The Enclave: Chapter 1 – a new arrival

“I’m not as young as I look,” I said quietly, my mouth against her ear. “The Legate makes me dress like this. He likes the virgin-whore schoolgirl thing.”

The woman made no reply. Well, the cock-gag in her mouth made that predictable, but some of the panic left her eyes.

“Now I need you to lie very still.” I said, loudly enough for the microphones to pick up.

Her whole body stiffened. She’d seen the cut-throat razor in my hand.

“It’s OK. I’m good at this. I get lots of practice. I’ll have your mound smooth and hairless in no time at all.”

I thought for a moment she might cry. Instead she turned her head away. Most of them prefer not to watch.

She was old enough to be my mother. She even has the same Celtic look that makes me so exotic here: skin pale enough to see the veins beneath, blood red hair, sky-blue eyes.

He’d set this up because the whole lesbo-mother-daughter thing cranked his erection up a few degrees. Lewdness appealed to him. It made for great television. He’d be watching the recording of this session for weeks. I looked up at one of the cameras and smiled. Then I set to work shaving off the curls of red hair from the woman’s pubis.

Her clitoris was deeply hooded and her labia folded over one another like petals on a sleeping flower. The skin at the edge of her labia was darker than the rest. A rarity. He’d like that.

I ran my thumb over her mound to test the smoothness of the finish. We’d both suffer if I missed a spot. She flinched beneath my touch. Her bonds meant she couldn’t move far, but she definitely flinched, finding my touch more difficult to bear than the kiss of the blade.

Her wrist-cuffs had been clipped to the black leather straps around her thighs. Her hands were clenched into fists. She wore a wedding ring. Probably a war widow. I wondered how long it had been since someone had seen her naked. My guess was that no one had ever seen her naked and bound.

She’d get used to it.

We all do.

I set down the razor and slid up her body, pressing my small still-clad breasts against her large naked ones. Playing it up for the camera. When I was close enough, I whispered in her ear.

“He can’t keep you against your will. They don’t tell you that when you sign the form, but any contract can be broken. Slavery is still illegal.”

I kiss her ear to keep the watching public happy and continue.

“Nod your head and I’ll cut you loose and make sure he let’s you go. I can make him do that, I promise you.”

I sat up, legs straddling her, letting my too-short plaid skirt display my lack of underwear and placed both of my hands on her breasts.

I waited.

She did not nod.

I was not surprised. Any contract could be broken but there were always consequences. At the very least she’d be made to leave Enclave. She didn’t look like she’d survive that for long.

I tweaked playfully on her nipples and said, in my best schoolgirl voice. “Yum, you look good enough to eat.” Then I leant forward and sucked one of her breasts into my mouth.

She was actually quite beautiful. Even with the ugly black cock sticking up obscenely from the gag in her mouth, she looked dignified and elegant. Everything about her appealed to me. Everything except the fact that my touch made her flinch. It would have been nice, just once, to have had one of them love me.

Still, the Legate knew my tastes. Where would the fun have been in sending me someone who shared them?

I reminded myself that, in six more months, my contract came due and I would have a permanent right to reside in the Enclave, I would even have the opportunity to study. Once I’d paid my dues.

I climbed off the widow. She did not look at me.

I gave the cameras a quizzical look and said “I wonder if the rest of you tastes as sweet?”

The bonds tying her to the bench have spread her legs wide. One of the ceiling cameras moved along its track until it is above where my face would soon be. The camera at the head of the bench stayed focused on the widow’s face. I wondered if the Legate was running the cameras himself today.

It wasn’t hard to work out what he wanted. He had had her left here with that big black rubber cock sticking out of her mouth after all.

“I know,” I said in a bright, happy voice, “why don’t I eat and ride at the same time.”

I knelt quickly beside her, making a show of loosening my school tie and opening up all the buttons on my blouse and saying softly, “Play along. This is going to happen. Try to enjoy it.*

I grabbed the dildo sticking out of her mouth and used it to turn her head to look up at me.

“Please, Momsy,” I said, “Can I have a ride?”

I didn’t wait for a reply. I was past worrying about the widow. I was looking after myself now.

I took off the skirt. No point in hiding the action. Then, slowly and with melodramatic relish, I slid down the faux-cock until it was all the way in. The only real cock I’ve ever had is the Legate’s and that was one more than I’d ever wanted, but I do like being this full; it takes my mind off everything else.

I didn’t have to fake the satisfied sigh, which was just as well as he’s not very tolerant of faking. I pushed up and down a couple of times, grinding back against her head, then I slid forward, careful to keep some of the cock inside me, and found my way to that hooded clit.

I get through these sessions by being somewhere else with someone else. Today, I was with Jess, in the barn, before the war reached us. She is sitting naked, with her back to a pillar, legs spread even wider than the evil grin on her face and pointing dramatically to her clit. “I need you right here, right now” she says.

I tried to imagine that the clit unfurling beneath my tongue is Jess’ and that this session is about love and joy. If I concentrated hard enough I could sometimes even make myself believe that. Today was not one of those days. I licked and sucked and nibbled but it all felt mechanical and forced. Which, I suppose, was quite appropriate. I was resigning myself to a lack-lustre session when I was taken completely by surprise. The widow started bucking beneath me, using her head to push the cock in deeper.

For a moment I let myself think that I’d actually aroused her. Then I realised that she really was just using her head; trying to get this over with as fast as possible.

I closed my eyes, said my traditional prayer “Jess, I need you right here and right now” and reapplied myself to making us both come.

It took me longer than usual to find her g-spot. It was set back in the curved roof of her sex and I needed most of my small hand in her to put pressure on it. Once I found it, everything slickened up nicely. I persisted and persisted until the widow lady arched her back so much that the cock slipped out of me entirely, leaving me gaping into the camera. She came for several seconds, in little quakes that felt like sobs.

This was a problem. I wasn’t even close to coming. I wondered how the Legate would react to that.

The sound of clapping reached me, like an answer to my question. The Legate had arrived in person to applaud our efforts. This was very unusual.

I started to sit up but he said “No need to rise, Lizzie. I like you just where you are.”

I dropped my head back onto the widow’s mound and carried on licking, never taking my eyes off him. He’s often forced home the point that I should look him in the eye when he’s using me.

As usual, he was accompanied by Yuriko, a Japanese half-breed who is even smaller and less developed than I am. She was wearing a sailor suit top but was naked below the waist. The leash he held was attached to her clit ring, ensuring that she always takes care to be at his side.

“Yuriko and I enjoyed your love making so much, I decided to join in.”

He snapped his fingers and Yuriko rushed to loosen the belt that held his kimono closed and reached up to slide the robe from his shoulders. She had to press against him to do this. He neither bent forward nor looked at her.

He has the well-defined muscles of a man who uses his body as a weapon: deep chest, strong arms, thick legs, spread in a fighter’s stance. His substantial erection curved up and back towards his concave belly.

Yuriko bent her head to suck him but he pushed her away, throwing the leash after her. He was clearly very excited. Which was good, because it meant this wouldn’t take long.

“I’m glad you enjoyed Mrs. Carstairs, Lizzie” he said as he climbed onto the bench and knelt between the widows legs.

He leant forward, steadying himself by pushing my head down onto her pubis. I opened my mouth and he pushes all the way in. I knew better than to suck. He would take whatever he wanted.

“You and, what did you call her? Ah yes, Momsy. You and Momsy make such a lovely couple,” he said, pushing deeper into my mouth, “that I’ve decide to put you in charge of her training.”

He picked up his pace, fucking my face as hard as he could. When I started to gag he gave a satisfied grunt, pulled out of me and slipped into the widow. She thrashed around until she heard him laugh. Then she had the sense to lie still.

It took less than a minute of humping before he was ready to come. The Legate was still forcing my head down onto the widow’s mound. I took the hint and did my best to lick her clit and his shaft. It’s a trick that takes practice but I’ve had plenty of that. The Legate went for the crowd-pleasing finish, pulling out of the widow to spew his cum on my face and her mound.

“Splendid,” he said with same sense of pride another person might show if they’d just invented a cure for cancer.

He got off the bench and headed for the door, still naked and still slightly erect. Yuriko was kneeling at the exit, holding up her leash to him. We all knew that it would be her function to deal with what was left of the Legate’s erection, probably while he viewed his newest recording for the first time.

While Yuriko got to her feet, the Legate looked back at me and said, “I’m making her your bed-mate for a while, Lizzie. Now clean her up and take her to your quarters. And do let her get some rest. I want her on the Pole tomorrow and I don’t want it over quickly.” Then he tugged on Yukio’s leash and left us.

For a moment I didn’t move. His instructions had caught me by surprise He’d never let me have a regular bed-mate before.

Then I processed his statement about the Pole. That was a tough routine for a new arrival. Clearly Mrs. Carstairs was more to him than just another neophyte for the Enclave.

I needed to find out what that connection was so I could decide if I’d been offered a reward or a poison chalice.

I was literally shaken out of my reverie by Mrs Carstairs herself, who was making it clear that she wanted me off her as soon as possible. While understandable, this was not acceptable behaviour from my new trainee.

I climbed down, found a towel to wipe his slime off me and put my skirt back on. I was in charge here so I got to clean up and wear clothes while she stayed naked and soiled.

My new charge was struggling against her bonds and trying to make herself heard despite the gag in her mouth. That wouldn’t do at all, especially with the cameras still running.

The slap across her face seemed to astound her.

I could see it would leave a mark. I had hit her a little harder than I’d intended to. Still, at least now I had her attention.

I grabbed the sticky cock-gag and turned her face towards me.

“I don’t know who you were out in the world but here, in the Enclave, you are mine to train. You are also my bed-mate and you will serve me as such even if I have to keep you bound the whole time.”

Her eyes became very cold. But she was calm and she seemed to be listening.

“Struggling against your bonds is not allowed unless it is caused by pain. That is why I slapped you. It is also why you will keep the gag in your mouth and his cum on your belly, while I walk you to my quarters.”

I let go of the gag, picked up the razor and said, “Nod your head if you are ready to obey me.”

She eyed the razor with concern but this time she nodded.

I sliced through the bonds at her ankles with the razor but I left her wrists bound to the straps around her thighs. Then I dragged her to her feet by the cockgag.

Standing up, she was much taller than me. My mouth was about level with her breasts. She had nice breasts, large but firm, with wide nipples that still pointed up and out.

I looked up into her eyes and saw only wariness. Wariness was a lot better than shock or despair or hate. I could work with wariness, but first I had to reinforce it.

“You have nice nipples, Momsy,” I said, twisting her left nipple between my finger and thumb but keeping my eyes on hers.

“As your trainer, I get to decide if we pierce them…”

Score one to the home team, Mrs C’s eyes widened in shock. The camera would love that.

I placed the flat side of the razor next to her right nipple. “… or if we should take them off altogether.”

I smiled then. I think that frightened her more than blade.

“But, then perhaps they’re better as they are. What do you think, Mumsy? Oh you can’t speak with you mouth full. Silly me.“

I leant forward a little so that my mouth was close to her breast.

