Power is back, internet is back, life is back!
Power is back, internet is back, life is back!
Way to go SJ. Now you can start writing a new book. I'm slowly getting through reading the one you sent me to beta read. It's good.
No I didn't see that SJ but that's great. So are you going to submit something?
Trying to write a new one for them. The Narcissus Complex. I've got about 31k done and it looks like it'll hit the 70-80k range so almost half way.
Here's the beginning. First draft so it needs work but it should give you the gist of the story :eek:.
“Put it back!” Tricia hissed softly.
“Oh, come on, Tricia.” Joy whispered back, dangling the unmistakably phallic key card before her. It was a standard key tag for a male chastity belt and according to the briefing they’d both received took at least a week to duplicate. “Look at it this way. We’re helping the suffragents by making the tool safe from his sarine’s unwanted advances.”
Tricia could already see the bedroom scene in her mind’s eye. The sarine who was basically the man’s female owner--even though men, the tools, weren’t slaves on this colony they were technically the same thing.
After spending three hours bringing his sarine close to climax the tool would have this irremovable solid block of leather/wood/precious metal--depending on how rich the sarine was--encasing his now rock-hard erection and praying the sarine would order him to have sex with her since he was now dying for some form of release.
Then the sarine would give the blessed command to finish her off with penetration and look for her key tag.
No key tag. No way to remove the chastity belt from the tool for a whole week. So the sarine sends the tool away to find another one she does have the key tag for so he can finish her off. The first tool goes away frustrated and horny as hell and not even able to get in a quick hand job because the chastity belt is designed to let no one touch his cock while it’s in position. Especially him.
The only one in this scenario who would ultimately get hurt is the poor unsuspecting tool.
Joy must have seen this story play out in Tricia’s face as she pulled a contrite pout and replaced the key tag before the it’s owner even noticed it missing.
Thankfully none of the others on the commuter metro had seen Joy’s theft either. But then Joy was very good at it, having been a professional thief for several generations before PIACT had been able to track her down--and offer her a job.
The only problem was, Joy sometimes forgot she was now legal and Tricia had frequently been forced to employ PAICT status to get her partner out of some otherwise tricky situations. She really hoped she wouldn’t have to do that here. The colonists of Echo VIII tended to remove body parts from their criminals and then hold the trial afterwards. Joy could very easily find herself missing a hand, earlobe or boob--depending what Echo VIII population found the most offensive first.
Tricia fought off a sigh as she forced herself to relax and sit back in her seat. The rhythmic rumbling of the metro as it rocketed along suspended in its magnetic tube became hypnotic. The view of Echo VIII as they passed the long slender windows of the tube made a bleak scene below them. The orbital colony at Echo VIII was a massive spider web structure of modular living and working capsules connected by a complex circuit of traveling tubes. Some, like the one they were traveling on were extremely long. Not that Tricia could blame them. No one wanted to see a space ship crash into the delicate structure of the colony web. So the space port module had been built nearly ten miles away from the main network with a dozen connecting tubes of varying sizes to keep the traffic flow reasonably fast.
Stuck out on the edge of civilized space Echo VIII only received one or two merchant ships a day. Most of the travelers to the space port were Echo military. Although a bonded Federation colony, Echo VIII’s location so far away from other Federation systems it caused a few logistics problems for the Federation’s space military.
To ease up on the protection requirements the colony had been given special dispensation and various forms of assistance in building it’s own three flights of fighter craft. The permanent loan of three cruiser class ships and a fighter carrier along with a skeleton crew completed the Echoian fleet. Three cruisers and three hundred fighters proved to be more than enough to discourage most of the local smugglers and pirates in the nearby independent systems. And if the colony ever met anything it couldn’t handle the main fleet of the Federation floated in blasted a few hidden pirate bases into space dust then wandered out again.
The arrangement worked very nicely for the most part. Particularly for the Echoians. The less contact their men had with the outside world, the happier they were. None of the women here needed uppity men. They had one very uppity man at the moment and they were finding him way too hard to handle.
