What am I supposed to say to that? His interest in me was always beyond friendship, beyond anything I sought. Last time we met, I struck Jurong in the head with an ornament to escape him raping me. I won’t be so lucky this time.
“Was the idea of sex with me really that bad, Coora?” he asks, rubbing his skull in that same spot the sculpture hit. When he sees I’m not going to reply, he demands, “Answer me. Truthfully.”
The compulsion of an implant on its victim is absolute.
“I’ve never had feelings for you in that way,” I say, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. “Dystyr women usually only want our alpha Dystyr males.”
“But now, I’m probably not such a bad prospect, huh?” he presses. “I mean, I bet you’ve been taken by worse than me.”
I pause, recalling some the horrors in my recent history.
“That’s true, Jurong.”
“Maybe regretting your actions, just a little? Think about it: only moments after our scene in that cabin, the Slavers withdrew to make their escape. It must torment you that if you’d only put out for me, and we’d had sex that day, we’d have probably not been discovered. My cock, instead of all those others and an implant.”
Gods, I hate this guy.
“Did I ever tell you, my family are very wealthy?” he switches subject, suddenly finishing his drink in one gulp, and putting the glass back on the table.
I can’t bear another second of this small talk. The anticipation of him touching me is a form of torture, and I’ve had enough.
“I’m an implanted slave, Jurong,” I say, turning to face him. “We both know I can’t stop you. But please – don’t draw this out – if you’re going to do it, do it, then go home to Iniver Four, and continue to live your privileged life.”
“But that’s my point, Coora,” he says, as though he’s explaining something to an idiot. “I graduated with first class honors. My family are very pleased, and want to reward me. I could ask for you to be that reward – ask for funds to rescue a slave who was a former classmate. You can’t go back to a normal life, not with an implant in your brain, but in the Republic with me, you’d technically be free.”
My jaw drops as my universe does a paradigm shift. Women like me all learn that the only way to survive slavery, mentally is to remain in the now. But from nowhere I’m confronted with the idea that I might have a future – a life beyond the Flower Garden. I’ve never been good at withholding tears, and again the sob comes without warning.
“We live in the Rainbow Cluster,” he says. “You should see it, Coora – one of the most beautiful views in the galaxy, except for the view of yourself, of course. Gas clouds of all colors, and millions of stars, stretching to infinity. You feel a connection to the eternal.”
My mind is racing though, and already I’m coming down from the high.
“And what would you want from me in exchange, Jurong?” I ask in a trembling voice.
“Well, no other woman will touch me, once she sees I’m keeping a former sex slave,” he says, his voice hardening. “They’ll all judge, even though my intentions are good. So you’ll have to be my companion. My intimate companion, and you’ll give me the things I’ve always craved from you.”
“So I’ll not be a sex slave, just a prostitute,” I say angrily, “sleeping with you in exchange for a place away from here. And I’ll never be able to leave you, not when you only have to speak and I’ll come running back.”
“You studied gender politics, Coora,” Jurong defends himself. “You know that sex is almost always transactional. The woman gives her body, in exchange for resources, protection, support… For an implanted female, that situation is just a bit more overt.”
He thinks, then adds, “I have a lot to offer you, Coora, and you’re not exactly in the best bargaining position right now.”
I frown.
“And what about right now? What do you want today?”
“What I do in the hour I’ve paid for depends on you, Coora. Put yourself in my place. I desire you, but I can hardly to take you back to the Republic, just for you to tell the first person you meet that I raped you when we were on Aghara-Penthay,” answers Jurong. “So I need to be sure you’re committed to me, genuinely committed, and that you won’t try to flee as soon as you’re in free space. So here’s what I suggest. If you want to be mine, you’re going to bang me now, choose to bang me of your own free will, and you’re going to do as though you think I’m the most desirable guy in the universe. Convince me, and afterwards I’ll put things in motion to begin the purchase.”
Sex with the repulsive Jurong. It occurs to me this might all be a trick – he might walk out of here, never having intended to save me, and I’d never see him again. The ultimate humiliation. I’d have given him myself, as though we were lovers, for nothing.
“And if I refuse?” I ask.
“You won’t, unless you’re a fool. But if remaining here looks better than a life with me… Why, your consent doesn’t matter, does it?”
So that’s it. Give myself to Jurong, or be raped by Jurong. He’s not the first since my enslavement to say “treat me nice, and I’ll buy you”. But with those men and Jurong I would be a fool to refuse. Any chance of leaving the Hub and returning to some form of life inside the Republic is better than my existence here.
“Lie back on the bed, please, my dear Master, Jurong” I say, trying to hide my revulsion and make my voice sound tender, and when he complies, I straddle him, reaching for the knot fastening of my wrap.
And then, for the first time, I screw someone for my life.
12 – Relocation.
After an hour play acting like the regular girlfriend, once I’ve kissed him goodbye and he’s gone, I think I’ve probably been conned like I was with the others, and I hate myself. But then a couple of shifts after my encounter, I’m abruptly released from my duties in the display cages out front, and I’m escorted inside. There’s a small room at the back of the brothel that functions as Jabal’s office, and to there I am taken.
“Coora – that gadget there is to go tightly around your neck,” my owner commands gruffly, throwing a large metal ring the diameter of my throat onto the desk. “And that…” and another jumble of metalwork goes onto the desk with a clatter, “is for covering your cunt.”
I pick up the collar, bemused. It looks like the shock device that was locked onto me when I was first captured, but this one has a taller band, and writing on it.
“Sold: Do not use”, it says.
I look at Jabal, my heart suddenly racing. Does this mean?
“Hurry up, put it on,” he snaps, and I quickly snap the collar around my neck. I push it as far as it will go, and hear the lock activate with an instant click.
I haven’t worn the other device before, but I know what it is. In a brothel, there’s not normally a reason to lock sex slaves into chastity belts. I step into the metalwork, pulling it up to my core as though I’m putting on panties. At the back, there is a small opening that will rest on my anus – large enough to void solids through, but not big enough for a penis to penetrate. A tiny slit at the front permits urination. I pull it up into place and discover the rear band sits deep between my buttocks, and is quite uncomfortable. I’m not sure what I think of this thing. The belt will be difficult to clean, and unhygienic if I have to wear it for long. But then it does prevent me being used. At one time I would have considered this thing demeaning, obscene, but Gods, now it feels good to have something protecting my vulva.