“Maybe, if I became fond of your nipples, if I knew they brought us both pleasure, I could leave them as they are. Would you like that Momsy?”

I waited. A small tear escaped down one cheek.

You have to admire the control that that implies.

Mrs C nodded.


“Show me that you want me to enjoy your nipples.” I said.

Mrs C worked it out. She pushed her left breast forward against my mouth, brushing my lips.

I moved the razor away from Mrs C’s other breast and extended my tongue so that I could lap at the nipple like a cat taking cream.

She really did have attractive nipples but I made myself pull my mouth away. I needed one more step to drive the lesson home.

“I’m not sure you’re enjoying this.” I said, stepping back. “Perhaps you would prefer I didn’t suckle you?”

Mrs C shook her head so violently that the cockgag wobbled. She shuffled forward towards me, doing the best she could with her wrists bound to her thighs, to offer me her breasts.

“Well, if you’re sure.” I said.

I grabbed her breasts with both hands, lifting and squeezing them so that her nipples were offered up like cherries on a sundae. I sucked on each nipple, worried them with my teeth, pulling my head back to stretch her flesh. I wasn’t gentle but I was thorough.

When I stepped away, Mrs C stayed still, waiting for me to tell her what to do next.

We were making progress. A sense of triumph blossomed briefly within me. It died when I looked into Mrs C’s eyes and saw myself reflected there. I understood then that the only one triumphing here was the Legate. Which is something I should never have lost sight of.

I decided to change the game a little.  Silently, I stepped forward and cut Mrs C’s wrists free from the straps at her thighs and then reached up,grabbed the cock-gag and used it to make Mrs C bend her head. When her ear was close to mouth I whispered, “The only words you say when I loosen this gag are ‘Thank you, Lizzie'”.

I loosened the strap until I could pull the gag out of her mouth and leave it dangling from her neck. Her lips were swollen and her mouth and chin were covered in spit but that only seem to make her more attractive in my eyes.

“Thank you, Lizzie” she said. Her voice not much above a whisper.

“That’s OK, Mumsy. That’s your reward for offering me your breasts like a good girl.”

“Now, let me take you to your new home.” I said holding out my hand.

I thought she might ask for clothes, or a towel to wipe herself, or try to cover her nakedness with her hands, but she had better control than that. She took hold of my hand and said “Thank you, Lizzie.”

She kept hold of my hand and stayed in step beside me as we walked through the Enclave to my quarters.

Fucking Forever

Fucking Forever

© Mike Kimera


Eternal life. That’s what I wanted. That’s what we all wanted. And the aliens gave it to us. They didn’t have to of course. They were powerful enough that they could have taken anything they wanted. We couldn’t have stopped them. Everyone argues about why they made the offer, especially those of us who took it. Some think it was a sort of religious observance, others say it was their sense of honour. I think they did it because it amused them. I think it amuses them still.

Earth’s first contact with alien life didn’t involve shiny hardware landing on the White House lawn or benign beings beaming their smiling face into every home and telling us that they came in peace. I don’t think it occurred to them to announce their presence to us. Would you announce your presence to the bugs in the jungle? Or to the trees? They didn’t go in for the “take me to your leader” stuff. They wanted earth as a theme park, not a colony. “Take me to your leader” – like they cared.

I met my first alien in a chatroom. It’s not that I was a geek or anything. I was just trying to get laid. I was forty-two years old and death’s winged chariot was threatening to cut me off at the knees. I was going to die. Not soon maybe, but it was definitely going to happen. I could see it in the way my body took longer to recover from drinking and my cock took longer to reload. I’d decided that when it reached the point where I had to get up in the middle of the night to take a piss I was going to shoot myself. When I woke in the morning I could smell the stink of my own putrefaction. Yeah I know, trite mid-life crisis. Yawn. Except that this was my mid-life crisis and it wasn’t fucking funny.

She said her name was Trinity. I thought she was probably one of those folks who know every line of “The Matrix”, and keep saying things like, “Guns. Lots of guns.”, but I hoped that it meant she was into three-ways. I’d never had one but I meant to try it before I died.

I was calling myself “Thriller” in the chatroom. Yeah, well this was a hundred years ago, I was young and had no imagination. I still have our chat stored. Let me bring it up for you.

Thriller: what you wearing babe?

Trinity: I never wear anything

Thriller: Whoa, my kind of girl

Trinity: You don’t like clothes?

Thriller: Well, maybe some leather and lace and some fuck me pumps. EG*

There’s a lot more like that. It never sounds quite that lame when you’re typing it. Let’s scroll forward a bit.

Trinity: Is there anyone you love?

Thriller: You mean like, am I fucking someone?

Trinity: I mean love: being emotionally engaged with someone to the point where you would automatically place his or her interests before your own.

Thriller: This is getting heavy, Trin. You wanna fuck or what?

Trinity: I want you to answer my questions. If I like your answers I will arrange to meet with you tomorrow. I promise you it will be memorable.

Thriller: So what kind of answers do you want?

Trinity: Honest ones.

We talked for an hour or more. After a while I stopped being Thriller and started being me. It had been a long time since anyone had really listened to me; it felt good. I told her about my (ex) wife, my (ex) mistress, my (estranged) sister, the girl next door who did aerobics in her bedroom with the lights on and the windows open; about the painful way my mother died; and about my own fear of death. I slipped rapidly from glib and cocky to tearful and self-pitying. It was like getting drunk only faster, and Trinity was like the best bartender in the world, abetting my intoxication while sympathizing with the results.

Trinity: Thank you for answering my questions. Be at this address tomorrow at 10pm.

I was so far gone in self-pity that I’d actually forgotten that this was supposed to be about getting laid. After I logged off I suddenly thought, “Wow, I’m really gonna fuck someone I met on line.”

Maybe if I hadn’t been so juiced, it might have struck me as odd that a woman I didn’t know and whom I’d just cried all over, wanted to have sex with me.

Trinity lived in a very upscale apartment block in Midtown, the sort of place the doorman would normally have thrown me out of unless I was delivering flowers.

The elevator opened into a reception area half the size of my apartment. I’d have been impressed but I was too busy looking at the naked woman in front of me. She looked just like Trinity in “The Matrix”: short jet-black hair, muscled body, and fighter’s stance. Of course, in the movie I never got to find out whether Trinity shaved her pubes into a narrow little strip that looked like a down arrow.

“Wow,” I said.

I was always good at compliments.

Trinity didn’t smile, she didn’t speak, she just pushed me back against the wall with one hand on my throat, and ripped open – and I mean ripped – my Dockers. This girl was strong.

The pressure on my neck increased and I started to feel dizzy. Her hand on my cock was cool but completely relentless. I started to panic. I was being choked to death by a naked psycho, just when I was getting the most impressive hard-on of my life.

My vision was starting to fade and Trinity’s face showed nothing but curiosity. She tilted her head to one side and looked at me just the way Michael does after he’s gutted some teen with his knife in the “Halloween” movies.

Trinity let go of my neck and I slid to the floor gasping. She straddled my cock and slipped it inside of her. Her whole demeanour changed. Suddenly she was straight out of a porn flick: pulling at her breasts and tossing her head back and going, “Yeah, Baby. Oh Yeah. Harder Baby. Oh do it to me Baby!” It was corny but it worked. I came inside her like someone had turned on a tap. When the flow stopped – look I hadn’t been laid in a month so it went on a while Ok? – Trinity just stood up. My cum was seeping down her thigh and she was looking at me like she was seeing me for the first time.

“Did you enjoy that?”

The porn star was gone. This question was asked in the same tone I’d imagined from the chatroom – a clever but dispassionate woman who studied men like insect specimens. For a brief moment I wondered if I’d walked into her killing jar, then male ego took over.

“That was great Trin. Did you come?”

“I always come.”

She didn’t sound pleased about it – more like bored, maybe even sad.

“What is your name?”

I’d always wanted to be asked that after I’d fucked a beautiful woman.

I grinned and said “Jim, Jim O’Hara.”

“Get out of those ripped clothes Mr. O’Hara. There are some people I want you to meet.”

People? Hey, maybe we were gonna do the group sex thing after all. Hurray for me and my sexual charisma.

I followed Trinity down the hall, enjoying the view of her from behind. She led me into a kind of library/multimedia room: big flatscreen TV, fancy audio system, computer rig, books by the wall full, but no people.

“Sit please,” she said, pointing to a leather armchair.

“Where is everybody?”

Trinity leant forward and placed a pair of headphones over my ears. That brought her breasts pleasantly close. I was about to lick them when the aliens arrived inside my head.

I couldn’t see them but I knew they were there. It was as if they were at the top of my skull, out of sight. It was hard to tell how many of them there were because they moved around a lot. Their arrival lasted about a heartbeat and then a screenshow went on behind my eyes – colours forming and reforming into random shapes. I couldn’t see Trinity any more. I know I should have been alarmed but the colours filled me with a sense of well being.

“Hi Jimbo, how’s it goin’?”

The voice belonged to Kieran, my best friend from school. Problem was, he’d been killed on his motorcycle two years earlier – the day before my 40th birthday – that had been a real bummer.

“You’re dead.”

“Yeah, I know. But they’ve kinda borrowed me from your memory so they can talk to you.”

“Who’s ‘They'”

“The aliens of course. Didn’t Trinity tell you… no that’s right we got distracted didn’t we. It’s been a while since we met someone who needed a fuck as badly as you did.”

“What fucking aliens?”

“The aliens who just used Trinity’s body to fuck you. Look, we’ll prove it. Think about what you’d like Trinity to do for you. Get a real clear image in your head. Then we’ll use her to do it.”

I knew exactly what I wanted.

“We knew you had a good imagination Jimbo. Great image man.”

The aliens restored my sight just in time for me to see Trinity’s lips touch my balls. My whole cock was in her mouth. She pulled back until only the head was in her mouth, sucked hard and then pushed forward to my balls again. She did it slowly, just the way I’d always imagined.

“Oh God,” I said.

“Not God, Jimbo – but close.”

“Look, Kieran, no offence man but do I have to talk to them through you. I mean you’re dead and it freaks me out a bit, you know?”

Kieran morphed and suddenly I was speaking to Jean-Luc Picard. Holy shit, these aliens knew what I liked. He was my all time hero. I had this fantasy where I was in a three-way with him and Deanna Troi. We’d take an end each, all ready for action and he’d grin and say “engage” and we’d fuck the shit out of her.

“Death frightens you, Mr O’Hara,”

“Hey, we all die,” I said. Well, I had to try and sound cool in front of Picard.

“Actually,” he said, “in your case that no longer has to be true. How would you like to live forever, Mr. O’Hara?”

Then Picard explained the aliens in that clear calm way he always used on the TV. The aliens travelled the universe as a kind transmission. All that static we’d been listening to for years, hoping to get a message from alien life – well some of it was alien life. They travelled to earth and then beamed down through our own coms satellites.