Other tubes connecting the modules--like those around the patches of lower class living quarters--were only a few meters long and most people traveled these areas on foot. Or if you were athletically inclined by use of one of the millions of free magnetto disks. The twenty four-inch floating alloy disks could be found in public disk parks literally everywhere in the colony. Most Echoians could fly a disk from the age of four. Part of Tricia‘s training for this mission had been competency in using the pesky things. It was all about balance--an ability she sorely lacked. Thankfully she’d managed to pass the tests, even if it was a near miss.
Learning how to maneuver through the thousands of modules and tubes which made up the enormous colony was a major part of dealing with life on Echo VIII. A very rich and successful colony with an exceedingly low crime rate and one of the highest levels of morale of any colony in the Federation. And all of this floating two hundred miles above a planet that was as barren and lifeless as a stone.
Which is exactly what it was.
Echo VIII was a thirteen thousand kilometer diameter chunk of ice cold rock floating in space four point five billion kilometers from Echo, a small blue star. Except this rock unlike it’s twelve other orbital spawn contained something very special. It’s shiny, glinty surface reflecting back the high illumination of Echo hide over (billions of tons) of extremely rare to rare minerals and metals. At least eighty-three percent of the rock was worth a small fortune per ton mined. And someone, slash ones, was making a packet by strip-mining the thing--since ownership of the rock had become kind of blurred after many generations worth of piracy, coup and assassination. Several centuries along from its discovery Echo VIII now sported more holes and tunnels than a good Swiss cheese.
Fortunately the current administration had affiliated and bonded with the Federation one hundred and ninety-seven years ago after forcefully outing it’s last owner after neglect and needless cost-cutting exercises had resulted in the accidental deaths of roughly half the workforce.
Since then the colony had expanded by over twenty thousand modules--nearly tripling its size--and four times as many connecting tubes. Colony law prevented any module from having less than three connecting tubes. This was a by-product of the past low maintenance era where tubes had a frequent habit of blowing out and leaving their occupants marooned.
Every now and then Tricia caught a glimpse of the colony below. It looked like a gigantic mess of spaghetti and meatballs in space. When they got to their rooms she’d take the workpad out of her purse and look at the map file PIACT had given her. It was a complete map of the whole colony including some locales and modules which were supposedly top secret. This was something she would definitely need in the coming mission. She’d already attempted to remember some of the important areas of the colony and had failed completely. It was simply too complex.
That was where the colony got part of its name from, of course. She hadn’t yet figured out where the Narcissus bit originated but she had no doubt someone would tell her. Most colonists the universe over took a perverse joy in sharing their origins and history with strangers.
“Don’t you find it creepy?” Joy whispered to her again. “Just seeing all these women, no men.”
Tricia shrugged. She wasn’t going to admit it did make her a little uncomfortable. “Tools,” she corrected. “Here we have to call them tools.”
It wasn’t as if men didn’t arrive on the transport ships. Although there had been less than handful, and definitely not normal for a passenger ship. The men had disembarked with them but from what she’d heard the customs personnel had held them back until the women and cargo had been shipped down to the colony first.
Only then had a slow freight metro been arranged to take the men directly to Admissions Central where they’d be processed, indentured and receive the obligatory nano-tattoo. That wonderful device which was implanted on their left cheek. In it’s base form it was a delicate and wonderfully colored dragon tattoo. Once the tools “ownership” had been decided the Admin bureau used a small scanner to activate the nanobots in the tattoo and the dragon changed slightly to give coded details regarding ownership, expected activities and length of contracts.
They didn’t really need that last one anymore since most contracts lately had been for life.
