I stare at the walls of my container, my whole being filled with hate for these people. How long will I be in here? But we are not to wait hours in this room, like we did before the auction. Every minute, low ranking Slavers wheel out another crate, presumably taking them to the docking level of the Hub, for loading onto a delivery vessel. Several crates have already gone by the time thirty-five, crying even more than I did, is brought into the room. For some reason I feel a little hope. I am an implanted slave, and when my new owner orders me to remain in his sexual service, I will certainly do so. And yet, slavery on his world has to be better than on Aghara-Penthay.
“Slave luck,” I plead silently.
They come for my crate quickly. I don’t even witness Tana emerging from her auction. My heart pounds as, pushed by two Slavers, my crate abruptly starts rumbling along the floor of the Hub. The docking level, I’m anticipating, and then, thank the Gods, I’ll be off Slaver territory.
But Coora of the Dystyr does not have slave luck. We move a maximum of a hundred yards, before the crate stops, and someone opens the magnetic lock of my cage door.
“Out!” a male voice snaps at me.
I have arrived at the Flower Garden.
9 – Flower
“Now you, you’re something special,” the man says to me. “How much to fuck you?”
“One hundred credits, Master,” I reply promptly. “Just ask inside, and they’ll let me out of this cage.”
“Is it more if I want to do you in the ass?”
“No, Master. It’s only more expensive if you want to harm me, or leave marks. That takes me out of circulation while I heal, which costs the house money.”
“Excellent. Get yourself wet. I’ll be back for you in a minute.”
I finger my core, circling the spots which I know awaken my desire, readying myself for yet another partner. Dystyr women typically only mate with one or two different dominant males in their entire lives. An alpha male is at his peak for five to ten years, so a woman will bear a number of offspring for her chosen over that period, perhaps move on to mate with a second alpha, and then spend her declining years raising young. Our society is formed of large extended families, all under one patriarch. I have four full siblings, and dozens of half-siblings.
At the Flower Garden, I am not to be permitted only one mate. I am not to be permitted only two mates, or even three. It is not unusual for me to have sex with twenty different strangers in one day. The next day, there will be a similar number of new faces. The next day, same again.
The Flower Garden is one of the Hub’s many brothels. The more exclusive brothels, such as this one, usually market themselves as specializing in meeting one particular taste. The Palace of Roses, for example, caters for those who enjoy inflicting pain on women. The Treasure House aims to offer the most exquisitely attractive females. The Flower Garden satisfies those who desire non-human women.
Sixteen of us serve here as sex slaves. Seven Gaianesians – women who appear almost human save for a distinctive marking on their foreheads, and a reflex that renders them defenseless and sexually receptive. Two shapeshifters, who can resemble any female the customers choose. A mix of various nonhumans of all species, colors, and traits, make up the rest. There were two Dystyr, but one was killed by a customer a few months ago. That kind of incident happens regularly here. The brothel’s manager, Jabal, went to the auctions for a replacement, and he found me.
It costs men one hundred credits if they want to have sex with me. I do all of the work, but of the earnings, I keep zero. An average of twenty men per day – that’s two thousand credits a day, from each slave. It’s not surprising that the brothels on the Hub are very lucrative, and can afford to use their profit to buy the highest quality slaves.
The Hub never sleeps, and outsiders on pleasure trips arrive here at all hours. So we work in shifts – sixteen hours on duty, eight hours to rest. I see the other Dystyr female – Illonya – during the overlap of our hours. Being of the same species we’re naturally drawn together, by shared understanding of the experience and the disgrace suffered by a captive Dystyr woman.
Competition between the brothels is fierce, so during our hours in service, we are displayed prominently to attract customers. The front of our establishment, open to the Hub’s Mezzanine level, comprises a row of vertical cages, much like an upright coffin in their proportions, marking the boundary of the venue. We must stand in these cages for hours at a time, nude. A session in the cages starts off being reasonably bearable, but become terribly uncomfortable, with the alloy bars permitting no resting position for tired legs. Furthermore, it’s difficult to reposition our arms quickly in the confined space, and that makes us very vulnerable. The gangs of marauding males on their vacation trips like to tease us, pinching and prodding, and enjoying a free grope of a woman’s defenseless body, until Jabal gets annoyed with our wailing and tells them they must pay, or leave.
But we all prefer the serving in the cages to the final part of the boundary – the wall. A high wooden structure, it is configured with hinged openings, located at the height of an adult female’s waist. One opening is cut to fit the torso, and two are just large enough for a woman’s wrists. Leaning forward, one of us is locked into this wall for every shift, her body bisected by the woodwork, her arms trapped at her sides. The woodwork prevents the victim seeing anything of their lower body, and with the position pushing their rear out behind them, whoever is in the wall feels horribly vulnerable.
On my first time in there, a man raped me, and I never even saw his face. I don’t know if he paid. His fingers were there first, without warning, and then his penis was inside me. The wall blocks the view from staff in the brothel of our upper bodies, so in the wall we’re even more vulnerable than in the cages. It’s rare to make it through a shift without some drunken imbecile rushing up, and laughing just like his actions are all some college prank, he will jerk off over the unlucky girl’s face. One day without warning a stranger struck me hard enough to knock me out, and I woke up in the back room being healed.
So when someone wants to rape me back in one of the private rooms, it’s almost a relief.
The session of anal sex with the man who said I was something special is quite brief, and thirty minutes later he’s down a hundred credits, and I’m standing back in the cage with a sore backside.
A Dystyr male approaches my cage next, but he decides he prefers Illonya, who is the hapless female in the wall today. Taking the woman while still in the wall is cheaper, as the house is saved the time of moving her to and from the private rooms. Perhaps this male is on a budget.
To my shame, I’m relieved when he chooses her instead of me.
A downside of Dystyr society is that the beta males, those who are not genetically strong enough to gather a group of women, still harbor the fantasies of having sex with a Dystyr female. On our homeworld there are some prostitutes who provide this experience, but some males prefer to travel offworld and pay to force themselves on a Dystyr slave.