Of course it seems obvious to us now that the best way to travel through space is as data. All that effort we spent on overcoming gravity wells and keeping bodies from decaying in zero gravity and dreaming about finding hyperspace, when the clue had been right there in the early Star Trek stuff – ‘Beam me up Scotty’. Turn me into data. Fax me across the universe. E-mail me to kingdom come. And when I get there I’ll look for somewhere to live.

“And I’m the somewhere to live, right?”

“Actually you’re more like an SUV, used by lots of different people for short periods of time to go and have some fun. We are thrill seekers Mr. O’Hara. You understand thrills don’t you?”

Trinity started to suck harder and push deeper, making little choking sounds. I understood thrills all right.

“Think of us as body hitchhikers. We won’t steal your body; we just want a ride in it. You’ll still be inside, just the way Trinity is still in her own head, it’s just that she isn’t at the steering wheel anymore.”

“And what do I get?”

Picard morphed into Keanu in that long black leather coat I lusted after every time I watched “The Matrix”.

“Sex. Lots of sex, ” he said. “Oh and you get to live forever.”


“Cool isn’t it? We get rid of all the things that make you age and die.”

“How long do you ride?”

The alien morphed back into Picard. “We understand that a year and a day is the traditional period for indentured service in your culture. We will improve your body of course, just as we improved Trinity’s. Trinity was originally Carol Parks.”

Holy shit. Carol Parks was a media figure. Reclusive heiress. Interested in science because she wanted something that would…

“…cure her spinal injury? Yes,” Picard said. “She was close to success with the nanotech work she’d sponsored. We just gave her a few additional pieces of data.”

“But Carol Parks is…”

“A fifty-five year old paraplegic recluse. As we said, some improvements where made.”

I stroked the raven hair of the woman who was sucking my cock well enough to keep me on edge without letting me get bored. She sure didn’t look fifty-five.

“Carol wanted a more physical life. We gave it to her. She is, unfortunately agoraphobic to the point where her body shuts down if we ride her outside. But she has a wide network of contacts on the web so we decided to go with the home delivery approach.”

Hell, one minute I’m a SUV, now I’m fucking pizza. These guys weren’t exactly great on the flattery.

“One last thing, like Trinity, you will be responsible for some recruitment. Think of it as a kind of pyramid selling.”

I was losing my concentration. An heiress was blowing my cock while aliens where blowing my mind. My breathing was becoming ragged.

“Why me?” I gasped

“We like your personality: self absorbed, distant, emotionally immature but capable of sustaining a strong fantasy life. So do you want to sign up, Mr. O’Hara? Say yes and we’ll start improving you immediately. Trinity will keep you amused until the work is done.”

Trinity was bobbing her head now. Less deep throat and a lot more suction. I was going to do it, I was gonna…

“YES!” I said and came in Trinity’s mouth.

“Good decision, O’Hara. Welcome aboard,”

Picard disappeared and I was left alone with Trinity. The alien’s must have started work on my body immediately because I was already getting hard again.

Trinity was sucking dutifully but there were tears in her eyes. I should have paid attention to those tears. Instead, I pushed her back onto her heels, popped myself out of her mouth, looked into her eyes, smiled and said, “Do you like anal?”

I spent three days with Trinity. It was a long three days. One of the things the aliens forgot to mention was that they wanted to be able to ride 24/7, so no sleep for the SUV. I spent the time fucking, eating and watching DVDs. I never really got to speak to Carol Parks. There was always an alien behind Trinity’s eyes, but you could tell that it wasn’t always the same one.

By the end of the third day, I looked about thirty and very fit with it. I was still me but I was the me I’d always wanted to see in the mirror: muscled, good skin, bigger cock, and above all, cool.

On the fourth day I got my first rider. This time there was no picture for me to talk to, no conversation in fact. I was up and moving, but I had no control, I couldn’t even change the direction of my gaze.

When I realized where we were going I tried to turn away. My rider laughed. “Just enjoy the ride, Jimbo. I’m going to have some fun.”

I recognised the voice. My rider had decided to be Jack Nicholson, my all-time favourite actor. I tried to say I didn’t want this but I couldn’t speak.

The alien heard me anyway. “Giddy-up hos,” it said and steered me into a gay-bar.

This wasn’t a discrete place for the gently gay and the quietly curious. It was called “The Cactus Cowboy” and the neon sign showed a happy cowboy squatting over a bright green cactus that was shaped like a cock and balls.

Inside, things got worse, they were line dancing and all of them knew the words to “My achy breaky heart”.

I’d like to say that I don’t remember what happened next but the aliens gifted me with total recall. That’s one of the things that convinces me that they had a sense of humour.

I was steered towards the bar, an inane grin on my face. I stepped up close to a young cowboy, ran my finger through the hair on his muscled forearm, leant up against him and heard myself say, “I can never resist strong forearms; makes me pucker up all over.”

My would-be lover walked off in disgust. Seemed like I was no more successful getting laid gay than I was straight.

“This your first time?” The voice came from behind me. It was deep and smooth, like chocolate for the ear. My rider turned me towards the voice. A tall man, older, maybe fifty and wearing shitkicker shoes, a shirt with pearl buttons and a large black hat – yea hah!

“I’m a virgin,” I said. “But you could change that.”

“Son, I hope you have no ambitions as a writer – you have some of the corniest lines I ever heard.”

I felt myself smile, then I touched his cheek and said “But I’m cute with it, right?”

He kissed me. My tongue pushed into his mouth. I’d never really thought about kissing a guy, but if I had thought about it I’d have imagined myself heaving at this point. Actually it didn’t feel any different from kissing a woman. That was almost enough to put me off kissing any more women.

“Jimbo,” the alien in my head said, “you are such a bigot. It’s a good job I know that you’ve always liked oral sex. Now let’s get you ready.”

My erection surprised me more than it surprised my kissing partner. I held his hand against it and pushed my hips forward.

He stopped kissing me. His hand tightened around my genitals. “I think that you lack romance.” He said, lifting me onto my toes by the balls and making me lean against him. “I think that you’re in a hurry to get back to your wife” He let go of me and I almost fell. “I think you’ll be at your best on your knees with my cock in your mouth”.

He grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me towards the toilets. With an attention to detail that I could have lived without, I noticed that the line dancers had been replaced by couples twirling to the strains of “Yellow Rose Of Texas”.

There were no doors on the crappers. They weren’t being used to crap in. I tried not to look as I was pulled past.

He sat me on the crapper, unzipped, held his cock in front of me (smaller than my new improved version but better than what I used to have) and said “Put that smart mouth to use, boy.” Then he handed me a fucking condom. Did he think I had aids or something?

The alien knew what to do. I just watched from behind my eyes as I ripped open the wrapper, put the condom between my lips, and pushed it over the head of his cock. It was cherry flavoured. Who the hell buys cherry flavoured condoms?

I’d never realised cock sucking took so long. And I was really trying. Or at least the alien was. I hollowed out my cheeks, I sucked so hard. I hummed. The alien even widened my throat so I could take all of him at the one time. Just like Trinity had taken me. The guy took forever. Who’d have thought you could get bored with a cock in your mouth.

“Can’t have you getting bored, Jimbo” the alien said.

I took the guys cock out of mouth. “I want it up me.” I said.

I worked him with my hand, squeezing the base. “Right up me.”

“Be quick boy,” was all he said.

I turned around, dropped my jeans and held on to the cistern.

Anal sex hurts. A lot. But the aliens had altered me there too because things suddenly got easier.

“Damn me but you were all lubed up, weren’t ya boy.”

His cock felt much bigger in my arse than it had in my mouth. And he was pushing harder. I knew why I liked anal sex, it was fucking tight. Now I knew why it was so hard to get without paying for it.

I was focused on the pain right up to point were he grabbed my cock. He was all the way in me, moving back and forth less than half an inch. With every push he would stroke my cock.

“Timing is everything Jimbo,” my Jack Nicholson rider said “Let’s put on a show for the guy.”

I started to groan and then moan and then shout. It was ascene from “When Harry met Sally in the crapper and found she had a cock”.

By the time he came up my arse I was shouting “YES! YES! YES!” Then I sprayed the wall with my cum.

“Sweet Jesus, boy – you learn fast.” my fuckmate said. He pulled out of me and I felt like my arsehole was gaping a foot or so across.

I waited for Jack Nicholson to say something smart or maybe even offer seconds. Then I realised that he was gone. I was bent over the crapper with my newly fucked arse in the air and cum dripping from my dick and my rider had left.

I turned around and found that my partner had left too. Not even an “I’ll call you”. And after all I’d done for him.

I pulled up my jeans. I ought to have been mad at the aliens, disgusted with myself, angry with the world but all I could think was “My arse hurts”

When I stepped out of the trap people applauded. My little show had attracted an audience. I ran out of there as fast as I could.

When I got back to the apartment I met Carol Parks for the first time. She still had the Trinity body of course but I could see something different behind her eyes.

“The first ride is always rough” she said.

“I don’t want to talk about it. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“My guess would be a gay bar”

“How did you know that?”

“Because, for my first time they made me fuck you.”


“I have a strong preference for girls, Jim”

“But we’ve… I’ve… You’ve”

“Yes. Like I said, the first time is always rough.”

Then I surprised myself. “I’m sorry, Carol.” I said.

It was as if a switch had been flicked.

“C’mere lover,” she said and reached for me.

She was being ridden. I ran for my room and closed the door. Behind me I heard Trinity laugh. I wondered what Carol Parks was doing.


They left me alone for a while. At least I thought they did. I started to wonder how I’d know if the aliens were there. What if they thought it was fun to watch me trying to figure them out? A sort of reality TV with full surround-sound and vision.

I’d signed up for a year and a day of service and I was wigging out after only five days. The idea of a year of fucking had seemed like a win-win deal. Now I realised I’d turned myself into a walking dildo.

“It could be worse, Jimbo”, Kieran, my dead best friend was back as the aliens’ mouthpiece, except this time he looked the way I’d seen him in the coffin at his funeral, waxy and too well groomed. “We could let you find out what it feels like to slice open your own belly, or pop an eyeball. We’d repair it later of course but it would be a hell of a ride while it lasted.”

The fear was instant. My balls shrank, there was a coppery taste in my mouth, I wanted to curl into a ball.

Suddenly Kieran became Hannibal, complete with face mask. He titled his head back, sniffed the air and said, “Nothing refreshes the senses like the scent of raw terror, Claris”

All the slice and dice movies I’d watched flashed across my memory. All those sharp blades and power tools. All that screaming. How had I ever thought that they were fun?

I stood up. Or rather, the aliens stood me up. I picked up the beer bottle that I’d left beside the bed and smashed it against the wall. Then I stood in front of the mirror, smiled, and raised the jagged glass towards my face. They were going to cut me. And they were going to make me watch. Then they would repair me and make me do it again. I wanted to scream but all I could do was smile at myself.

At the edge of my hearing, Hannibal made that wine-taster slurping sound and said, “Delicious”. Then they let go of me.

I’d never puked and pissed myself at the same time before. I lay there able to move but needing stillness. What the hell had I got myself into?