Slavery was illegal in the Federation and a practice she personally found abhorrent. Echo VIII circumvented this by forbidding any physical harm between tool and sarine, and the tools did have some resources they could call on to punish a cruel sarine and obtain “release“ from the “contract.” The Federation therefore classified the men’s status as indentured rather than enslaved and tended to turn a blind eye to the rather irregular goings on. That fact that the various Presidents of Echo VIII had also given the Federation a very cheap rate on the ultra rare Pyrthidium metal helped to distract their bureaucracy too. Provided there was a modicum of care for the tools, the partial slavery and ownership muddle slipped sideways into the pending files of the Federation administration and was forgotten. The leaders of Echo VIII always took care to make sure that it remained that way.
It was a political fuddle and Trica was damned glad she didn’t have to try and figure it all out. Recently though a new political group had emerged. Calling themselves the suffragents this expanding group of men were calling on the colony’s leadership to provide equal standing between women and men within the quality and to abolish many of the restrictive and shackling terms of contract for indentured men.
Not to mention the many huddled whispers telling accounts of secret torture and rape. After seven years of peaceful protests and negotiations the suffragent leader had eventually become public. An indentured sex therapist, Garren Holder. She didn’t take too long looking at the picture in his file to understand why thousands of women were slowly changing centuries of social patterns just to see him burn another chastity belt to go commando.
Fortunately she wouldn’t have to deal with him too much at all. At least she hoped so. All she had to do was discover why the suffragents had suddenly resorted to mildly antisocial tactics like blowing up public places and attempting VIP assassinations and was there any truth to the rape and torture rumors. She was especially expected to investigate the module designated Area Sixty-nine, somewhere over on the dark secretive side of the colony.
On top of that she also had to locate a psychotic and highly dangerous Separatist scientist who had fled this way after the Separatists were defeated on Olympus X, bringing with him the technology to be able to blow up stars and kill billions of people in one go. Then she had to find Carla Brastin, the agent PIACT had sent here almost a year ago and who’d vanished three months ago with no trace while she was investigating the above three “minor” problems.
Simple. Really simple.
She already had a headache.
Joy’s statement echoed her own feelings as the sign for the Lynburg Junction module lit up over the metro car’s exits. This was their connection. According to the directions PIACT Central had given her their apartment provided for free by the president was only seven modules away on the chartreuse line. Why the metro company couldn’t call it green she had no idea.
“Make sure you have everything,” Tricia eyed the multitude of bags gathered in a semi-circle around them. Really, you would have thought this was a year’s vacation from the way Joy had packed. Did she really need all those vibrators? Especially that Neptune’s trident--the “guaranteed to make you climax” three pronged Super AI enhanced vibrator? It boggled the mind just to think about it. “I understand if anything gets left on the metro they treat it as lethal and eject it towards Echo.”
Joy began tucking things under arms, and strapping straps over various shoulders and things. “I’ve got it all.” She grinned. “All we need now is a place to crash.”
Tricia winced. Crashing on the metro was the last thing she wanted to think about. There was a cold, harsh vacuum on the other side of a piece of metal a mere half inch thick. It probably wouldn’t take much of a crash to introduce all of the car’s passengers to it. Fortunately the sleek machine slithered to a halt and the doors all along the left side of the tubular carriages slid open. The only vacuum they encountered was the sudden lack of people within the metro car. A tinny mechanical female voice warned them all to “Mind the doors” while Tricia and Joy fought the incoming passengers as they attempted to make their way off. Again there was the weird sensation of seeing only women in the crowds. It was going to take more than a few days to get used to that. If she ever did.
Laden as they were with a plethora of luggage, the platform had emptied before they’d even managed to get half way to the moving walkway which took them up to the main station. Tricia counted that as a blessing since they didn’t have to fight for space on the narrow belt. Only seven more modules to go. Less than a mile. She was looking forward to a shower, food and a few moments stretched out on a bed. Not to mention she’d suddenly developed a need to pee. Being a stranger in a stranger land she didn’t yet trust the public bathrooms enough to test them out while carrying over ten thousand credits worth of cunningly disguised spy gear. She’d have to wait until they reached the apartment. She shuffled along the moving belt feeling more uncomfortable. A mile was beginning to feel a lot further away than she’d have liked.
