesn't have any modesty", Cember said. Especially in a situation like this.

"I'm glad you've learnt that, girl," Vern Cardwell said, and grasped her buttocks. "Now, how about using your cunt muscles on poor little me, and maybe bucking a little, just for fun?"

"Yes, master..."

"A slave is shameless," he said, " and inventive, and everything that a nice respectable girlfriend or wife isn't, or your owner wouldn't have such a thriving business here. Gods know, it can't be the beer."

Cember was squeezing and moving now, and juicing up nicely, hearing Vern's words but not really concentrating on them, more concerned with the feeling of the thick, warm cock moving inside her as she moved.

"If a man's partner won't let him put it up her arse or in her mouth, then, hey, you will -- and he'll work off his annoyance of her prissy ways on you while he dumps his wad. You may not like it, but you'll save a lot of marriages, working here."

Vern was responding to her motions now, and began the primitive, steady rhythm, slapping against her and back half out, grunting, grabbing her round the hips, pulling until he nearly had his balls in her pussy too. For Cember, it was all too soon when he gave a gasp, and she felt the warm spurt of his ejaculation in her, and his withdrawal.

"He sure as hell won't try to wait for you to come," he commented as he unfastened her neck, his trousers still a few inches down. "You may decide that faking it when he comes sends him away happy, but I doubt that he'll feel that a slave's orgasm is all that important.

"Now, you lick me clean, and I'll tell Jorge what a treasure he's got in you, shall I?"

Laila Cranleigh wasn't long buying some bread, butter, milk and cheese from a couple of the stores below, but Kini was in a world of her own when she got back, and didn't hear her arrival. After putting things away in the kitchen, she came back to watch.

The noise was a sort of humming purr, as Kini rocked; it rose slightly when her nipples pushed into the rug, then deepened as the full weight returned onto her poor unprotected labial lips. The rug's pile was deep and strong enough to effect her clitoris, also, and the metal vaginal plug was pushed in and eased out slightly on each rock. Kini's secretions glistened beneath her, and there was sweat on her back; her arms and legs jerked and shuddered time after time, and the purr jagged almost into a squeal.

Laila stripped, and threw her clothes onto the sofa across the room. It was an incredibly arousing sight, and she grew damp in sympathy, as her fingers quickly discovered. She knelt in front of Kini, and began to undo the hood's collar and its lacings, pulled it off as quickly as she could, clear of Kini's red, perspiring face and sweat-drenched hair.

"Aah, aaah... Mistress, I'm exploding, I'm dying and it's worth every fucking second", Kini gasped as soon as the gag was clear of her lips. "Oh my gods oh my gods, it feels so -- aaarghh!"

The lieutenant stopped Kini's rocking, and thrust her crotch into Kini's mouth. Kini was tilted back, her labiae hard into the rug; she spasmed, locked herself into immobility, and pushed her tongue deep into her mistress, butting her nose into the pleasure-bud, and making a whoofing noise, blowing and sucking, an attack Laila was hardly prepared for. She stifled her own scream, and pulled Kini's head tighter to her so that the poor slavegirl could hardly breathe. Kini's tongue darted deeper, it seemed to fill her, and she shuddered, bucked, and held on, felt flames of exquisite, orgasmic delight build and peak again... With a sudden force of will, she fell back, pushing Kini away, and then scrambled to unlock the padlock that held Kini in that bowed-back position, pushing her onto her side. They both fell flat, panting.

"Mistress is a monster," Kini said at length. "My poor heart -- my poor pussy, come to that, it must be worn out. it feels as if it's been attacked by a mutant scrubbing-brush. Hell's snowdrifts. you've trebled my lifetime orgasm count to date, you sadist!"

"You're asking for a whipping. are you?"

"I'd fall asleep before you got the whip out of your bloody suitcase," Kini told her, while Laila got unsteadily to her feet and put the padlock away. and then began to unlace the single glove. "Anyway, after that little entertainment, sticking a grenade up my butt would be an anticlimax..."

"Well, how about sharing some bread and cheese, then?"

Kini. her arms free at last, sat up, and wiped at her pussy gently. careful not to touch the end of the metal plug. "Now that I would go for, mistress, if you do all the hard work. Anything that doesn't involve a poor. helpless slavegirl's poor little, sore little cunt."

Laila began collecting up her clothes, but seemed in no hurry to put them on. "All right, you cissy," she said, smiling down at her pink, sweaty, exhausted slavegirl. "I'll pick you up, carry you over onto the sofa, and then hand-feed you like a princess."

She began to unlock Kini's belt, and then, once it was loose, gently pulled the two metal plugs out of her slavegirl, who smiled, and looked up at her lazily.

"In fact, Kini, I think I've got a very suitable chastity belt in my luggage somewhere..."

                                                        --- 000---