Carol came in. There was something in her look, some basic human empathy, that told me it was Carol and not Trinity.

She wrinkled her nose at the smell but her tone was sympathetic, “I see our friends gave you the ‘every silver lining has a cloud’ demo.”

She took hold of my wrist and said, “Come on, lets get you into the shower.”

Carol was naked as usual. As I undressed I realised that I was embarrassed to be naked in front of her now. It wasn’t just that I’d soiled myself, it seemed more personal than before. Maybe she picked up on my discomfort, because, once she herded me into the shower and turned on the water, she stepped back outside.

I’d fucked Trinity/Carol in this shower. Images of my cock between her soap-covered breasts surfaced in my mind. It took no effort at all to recall the slippery slide of her finger into my ass, or the rasping of her tongue on my balls.

“Did they make you hurt yourself?” I asked, trying not to let the Trinity memories arouse me.

Carol gave a humourless laugh. “They showed me that I could be paraplegic again in an instant: incontinent, immobile, helpless. But this time I might find my vocabulary restricted to the words shit and fuck and piss.”

Even under the hot water I shivered at the thought of that. My wannabe erection faded in sympathy.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “They can make us do whatever they want. Why the threats?”

“They are aliens, Jim. They aren’t from around here. Who knows what they want? But if I had to guess I’d say that want us… stimulated. It’s not enough to use our bodies. They want to feed off real emotions.”

“Yeah, my rider got pissed at me when I got bored sucking that cowboy’s cock.”

This time Carol’s laughter was heartfelt. It was a sound I could grow to like.

Carol, still smiling, offered me a towel as I stepped out of the shower. Before I could take it from her I saw the change in her eyes.

She tilted her head to one side, just like she’d done on the first day, then she looked down between my legs.

“No ewection for Twinity?”

It was a little girl voice that I might once have found naughty but that now just seemed wrong.

She reached out for my cock but I stepped back.

“Aw, doesn’t Jimmy want to play with lickle Twinity?” she said, dropping to her knees in front of me. The alien kept Carol’s eyes on me as she slid one finger down her belly and between her legs.

“Mmmmm, Twinity’s all wet” she said, biting her lip.

God help me but my cock began to thicken and I had no alien to blame that on.

The doorbell chimed. Trinity bounced to her feet. “Never mind, Twinty has a new fwend to play with now”.

I followed Trinity to the door, forgetting my own nakedness until I saw the wide-eyed stare of the immensely fat middle-aged woman who stood in the doorway.

“Come in, Heather. I’ve been waiting for you,” Trinity said, all trace of her child parody gone.

Heather waddled into the room.

“Heeeeere’s Johnny,” the Nicholson Alien said in my head. “So Trinity landed the big one. Christ, having her would be like fucking a whale: humping a Humpback, harpooning the Great White.”

I was beginning to go off Jack Nicholson.

“Aw now, why’d ya have to think a thing like that, Jimbo? That’s not a nice thing to think. Now I gotta do something about it. It’s all about respect, kid.”

I’m not sure who was most alarmed by my cock slapping up against my belly, me or Heather. She took a step back and bumped into the wall. The plaster cracked.

“Don’t worry about Jimmy,” Trinity said, “He’s going out to play. You’re all mine, Heather.”

Trinity’s’ head was level with Heather’s avalanche of a bosom. She pushed her face into the soft slopes and let one hand try to find a gap between heather’s massive thighs. Heather looked uncomfortable with me watching, but I could see her nipples rise beneath the T-shirt tent she was wearing.

“Open wider, Heather. I promised you my whole fist,” Trinity said.

Heather sagged against the wall. Her eyes widened as Trinity pushed home, then Heather moaned. I remembered moaning like that. The mating call of the terminally frustrated.

“There she blows!” Jack quipped in my ear.

My hand slapped Trinity on the rump and then I returned to the bedroom to get dressed.

“You’re gonna like this Jimbo, you’re gonna like it a lot,” Jack said. “We’re gonna see a young neighbour of yours. I always had a hard spot for the girl next door, if ya know what I mean?

Jack took a detour to Trinity’s bedroom on the way out. Heather was naked apart from the leather straps tying her to the bed and the ballgag in her mouth. Trinity was lubing the largest strap-on I’d ever seen.

“Glad to see your getting her used to a man my size, Trin,” I heard myself say. “We’ll come back after the remodelling.”

Trinity gave us the finger then buried the strap-on between Heather’s legs. We stayed long enough for me to know that Heather literally rippled when she struggled in her bonds. Even without the alien’s gift of total recall that was a sight it would have been impossible to forget.

Before Sonia had become my neighbour, my apartment hadn’t had much of view – who wants to look across a junk-filled courtyard at the other side of your own building? Once she started doing her exercise routine with her windows open, I found the view much more compelling.

According to the concierge, Sonia was twenty-three and recently divorced. My guess was that she was used to a whole lot more sex than single life was bringing her and she was using her aerobics either to sweat off her lust or attract someone-else to enjoy it with.

If I’d been younger and fitter I might even have believed that her displays were intended for my consumption. She’d smiled at me a couple of times in the lobby, and once I’d carried her groceries up for her, she’d offered me coffee but I was late for a chatroom meeting so I made my excuses. OK, so sometimes I did Homer Simpson impersonations.

I liked Sonia, she smiled a lot and seemed full of life. Of course that hadn’t stopped me from whacking off while I watched her aerobics routine from my darkened room but that didn’t make me a bad person did it?

Now the aliens had brought me back to my old building, intent on helping me fuck Sonia and my main response wasn’t excitement but fear. I knew the aliens liked my fear. I wondered if they wanted to enjoy Sonia’s fear as well

In my minds eye, the aliens had transformed my sagging fourty-two year old body beyond recognition but the concierge just nodded at me as the aliens herded me through the lobby. “You had a self-image problem, Jimbo,” Jack said, “Plus you were a whining spineless excuse for a man. Now we’ll show you how a real man gets some pussy.”

Pussy. How often had I whispered that word to myself as I flicked through porn? Maybe I’d even said it to myself while I watched Sonia do her pelvic floor exercises – “look at the pussy on that”. It’s one of those things you say to get yourself excited but I’d never said it the way Jack said it in my head. Jack’s version was a sort of verbal leer that said “been there, had that, let’s make it bleed next time.”

Sonia was wearing a shot dress and a big smile when she opened the door.

“Jim, what a surprise. Wow have you been working out – you’re looking buff.”

“See Jimbo, she likes ya.” Jack said in my head. My hand ran through my hair and I leant against Sonia’s door frame with a grin on my face.

“Wanna feel my muscles, Babe?”

Sonia’s smile faded. She took a step back, unable to close the door without slamming it against me.

“What do you want, Jim?” She sounded a little nervous. With more insight than I would once have been capable of, I wondered if her husband had ever hit her.

“Me?” I said, stepping into the room and closing the door. Sonia, who was stepping backwards, bumped into the hallway wall. “What do I want?” I put one hand on the wall and leant in close, blocking her escape. “I want you.”

Tears appeared in Sonia’s eyes. She was looking at me like I was a walking nightmare.

“I want this,” I said cupping her left breast, “And this,” licking the flat of my tongue up her cheek.

I stepped back and she turned to move. My hand grasped her throat and held her in place against the wall.

“But mostly,” I said unzipping my jeans and tugging out my erection, “I want to fuck every hole you’ve got and maybe drill some new ones.”

Sonia’s kick caught me in the balls. The pain screamed through me but the alien ignored it and punched Sonia in the belly. Then he squeezed her throat until she lost consciousness.

“You guys are so easy to break,” Jack said. “No wonder you reproduce so much.”

My body was my prison now. There was no escape. Helpless, I picked Sonia up and carried her into the bathroom. I ripped her dress off and used strips of it to tie her wrists to the towel rail. She was crumpled unconscious against the wall. I kicked her legs open, then ripped off the thong. Somehow leaving the bra on just made her look more helpless.

“Your not with the program Jim.” Jack said in my head. “What about all those rape stories you used to read, ‘Miss Cocktease gets hers.’ or ‘The taming of the bitch’. They used to make you come. Now’s your chance to do it for real.”

My hand was working the shaft of my erection just in front of Sonia’s face.

“Feels good, doesn’t it Jim?”

And it did feel good. Since the aliens altered me, stroking my cock always felt amazingly good. Soon I would come on Sonia’s face.

“Tell you what Jimbo, I’m gonna give you back control here. If you whack off into little Sonia’s eyes we’ll let you go home and no harm done. If you don’t, we’ll take control back and fuck her so hard she’ll bleed for a month.”

Suddenly the alien was gone. My cock was still begging for release but I was free. Sonia was starting to come round, any second now she would be looking up at me. I had to make a decision: come on her face and save her or hold back and blame the aliens for the hours of abuse she would suffer.

Sonia’s eyes opened. She looked at me not with terror but with hate.

I ran.

I made it as far as the door before the aliens stopped me.

“Mr O’Hara.”

It was Picard only in his Borg incarnation, Locutus.

“You should know by now that resistance is futile. You have been assimilated.”

I turned back towards the bathroom, my cock quivering in front of me. That’s when I started to cry. Tears streamed down my face. I was going to fuck Sonia. I was going to do all the things that I’d ever dreamed of doing to her. I was going to remember it all forever. I wanted to die.

“Delicious,* Hannibal said, then I was alone.

I waited a second, sure they would come back.

Sonia struggled out of the bathroom, the towel rail in her hands. Her rage when she saw me standing there was so violent and ugly, I wondered if the aliens had occupied her. She let out a howl and ran at me, wielding the towel rail like a club.

Maybe I should have tried to tell her that it wasn’t me, it was the voices in my head that made me do it. Maybe a braver man would have let himself be clubbed to death. I ran. I ran down the stairs. I ran out of the building. I ran until I had to stop in an alley and puke my guts up.

I sat in the alley staring up at the clouded sky, glad of the cold indifference of the rain.

I could never go home now, Sonia would have me arrested.

I could leave town and hope the aliens wouldn’t follow me.

I could throw myself in front of a subway train.

Or, I could go back to Trinity’s and live forever.

When I reached the apartment, Carol opened the door. She didn’t say anything, she just wrapped her arms around me. It wasn’t much but it was all we had, small moments of humanity. Maybe it was all we had ever had.

© Mike Kimera 2003 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

The Way of the Courtesan : Chapter 5 : Ravier and Jenna

Ravier needed to fuck. He had spent the whole morning struggling to control his arousal. Being locked in a small Transport with Rachel had been almost unbearable. He could hear his own blood roaring in his ears, calling on him to leap on Rachel and devour her. Even his men had been visibly affected. The pressure had eased when Sabine lead Rachel away to prepare her for the ritual but his cock was still thick against his thigh.

He turned his gaze to Jenna and a grin spread across his face. It was a requirement that the Sponsor of a Courtesan should have rigorous sex before the blessing; it demonstrated his trust that the Founder would give him the strength to carry out his role in the ritual. Sabine had given him Jenna to carry out this tradition.