The main station was really big. It was supposedly the second largest module in the web. The largest being the set of modules holding the presidential suites and offices--the government module. The station was also a lot busier than she’d thought it would be. People passing would often bump into her or her luggage which was supposedly unusual for Echo VIII. Having worked closely with Joy for many years each time someone bumped her she made a quick check of her pockets and purse. You could never be too careful.
Making their way to the claret line--as opposed to red. Hey, there was a definite alcoholic pattern here. The route they were taking bottlenecked just before the claret line’s moving walkways. Tricia quickly scanned the crowds to see if she could determine the cause of the problem, then dropped her bags.
“Joy, come look at this.”
Suspecting that Joy had been contemplating a little extra-curriculum pickpocketing Tricia wasn’t surprised her partner didn’t look too happy as she trudged over and stood beside her. Two female police officers wandered closer too. Joy’s grouchy expression changed when she saw him too.
Tricia almost laughed at the underscored lust in Joy’s shocked tone.
“Not just a man,” she chided her friend. “But the man.”
Tricia saw the recognition flare into Joy’s eye. “Oh my God. No wonder the chicks love him.”
No wonder indeed. They’d both been briefed heavily on Garren. Leader of the suffragents and extremely charismatic. Seeing him in real life she could understand how the man had so far managed to persuade the female population of Echo VIII to give several important rights back to the male population. The tools still didn’t have the right to vote but if they wanted to they could force their sarines to remove the chastity belts and leave them off--hence Garren‘s supposedly perpetual state of commando.
Not to mention they now had the right to say no to more than fifteen hours of housework a day. Garren had managed to convince thousands of power hungry women to support their tools in the search for equality and fair treatment.
He looked taller than he appeared in briefing vid. An inch or two over six feet tall, rugged--the man obviously worked out in the gym daily--and oozing a sex quality that had even Tricia feeling wet and ready with one passing glance at him. Definitely enough to make her stop and listen to the speech he was spouting to the passers-by. Well, not too many passers-by. Most of the women were actually stopping to listen, or to spend time licking their lips and fantasizing about him. Tricia would be willing to bet the majority of them didn’t hear a word he was saying.
What was he saying anyway?
“…and just as a woman has a right to decide when and where she has sex, so too does a man. Sex is a gift to be cherished. Why make him rush forward and perform a lesser quality gift when given the right time and place he can make it a much more special and wonderful gift…”
Tricia felt her nipples harden and her panties dampen even more as she studied him. His sleek black hair had fallen slightly and partially covered his tattoo. The dragon tattoo, slightly altered to show his ownership now flickered as if it was lit with real flames. That was the standard code for a sex slave, sorry, therapist. Garren was a sex therapist. Whichever lucky sarine owned this man it was purely for sex.
No, hold on now. His sarine didn‘t force him to have sex. It was somewhere in the notes PIACT Central had given her. Garren had been born and raised as a sex slave/therapist, but his current owner didn’t use him that way. Besotted and totally captivated she basically allowed him to do whatever he liked provided he did a set amount of work around their module apartment. Probably hoping all the time he‘d cave and end up leaping into her bed and giving her copious orgasms in every position known to woman and man.
Still, Tricia could see an advantage to having someone hunky like that hanging around doing repairs, cleaning and other stuff. Vibrators and imagination could take a few sneak peeks of his bare chested labors and turn them into mindblowing fantasies in, like, no time at all.
Bits and pieces she’d been reading were popping into her memory now. If PIACT research was correct the sex machine she was staring at had been celibate for almost three years.
Sadie’s Hell! What she’d give to be the one to pop that three year cherry.
“…so if I want to have sex with you--”
Hmmm, what do you think?
Cool. I really like it. Can't wait to read more.
How many more weeks is a few?
Sounds like a plan SJ.