Jenna was dressed as a handmaiden, available for Ravier’s pleasure, but it was clear to him that Jenna was more than that. The Brotherhood did not publicise the existence of female assassins but Ravier’s father had sometimes used them and Ravier recognised the signs; Jenna’s gait, the development of her muscles, the lack of fear in her eyes, were all warning signs to him.  He doubted that Sabine would harm him in her own House, but it was possible that Jenna was working for someone-else.

“Strip,” he said to Jenna.

“Here, my Lord?”

He was sure that Jenna meant to look coy, pretending to be shocked at the idea of being naked in a public place, but she didn’t quite manage to hide her amusement.

Ravier slapped her across the face with the flat of his hand. He saw the fighter’s reflex start and then be subdued. Jenna could have avoided the blow. She had let him hit her.

“Of course, my Lord,” Jenna said. She kept eye contact with him as she undid the fastenings at her shoulders and let the robe drop to her feet.

Ravier’s cock pulsed. Her body was all hard curves and smooth flesh. It was a canvas he wanted to paint with pain.

“Put your hands on your head and turn around in a circle.”

Jenna moved slowly, displaying herself to him and his men. She knew she was being searched for weapons. They both knew that she was lethal even without a blade.

“Tie her hands behind her back.”

Two of Ravier’s men held Jenna’s arms. They pressed themselves against her while their comrade worked cruel knots to bind her wrists.

“Bring her,” Ravier said and strode towards the tent Sabine had prepared for him.

Jenna was forced to her knees in front of Ravier. His men stayed at the perimeter of the tent. They should have been guarding him but that seemed pointless when the main threat was already amongst them.

Ravier released himself from his trousers. His cock felt hot in his hand. His balls hung heavily. He pressed against Jenna’s mouth and pushed his cock inside. She grinned around his flesh and pushed herself forward, forcing her head further down his shaft. Ravier lost himself to it then, holding her head, ploughing her mouth. No subtly, just haste. Even as he came he was thinking of Rachel: Rachel spread on the horse, Rachel with his sperm on her face and hair, Rachel being carried naked and exhausted in his arms. It was all he could do not to cry out her name.

He came inside Jenna and then pushed her roughly away. His three Security looked at her as if they would tear her apart. Ravier didn’t want that. He wasn’t completely certain they would all survive it.

“Get women and wine for my men”, he shouted. Invisible listeners met his needs. Sabine knew how to keep men happy; within minutes there were six women in the tent. Ravier sat in a field-chair and watched his men take their pleasure.  At first they dived in like starving men. Like him they were still riding the erotic wake Rachel seemed to leave behind her. A few minutes later, after the first come, they slowed down and started swapping the women, commenting on this one’s tightness or that one’s nipples.

Ravier’s mind returned to Rachel, playing with images of her being painted in preparation for the ritual. He wondered what Sabine was saying to her, hoping that it was enough to keep her safe and not so much as to corrupt her entirely.

He ignored Jenna, waiting to see what her next move would be. She had stayed on her knees, watching him watch his men fuck. Now she crawled back to him on her knees, her hands still bound behind her. He didn’t remember giving her the bruise on her face but he smiled to see it there.

Jenna kissed his feet and then slid her breasts up his shin and rubbed her face along his thigh. It was an impressive display of muscle control. With her lips pressed against his balls and his wet cock lolling on her forehead, she looked up and said, “If you will risk untying me, my Lord, I will show you how skilled my hands are.”

For the first time in days, Ravier laughed. He pulled a knife from his boot and sliced through her bonds, leaving a rope bracelet around each wrist because he liked the look.

Jenna sucked one of Ravier’s balls into her mouth and moved her head backwards, pulling him just hard enough to give him a little pain. Before Ravier could place his knife at her throat, she released him, smiled and said, “Thank you, my Lord.”

Ravier kept the knife level with her face but raised his hips enough to let Jenna pull his leather trousers down to his knees. Part of his mind was clammering for his attention, saying “she’s hobbled you and you’ve cut her free. Your men are busy. This is when you die.”  Ravier’s cock stirred at the thought.

Jenna shook her shoulders and rotated her wrists, still on her knees. Ravier watched the movement of her breasts and only saw her arm flick forward a second before her left hand gripped the base of his ball sack.

She squeezed, hard enough to make him breathe in but not hard enough to hurt. She had his full attention now. She smiled, no longer demure, and slid the fingers of her right hand into her cunt. Still frigging herself, she leant forward and rubbed her face against Ravier’s stiffening cock.

Ravier ran the edge of his blade along Jenna’s shoulder, not breaking the skin; just reminding her of how quickly she could die. She turned her face toward the blade and ran her tongue along the sharp edge. Blood flowed from the shallow cut, dripping over her chin and down on to her breasts. Ravier’s cock twitched to full attention.

Jenna released Ravier’s balls, turned away from him and with deliberate slowness, placed her cheek on the floor, her arse in the air and pulled herself open for him. She licked her lips, sucking in the blood, slid her hands across the smooth curve of her arse and pushed one finger all the way into her ring.

“My Lady thought it wise to make sure I was oiled for you, my Lord. She says that the pain is more than worth it. Is she right?

Ravier slid to the floor, kneeling behind Jenna. The blow he delivered to her was so hard it made his men look up from their fucking. The women servicing them flinched as a second, harder blow landed on Jenna’s arse.

“Lady Sabine is always right. Her handmaiden should know this.”

“I do, my Lord I do,” Jenna said wiggling her reddening arse from side to side. “Let me please you, my Lord. I can make it memorable if you will let me.”

Ravier had had many, many women. Few of them had proved memorable.  But then, he’d never taken an assassin before. Ravier’s cock didn’t care about what would be remembered, only about what would happen right now. As brutally as he could, Ravier forced himself into Jenna’s arse. She was tight and smooth. Then she surprised him. She pushed her hand into her cunt and stroked his cock, pressing it, pushing it, teasing it. There was no question of him withdrawing. Every moved she made was to take him deeper and keep him there. When he was pressed up against her arse with her fingers strumming the head of his cock, she tightened her ring.

If Ravier had believed in sorcery, he would have taken this as evidence of it. Her muscle gripped him like a bite and then let go. Then gripped. Then let go. He was being milked into her bowels. He tried to pull out but she would not release him. He was like a dog locked into a bitch. So he treated her like a bitch. He bent over her back, dug his fingers into her breasts and bit her neck. He came at the first taste of blood. She released him only after she had sucked out the last drop of his sperm.

When he rolled off her, breathless, dizzy, he realised that his men and the women they were using were looking at him. They all had the same look in their eyes, lust spiced with envy.

Jenna was the only person in the tent who was still calm and composed. She knelt in front of Ravier, naked, stained with blood and cum, hair wet with sweat, smiled at him demurely, bowed her head and said, “Thank you my Lord. It was a pleasure to serve. May I prepare you for the ritual now?”

Ravier decided that Jenna was memorable. She had even managed to make him forget Rachel for a while. The mention of the ritual brought her back into his mind. He was spent. His cock hung limp and useless between his legs. It was time to display himself to the public. He stripped off his clothes and headed out into the courtyard, Jenna following politely two steps behind him.

Ravier stood at the centre of the dais and let Jenna begin her work. A crowd had formed to witness the blessing. A path had been kept clear from the gateway at the far side of the courtyard to the dais. Rachel would enter along that path. Ravier focused his vision on the gateway while Jenna chanted and worked on his flesh. He wanted to see Rachel the moment she entered the courtyard.

A tingling warmth spread up Ravier’s spine. He felt his cock unfurl like a fern in the morning sun. The crowd murmured their appreciation.

“You are ready, my Lord,” Jenna said, “The young Lady will be truly blessed.”

The edge of amusement to her voice told Ravier that, even though she was kneeling naked before him, with his sperm leaking from her, and her face coloured by the bruises he had given her, she still proud almost to the point of defiance.

Ravier controlled the impulse to hit Jenna again. He wanted to look imposing and powerful; the embodiment of the Founder; hitting Jenna might make him look petulant. He reminded himself that the crowd had not heard Jenna’s tone. All they could see was a naked servant carrying out her role in the ceremony, staring devoutly at his erection.

The erection was substantial. His cock was so hard it slapped up against his belly, belying the fact that he had come twice within the past half hour. The tip was swollen and had a purple hue to it, every vein along his shaft was sharply defined, but what caught the eye was the calligraphy. Jenna had painted the Founder’s blessing in gold luminescent ink in a spiral around his cock: “Blessed is he who stands firm in the service of the Founder”.

According to tradition, the strength of Ravier’s erection was a measure of his favour with the Founder, a blessing that he would pass on to the Supplicant Courtesan on the Founder’s behalf.

Ravier did not believe in that kind of magic. He knew that the real source of this blessing was the ink that Jenna had used. It contained a chemical, absorbed through the skin, which altered the flow of his blood, engorging him almost to the point of pain. He would stay hard for a long time now and, because of his recent activity, he would only come under severe provocation. He returned his gaze to the gateway and waited for provocation to arrive.

© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

The Way of the Courtesan : Chapter 4 : Preparing Rachel

“I’ll take care of Ravier,” Lady Sabine said to her Security. “He is dangerous mainly because he is impulsive. I will direct his impulses.” She smiled, Jenna grinned, Jacob’s face stayed impassive but his stance became slightly more relaxed. She wanted her Security alert but not anxious. Having an armed group visiting always caused tension and Ravier’s team came with a reputation for being aggressive and demanding.

“Jacob, I want you and your team to contain Ravier’s men. There won’t be many of them in a transport that size and that will make them nervous. Keep them relaxed. Let them feel that they are getting away with things. Don’t use force unless they go where they should not. Even then, use finesse and avoid lethal measures.”

“Yes, Milady”

“Jenna, you will help me with the ceremony. Remember you are a handmaiden while this group is here. Try to find them intimidating. Do not use force unless I tell you to.”

“What about the girl,” Jenna asked, “is she a threat?”

Jenna never took anything for granted.

“She is not a threat to us,” Sabine replied.

Jenna showed interest at the response but asked no more questions.

“Oh and please look surprised when they arrive. Remember we have no idea that they are coming.”

Sabine looked around at her team one more time. Everything was ready. “Let’s go and meet our guests.


To Sabine’s surprise, Ravier was first out of the transport. She knew his Security would not be pleased at that. Dressed in his riding leathers, Ravier looked out of place against the gleaming hull of the transport; like a throwback to a more primitive time, before mankind had spread amongst the stars.

Sabine knew that, in many ways, Ravier was the man the Founder had wanted to create: assured in his strength, exercising his will, independent of technology, dominant over women. He was magnificent, Sabine thought, but he was also useless, a biological and social dead-end. Men like Ravier could never build the technology or manage the commerce that supported their lifestyle. They were like peacocks, so enamoured by the magnificence of their tail feathers that they saw nothing beyond their own display. No, peacock was the wrong image. It didn’t convey the constant threat that Ravier and his kind posed. Watching him now, standing tall, stepping lightly, ready to pounce, Sabine realised that his every movement screamed predator. Ravier, she decided, was a lion that has been fed too long and too often by the females in his pride and was now convinced he was a great hunter. He was still useless, but he was also dangerous.

Ravier’s men, armed with swords and crossbows, scrabbled after him out of the transport. Sabine smiled as she considered how poorly these fierce men would fare against the illegal off-world weapons that she had secretly supplied to her own Security. She pictured the look of surprise Ravier would have on his face if he had to watch his men slain at her command. It was a pleasant picture, but Sabine banished it from her mind. She was a Courtesan; it was an article of her faith that finesse was better than force.

When Rachel stepped down from the transport, every male head, including those in Sabine’s Security, turned toward her. Sabine watched Ravier’s response and suddenly she knew why he had been first into the fresh air. The man could barely contain himself. The impact of Rachel’s pheromone-charged presence in the small craft must have been palpable. Ravier and his men were literally pumped up with excitement.

“My Lord Ravier,” Sabine said, sweeping forward, her Security moving on either side of her, “what a pleasure it is to see you again.”

Ravier tore his gaze from away Rachel and watched Sabine approach him. She recognized the look of fascination on his face when he finally looked at her. It was one thing to know that someone had had rejuve; it was another to be confronted with the reality. Ten years had past since they had last met face to face and in that time she had literally not aged a day. Ravier’s fingers went to his own face; unconsciously tracing the lines time had imposed upon him.

“Lady Sabine,” he said, moving to kiss her hand, “the pleasure is all mine. Court has quite lost its sparkle since you absented yourself from us.”

There was no trace of envy or irony in his voice, but Sabine could see the hunger in his eyes. Ravier was a larger, more solid man now than the boy she had taken to her bed years ago but even then he had been hungry, wanting to take life by the throat and worry it until it yielded everything it had.

Boy that he was, he had already had one kill to his name and was building a reputation as a dangerous loner. His appetites were voracious and his stamina enviable but he lacked control. At his father’s request, Sabine had helped the young Ravier to tame his anger without losing his passion. It had taken her the best part of a year to mould him into someone who could survive in the Brotherhood. Ravier had cooperated, sometimes enthusiastically, sometimes reluctantly. By the end of the year she had built his confidence and helped him to restrain the part of him that he always referred to as The Wolf but which she always thought of as The Selfish Little Boy.

The man before her now, dressed his speech in courtly manners, but the steel of his will still glinted through. Sabine knew that Ravier would always be just a heartbeat away from violence and rage.

There was a moment of silence when they just looked at each other, acknowledging what they knew and would not publicly voice about their relationship.

A flash of gold at Sabine’s side caused her to look away from Ravier and break the mood.

“And who is this young beauty?” Sabine asked, getting her first close look at Rachel.

She looked so very new in the world, it seemed strange to Sabine that this small girl could hold hopes of so many.

“Lady Sabine, may I present Rachel, Supplicant Courtesan,” Ravier said.

“Supplicant? She has been assessed but not yet Blessed?”

“I have brought her to you so that the Blessing can take place, my Lady.”

“Well, my Lord Ravier, I am indeed honoured, but I shall need time to prepare. There is much to do. Perhaps early next week we can…”

“I would like the ceremony performed today, my Lady, if it pleases you.”

Grinning inwardly at Ravier’s urgency, Sabine bowed and said, “It always pleases me to serve you, my Lord. We shall hold the ceremony tonight by torch light.”

“Thank you, my Lady.”

Sabine placed her self on Ravier’s right, one hand up on his shoulder, her breast resting gently against his arm, her hip touching his, and looked at Rachel.

Rachel stood demurely, hands folded over her sex, her breasts pushed forward and slightly together, her head bowed, displaying the soft strength of her neck, one foot forward, stretching her sarong over her hip. She was a delightful mixture of modesty and provocation and, best of all; she seemed to be behaving completely naturally.

Ravier was totally absorbed in watching Rachel. Even in his current state of obvious arousal, he seemed unaware of Sabine leaning against him, his focus solely on the young girl.

“I have a treat for you, my young wolf cub,” Sabine whispered into Ravier’s ear.

Ravier moved, snapped out of his pre-occupation by the use of the nickname he felt he had outgrown. Before his frown could spread, Sabine clapped her hands and said, “Jenna, attend us!”

Jenna’s long hair hung free, reaching down past her waist. Her sarong was designed to emphasise the curves of her breasts and hips and distract from the muscle her training gave her. She stepped forward from Sabine’s group and knelt at Ravier’s feet, her eyes never reaching above his waist.

“Jenna is my handmaiden. She will prepare you for the ceremony, my Lord. I’m sure you will enjoy her expertise.”

Ravier bent forward and lifted Jenna’s chin until he was looking in her eyes. He ran his thumb over her lips. Jenna suckled it gently but with obvious pleasure, keeping both of her hands on her knees, but leaning forward slightly to display her cleavage.

“She will do,” Ravier said, letting go of Jenna, his gaze returning automatically to Rachel.

“Come,” Sabine said, putting her arm through Ravier’s and leading him forward past Rachel and the still kneeling Jenna, “let us prepare for the ceremony.”


“If you’re hymen isn’t intact, now is the time to tell me. It won’t spoil the ceremony, we can always arrange for a little blood.”

“Thank you, my Lady, but the blood will be real. It’s not that I am so pure, more that my opportunities were so few. The Sisters seemed to know how strong my desires were. They watched me closely to help me preserve my purity. Of course, I was allowed to play the kissing games and to pleasure myself gently under supervision. The Sisters said that it was important for my health for me to find release regularly.”

Rachel spoke quietly and without embarrassment. Sabine was brushing Rachel’s hair; soothing her while the servants used a vegetable dye to draw symbols sacred to the Brotherhood on the girl’s smooth flesh.

Sabine had chosen to perform this rite in a courtyard so that she would be less affected by the pheromones that Rachel produced. It was one of Sabine’s favourite places, a perfectly proportioned space with white walls, blue tiles, water-rills to soothe the eye and ear, and blossom trees to spice the air. She came here mostly to watch the dawn. Today they would witness the sunset.

Bending forward, she kissed Rachel on the forehead, “There is nothing impure about losing your virginity, Rachel.”

She let her fingers trace a line along Rachel’s jaw. “You were born with the ability to give and receive great pleasure. You should relish that. Impurity arises only when the sex becomes mixed with other things: fear, greed, guilt, anger. For many men, sex is always mixed with these things. They see them as threads in the same cloth. As a Courtesan, you can create a space that is purely and simply about pleasure for its own sake. Once you take a man to that place, he will always want to return and each time he visits he will change, becoming more human and less afraid. This is the gift you bring to the Brotherhood.”

Sabine realised that everyone in the courtyard was looking at her. Perhaps it was the sincerity in her voice. Perhaps, for those who knew her better, it was the hint of regret that tinged her tone. Once she had believed that she could change the Brotherhood simply by showing men how to be better. She found that she still wished she thought it was true.

She broke the silence by saying, “But today is about you and your thoughts, Rachel, not about mine. Tell me why you want to be a Courtesan. Tell me the real reason, not the confection that you were coached to feed to Ravier.”

Rachel looked around at the servants and replied, “My answer to Lord Ravier was honest, my Lady, my passions are strong and I wish to serve.”

“Nothing you say here will be repeated, Rachel. Speak freely.”

Sabine returned to combing Rachel’s hair. The servants busied themselves drawing spirals on Rachel’s thighs. “Partial truth is the best kind of lie, Rachel; you were wise to use it with Ravier. Now tell me what did you not share with Lord Ravier.”

Rachel breathed in deeply and relaxed. It was a pleasant sight to watch, Sabine thought, one of those naturally graceful movements with which domestic animals tighten their grip on our hearts.

“I want to understand why men behave as they do,” Rachel said. “I have searched the Book of the Brotherhood and read the chronicles of our early years on this world and still I don’t understand what it is that makes men so… insecure. They fight and they betray and they compete when they could gain so much more by just…”

“Being more like women?”

“YES! And yet it was men who founded our world and men who rule it. I knew that if I joined a Cloistered Corporation I would never see for myself how this comes to be.”

“So you want to be a Courtesan so that you can study men?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Be careful never to let them know that.”

Sabine was surprised by Rachel’s answers. She had expected a more physiological motivation, an urgent need for adoration from men. The plan called for that, depended on it even. Ironically, the women behind the Courtesan project had behaved just like men, seeing only Rachel’s physiology and neglecting to consider how she might use her intellect.

This needed thinking about. It could put the plan at risk or it could move things forward even faster. Soon Sabine would have to decide how much to tell Rachel about her heritage and her purpose.

“Why did Lord Ravier choose you for the blessing, my Lady?”

The question caught Sabine by surprise. It was the first sign of real curiosity that Rachel had displayed. The Courtesan who presided over the blessing had a responsibility to coach the new Courtesan and make her successful. It was unusual to choose a woman who had allegedly retired.

“Are you unhappy with his choice, Rachel?”

“No, my Lady. I think I am already a little in love with you.”

The smile Rachel gave her made Sabine want to hold the girl close. It also filled her with guilt.

“It’s just that it’s unusual to choose a Courtesan who has retired to preside over the Blessing. You will be able to come to Court with me and help me learn won’t you, my Lady?”

“I will be there Rachel, but there are some things you need to know. There are factions at Court who believe that Courtesan’s have too much power. They have been taking steps to reduce that power. When I became a Courtesan there where half a dozen Grande Courtesans, each of whom kept two or three new Courtesans in their household. Most members of the Synod regularly spent time at these Houses. Now I am the last of that generation. Today, no Courtesan owns her own House at Court; each is under the protection of a member of the Synod. Lord Crowley and his faction are claiming that society has developed to the point where Courtesans are a dangerous anachronism that the Founder would undoubtedly have abolished if he was still here.”

“But the Book of the Brotherhood states…”

“Any man can use the Book of the Brotherhood to prove their point, Rachel. I suspect it was either deliberately written that way or it has been edited since. And I mean it when I say any MAN can quote the Book of the Brotherhood. A woman who quotes the Book to win an argument will be seen as an agent of subversion. Firstly she should not dispute with a man in public. Secondly she should accept that her Lord is better equipped than she is to understand the Book’s meaning. I know there is heresy in what I say, Rachel, but there is also truth.”

It was growing dark. Servants were lighting torches around the courtyard. Looking in to Rachel’s dark eyes, Sabine could see the flames reflected there, she could also see the light of intelligence in those eyes and she felt a rush of affection for the girl. For a moment Sabine wondered if perhaps Rachel’s biochemistry was influencing her judgement, but that under-estimated the power of the girl’s personality. Sabine decided that it would be better to share information with Rachel than to leave her to discover it. She wanted Rachel to turn to her for guidance when they were at Court.

“There are two reasons Ravier selected me. The first is pragmatism. I am the last of the generation of Courtesans who lived independently of a Synod sponsor so I am the only person he could bring you to without having to choose which Synod member to align with.

The second reason is more personal. Ravier’s father sponsored me when I was a Supplicant Courtesan. He took an interest in me throughout my time at Court. This House was a gift from him.”

“What is he like?”

“He is dead now, assassinated ten years ago.”

“Is that why you left Court?”

“It was one of the reasons.”

“Did you love him?”

“Courtesan’s do not love, Rachel. And neither do members of the Synod. But we… respected each other.”

“You took him to that pure place?”

“Yes, often.”

“Tell me how it was with him, please?”

Rachel’s body was now fully decorated. The red and green dyes on her skin were flecked with mica that glinted in the torchlight. It only remained to place the wreath upon her head and she would be ready.

“You should be contemplating the coming ceremony, not getting history lessons”

Rachel turned to face Sabine and then knelt in front of her.

“I am ready. This is preparing me. Please tell me about him as you place the wreath on my head.”

Sabine found it impossible to deny the kneeling girl. She suspected that most people would find it impossible to deny her. She wondered what to tell Rachel about the man who had played the dominant role in her life, the man who had granted her rejuve and promised to stay with her for centuries. The man whom Crowley had had killed.

“Jean-Michel, was a master of control. He controlled the lives of all around him, but most of all he controlled himself. He was unusual for a Lord of the Brotherhood because he was both a zealot and a thinker. He was a power in the Synod not just because he was ruthless and focused but because he saw patterns that others did not. He told me he had me promoted to Courtesan because he thought I would also be able to see patterns and act on them.

When he first took me to his bed I was young and inexperienced and he controlled me completely. He would bring me to orgasm time after time, only allowing himself to come when I lay exhausted beneath him. Afterwards we would play chess and discuss politics. It was a month before I realised that he preferred the chess games to the sex and that my naive comments on politics amused and refreshed him. He made me consider what a Courtesan is really for and why a man like him might want one. As time passed, the sex changed. First he let me please him without taking pleasure myself; he had no further need to show that he could flood my brain time after time. He let me keep my mind clear so that I could use it. In our best times it became impossible to distinguish the sex from the chess and the talk. All three would be happening at once. Every move on the chess board was an act of seduction, every caress was a move in our game, and every political analysis was a moment of intimacy.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“Some of the time it was wonderful and that is all we can hope for. Now stand, compose yourself and prepare to be blessed.”

Sabine took Rachel’s hand in her own and led her towards the main courtyard where the blessing would be held. Rachel’s skin was warm and dry; there was no sense of tension or nervousness coming from her. Sabine wondered how the girl could be so composed, given what was going to happen next. At her own blessing, Sabine had been trembling with excitement laced with a fear that something might go wrong. Before they met, Sabine had thought she knew everything there was to know about Rachel. Now she realised she had much more to learn.

Just before they passed through the arch that would bring them into public view, Rachel lifted Sabine’s hand and kissed it.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Sabine,” she said. Then she let go of Sabine’s hand and walked confidently, naked and alone towards the dais and her Blessing.


© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from


A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

The Way of the Courtesan : Chapter 3 : Ravier’s Dawn

In the pre-dawn darkness, Ravier stood on the wide flat roof of Leyston Abbey, listening to the wind whisper to the trees. The peasants who tended the vast woods that surrounded the Abbey believed the whispers to be the voices of the dead; their souls trapped in the forest canopy, unable to leave until they had given the listening trees an honest assessment of their life. A peasant close to death would rehearse his life’s story, hoping to buy his soul a quick release into the next world.

Ravier did not believe in the soul. For him there was no life after death, there was only this world and how you chose to live in it. When he listened to the leaves soughing in the wind, he heard time rushing past him second after second, always bringing him closer to his mortal end.

He was thirty-five. Soon he would be past his prime. Younger men would test him. Eventually one of them would bring him down. He would not let that happen.

Rejuve would keep him at his peak and extend his life almost indefinitely but to gain access to the off-world treatment he had to claw his way into the Brotherhood’s elite. Rachel was the weapon he would use to win his place. He would make her the heart’s desire of every man in the Synod. He would make them compete for her. He would barter up her status and his own, refusing to surrender her until he had taken his father’s place in the Synod.

Ravier knew that Rachel was a perfectly shaped charge with which he could demolish all that stood between him and an eternity of power. With Rachel in his possession, Ravier ought to have been elated. Instead he was unsettled, unable to sleep, driven by a restless energy that deprived him of focus.

As always when he was troubled, Ravier had sought solitude and then focused his mind of the Book of the Brotherhood.

The Founder taught that manhood was based on three qualities: courage, control and competition. A man strove always to have the courage to shape his world so that he could win.

This afternoon Ravier had felt that he had won. He had found Rachel and taken a small revenge on the over-proud Abbess. And yet something was not right. When he’d lifted Rachel in his arms, her naked body still hot with desire and spattered with his sperm, he’d wanted to consume her. He had wanted to drive himself into her so hard and so far that nothing of her would remain. It had taken all his will to return her to the care of the Sisters. No woman had ever had that effect on him.

This loss of control gnawed at his sense of self-worth and played upon his deepest fear. Ravier knew he had the potential to cause himself and others great harm. His blood was hot, his need to dominate was strong; rage could make him lethal.

He was fourteen years old when he killed for the first time. An older boy in his Uncle’s household had kicked one of Ravier’s hunting dogs. When Ravier had complained to him about it, the boy had taken a knife and slit the dog’s throat. He had laughed as he did it. The look on his face had said “I am strong and you are weak and this is the consequence.”

The rage took Ravier then. The red mist descended and he leapt upon the older boy. He had no clear memory of the act. He did not feel the boy’s knife bury itself in his thigh. He felt only hate, and hate has to be fed. When the mist went away, Ravier found himself spitting out the remains of the boy’s throat.

That had been his first encounter with the side of himself he now called his Wolf. The Wolf had courage but lacked control. Ravier had spent the last twenty years learning how to harness the strength of the Wolf. Now, when he killed, it was because he had decided it was the right thing to do. He was proud of that.

Yet, with Rachel, the howl of the Wolf in his blood had almost taken over. It made no sense. Rachel was no use to him if she was just another sex-toy; the Court was already flooded with them. To be valuable she had to follow The Way of the Courtesan and he had to be her Sponsor. The Way started with the Blessing. If he took her before then, she became just another piece of meat that the Court would chew up and spit out and he became nothing more than a pimp. So why had he come so close to despoiling her?

“Bad blood perhaps?”

The words came from an interior voice he tried not to listen. A voice that he knew wanted him weak, uncertain, less than a man. And yet the voice sometimes spoke the truth.

His father was in his seventies when he sired Ravier. He’d been through rejuve more than forty years earlier. Few men remained fertile after the treatment. It was whispered that the drug did something to the blood that nature didn’t want passed on. Ravier had always dismissed the statement as superstition fuelled by jealousy and taken pride in his father’s potency. But on the day of his first kill, after the Wolf had left him, Ravier had looked down at the bloody corpse he was kneeling over and had been overwhelmed by shame. That was the first time the interior voice had spoken to him. “Bad blood spills blood,” it had said.

Ravier shook his head. His lust for Rachel had nothing to do with bad blood. He had simply been too long without a woman. The journey to Leyston Abbey had taken five days on horseback. He should have brought a bedmate with him. His men had brought two. He could have borrowed one or used one of the Sisters, but… but what?

“But I want Rachel,” he said, surprising himself by speaking aloud.

He listened to see if he had been overheard. There was no sound except the whispering of the trees.

The first light of dawn was seeping over the horizon. Soon the air-transport would be here and it would be time to leave. Ravier felt the transport was a sign of weakness. He had intended to travel to Dransden by horse, the way a man should, but he did not trust himself to journey for so long with Rachel. That was another part of what was wrong: Rachel was supposed to make him stronger, supposed to help him become the man he knew he should be, yet he was already making compromises because of her.

And she was affecting his relationship with his men. They had actually laughed when he had announced the change of plan. Gaudin, his second in command, had voiced all their thoughts when he’d said, “This wench must be hot for you to want to have her Blessed so quickly.”

Ravier had been short with him and told him to get on with making the preparations. That had been a foolish way to respond. Gaudin was Ravier’s right arm and had been since childhood. After the first kill others he’d thought of as friends had kept their distance from Ravier. Gaudin had stayed by his side. He deserved Ravier’s respect, not the rough side of his tongue.

“Rachel is making you weaker rather stronger,” Ravier’s interior voice said. “Perhaps she also has bad blood?”

“Gaudin!” Ravier called, partly to drown out the voice and partly because he wanted to see his friend before they parted. While Ravier flew to Dransden to see Lady Sabine, Gaudin would lead half the men and all of the horses back to Court.

For a big man, Gaudin made very little noise coming up the stone steps and making his way across the roof. The new-risen sun dressed his features in gold and made his smile seem more radiant than ever.

“Good morning, My Lord. A fine day to fly above the forest,” he said. Then his smile dimmed and he continued, “You are taking only three men with you. Is it wise to place so much trust in Lady Sabine?”

“The transport will take no more,” Ravier said, “and I know the Lady.”

“Aye, you and half the Synod I hear.”

“She is a Courtesan, not a slave, Gaudin; pay her some respect.”

“Aye, Milord. Of course, Milord,” Gaudin said, stepping back as Ravier tried to cuff him on the ear.

Ravier made another move and soon the two of them were sparring in the sunlight. Not trying to inflict damage, just happy to work muscle and limb.

“Good morning, My Lord,” the Abbess said.

The boxing stopped and both men looked toward her.

“By the Founder’s balls,” Gaudin said.

Ravier said nothing. Rachel was standing next to the Abbess, dressed not as a novice but as a Lady. Her sarong was made of a golden cloth that glinted in the sunlight. Her shoulders and arms were bare. Her legs were naked below the knees except for sandals that laced across her calves. Her hair was dressed in a ponytail high on her head, emphasising her neck. She looked fresh and rested. Ravier wanted to touch her.

A shadow fell across him. Leaves, that would whisper no more, were ripped off the nearby trees, to whip past him and swirl around Rachel’s feet. She looked at him and smiled. The transport had arrived.

© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

The Way of the Courtesan : Chapter 2 : Lady Sabine

Jenna and Jacob were wrestling naked at the foot of Lady Sabine’s bed. Their straining sweat-slick muscles gleamed like oiled metal in the candlelight.  Sabine lay back against her pillows and watched the two contestants, admiring their strength, their grace and, most of all, their disciplined aggression.

At any moment, her life might depend upon that discipline. Jenna and Jacob were Sabine’s security staff. One of them was always by her side. Officially, of course, Jenna was her handmaiden. Women, the Brotherhood believed, lacked the killer instinct needed for security work.

The world could be a dangerous place for a retired Courtesan with friends in Court. The Brotherhood, despite its name, was fuelled by the politics of enmity not fraternity. Faction fought faction for dominance in an endless cycle of betrayal. Removing enemies via assassination, although illegal, was not uncommon. Lady Sabine had as many enemies as she had friends. Some of them were the same people.

Jenna let out a whoop of triumph when she managed to kick Jacob’s feet out from under him. He was a foot taller than she was and a hundred pounds heavier but she claimed that that just made him a bigger, slower target. Even as he was falling towards the ground, Jacob’s hand lashed out and struck Jenna behind the knees. She landed on top of him in a tangle of limbs.

The wrestling bout was a weekly ritual with them. The winner would sleep with Sabine while the other kept guard. At the moment it looked as though Jacob was winning. He was on his back holding Jenna against him, her back to his chest. Jacob’s huge hands were wrapped around Jenna’s wrists, trying to hold her in place as she struggled to break free. For the bout to be over, all Jenna had to do was lie still for three seconds.

Jacob smiled in anticipation when he felt Jenna go limp. He let his gaze move to Sabine. It had been two weeks since he had last won a bout and he looked hungry for his reward. Jenna took advantage of his distraction to slide further down his body, until her buttocks were rubbing against his loins. She moved her hips in a figure of eight, pressing her shoulders into Jacob’s chest to gain leverage. She was seemed to be holding him down now. Jenna mewed like a contented cat when she felt Jacob’s hardening below her.

“You are cheating,” Jacob said.

“And you’re too horny to fight,” Jenna said, bringing her thighs together and trapping Jacob’s robust erection.

What happened next was too fast for Sabine to follow. Jacob’s body seemed to flex and suddenly Jenna was face down on the floor beneath him.

“Yield!” Jacob hissed, his mouth just behind Jenna’s ear.

“Fuck you!”

“Then suffer the consequences.”

Jacob slid into Jenna, literally pinning her to the floor. Jenna continued to writhe beneath Jacob, but it didn’t seem to Sabine that she was suffering.

Jacob was good man, loyal and brave, but he lacked Jenna’s tactical brilliance and was completely bemused by her sense of humour. Jenna closed her eyes and chewed on her generous lower lip. Sabine had seen her do that many times before. It was a trick she used to hold back her orgasm.  Sabine knew that, although Jacob thought he was winning, the truth was that Jenna had changed the game and was already enjoying the rewards of victory.

Sabine was about to declare a draw and take them both to her bed, at least for the first hour, when her signet ring vibrated. She had not expected this signal until morning. She clapped her hands and immediately both of her security struggled rapidly to their feet.

“My Lady?” Jacob said, standing to attention. Sabine wanted to laugh when she saw just how much of him was standing to attention. Jenna grinned at her.

“No need to look so serious, Jacob. I’m tired. I want to do my devotions and go to bed. I will be in the shrine. Make sure I am not disturbed.”

The code was necessary in case there were any listening devices in the room. Jacob and Jenna knew what to do. They were all business now. They didn’t look naked any more, they just looked dangerous. Jenna worked at the door console, activating the scrambling devices that protected the room from electronic surveillance. Jacob used his comlink on his wrist to give instructions to House Security.

Sabine left them to their tasks and cleared her mind to concentrate on her own.

The shrine in the alcove at the far end of Lady Sabine’s chamber was a testimony to her piety. It was dominated by a huge painting of the Founder holding out the Book of the Brotherhood to the original Brethren, each of whom had a woman kneeling at his side. A leather-bound copy of the Book of the Brotherhood was open on the altar, displayed upon back of a gold figure of a kneeling woman. Sabine pressed her ring against the woman’s feet. The picture above the altar shimmered and the Founder’s image was replaced by that of the Abbess of Leyston Abbey.

“Nina,” Sabine said, “you are early. Is there a problem?”

“Not a problem, just a change in schedule. My Lord Ravier is so taken with Rachel that he is breaking with tradition and has arranged to be airlifted from the Abbey at first light. He will be with you before noon. As we expected, he wants you to perform the defloration ceremony.”

Sabine had planned on having at least three more days to prepare herself. Ravier was a vocal advocate of the view that dependence on technology made men soft. Technology was made by women to aid the weak. Real men, he argued, should travel on horseback, hunt with bows and arrows, and kill face to face using bare hands or cold steel.

They had all expected that Ravier and his entourage would spend three days travelling with Rachel, giving her time to influence them and make them more tractable. Now they would be arriving rested and fresh and most of them would have had almost no contact with Rachel. Sabine would have to arrange something special to distract them.

“Rachel was magnificent, Sabine,” Nina said. “She is everything we hoped for and more.”

“And Ravier suspected nothing?”

“He believes that he swept in here and carried Rachel away against my wishes, humiliating me in the process.”

“And did he humiliate you?”

“He tried. He held the Assessment in front of Rachel’s class. He made me touch her. Then he made me stroke him until he spewed his seed all over her.”

“But the Assessor has no sexual involvement…”

“Rachel asked to see him. She made him take part.”

“Wonderful. Heretical of course, but all the more wonderful for that. You made a recording I assume?”

“Celia is taking it with her to De Marco’s for safekeeping. He made her watch the whole thing. I think it was the first time that she understood our purpose with her heart, rather than her head. She wanted to destroy him.”

“Your daughter is a strong woman, just like her mother.”

“She is. I told her that her work at De Marco is her route to striking back at the Brotherhood.”

“And Rachel? Is there anything I need to know?”

“She doesn’t suspect anything, if that’s what you mean. She believes what her memory tells her: that she was adopted by the Abbey, has been a successful student, but that her high sex drive gives her a vocation as a Courtesan. At least the last part of it is true enough. She enjoys her calling, I have seldom seen anyone orgasm so often or so easily, not even you.”

Sabine smiled at the comparison. Many years before Nina became an Abbess, she had been a member of Sabine’s Security. She was a skilled lover and a loyal friend. When she became pregnant, Sabine had arranged for Nina to join the Abbey, where she could bring up her child in peace.

“There is one potential problem,” Nina said. “We may have misjudged her pheromone output. In the presence of a male she is attracted to, it seems to increase exponentially. It is so strong it even affected me. We will have to find a way to adjust that in future. In the meantime, I’d suggest using nose filters when you can. Now I must go. My thoughts will be with you tomorrow.”

Nina vanished in a flicker of colour and Sabine was once more standing in front of a picture of the Founder.

Alone in her shrine, Sabine allowed herself a small moment of fear. The game they were playing offered high rewards but it was fraught with risk.

Ravier would be with her in the morning and she would meet Rachel for the first time. In their way, they were each monsters. Yet she felt a perverse attraction to both of them. The wanton had always appealed to her. When she was young, way back before she had received her first off-world rejuve treatment, desire would hit her like a breaking wave, leaving her gasping for breath. Sixty years later, her passions were still strong but her will was stronger. Tomorrow she would need all of it.

As a Courtesan, Sabine had learned how to live in the now when she needed to. Tomorrow’s problems could wait. Tonight she needed to feel safe; she needed to feel loved.

Stepping back into her room, she clapped her hands once more. Jacob and Jenna came to her. Sabine put her arms around them and led them to her bed.

“Soothe me, please,” she said, guiding their heads towards her breasts.

Sabine watched in the mirror as two young heads dropped eagerly to suckle her. Rejuve, the privilege of an elite few, was a wonderful thing in many ways, Sabine thought. The woman in the mirror looked no more than thirty, although, in reality she was three times that age. But there was a price. Over time it became more and more difficult to feel joy and excitement. Emotions seemed muted, except under extreme circumstances.

Jenna trapped Sabine’s nipple between her teeth and growled playfully. The mild pain sparked a familiar heat between Sabine’s thighs. Jacob moved behind her. She pressed her shoulders against the hard warmth of his chest as Jenna moved from breast to breast, setting her nipples on fire. Jacob lowered his large mouth onto her neck and kissed her along the taught line of muscle.

“Take me,” Sabine said.

Jenna stood up and kissed Sabine gently on the lips. There was affection as well as pleasure in that touch.

“Sit, Jacob,” Jenna said.

She held Sabine close to her while Jacob positioned himself on the edge of the bed. Jenna’s breasts were small. Her hard nipples pressed against Sabine as if trying to penetrate her soft flesh.

“Look how hard he is, my Lady. Let me see you ride him. Please.”

Turning her back to Jacob, Sabine lowered herself onto him as slowly as she could. It was gratifying to hear him groan and to know that only self-discipline prevented him from grabbed her and thrusting and thrusting until he found relief deep inside her. Instead he waited while the women set the pace.

Sabine closed her eyes as the last of Jacob’s erection disappeared inside her. She concentrated on the shape of it; on its incredible heat. It was such an alien thing and yet it felt so familiar, so necessary. She flexed her muscles and felt Jacob tremble.

“You look magnificent,” Jenna said, sliding the back of her fingers across Sabine’s cheek. “May I?”

Without waiting for an answer, Jenna slowly pushed Sabine backward onto Jacob’s chest. Jacob folded his arms around her, cupping her breasts gently in his strong hands. Jenna knelt, placed her hands on the top of Sabine’s thighs, and applied her tongue to her mistress’ sex.

Sabine gave herself up to the sensation of the moment and let her people soothe her.

Jenna worked slowly and skilfully, touching the right spots with the right pressure and then moving away just before she brought Sabine to climax. In between, she licked at the base of Jacob’s shaft, each stroke making him twitch and struggle deep inside Sabine. Jenna knew the preferences of both of her partners well. When the time was right, she took Sabine’s clitoris between her teeth and slid a finger inside Jacob. Sabine held out until she felt him spill inside her, then she let the climax ripple through her, washing away everything except the experience of pleasure.

Afterwards, with Jacob on guard and Jenna curled up next to her, Sabine allowed herself to think about what the morning would bring. Nothing was certain. The risks were many. She had done all she could to prepare. She offered her good will to the Gods of chance and chaos and let herself sleep.


© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

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The Way of the Courtesan : Chapter 1 : Riding the Courtesan’s Pony

“Tell me about Rachel,” Ravier said.

“You will be Assessing Rachel personally, my Lord? We had not expected an Assessor of your rank”

The Abbess was younger and prettier than Ravier had imagined but this did not excuse the impertinence of her statement. At Court, such a comment would have been seen as a challenge to his judgement. Punishment would have followed.

Ravier allowed himself to smile as he pictured the pretty little Abbess spread-eagled on the pain-bench, waiting for his whip to teach her some manners.

Perhaps sensing the anger in Ravier’s eyes, the Abbess strove to recover from her mistake. “We are of course, honoured by your presence at Leyston Abbey and will offer every…”

Ravier put his finger to his lips.

The Abbess blushed and fell silent-

Ravier let the silence swell before finally piercing it with one word: “Rachel.”

The Abbess broke eye-contact with Ravier,  pulled a file from off her desk and started to read it aloud.

“Rachel’s potential was first identified by the test routines in the peasant screening programme, administered after her first menses, She scored in the upper decile for both intelligence and libido. Naturally, she was immediately adopted by the Brotherhood and placed here, in our Protected Education School so that…”

“You could ensure her mental development, her physical purity and educate her in the opportunities her gifts might make her heir to,” Ravier said.

It was a direct quote from the Abbey’s Charter. Ravier hoped the Abbess would feel slighted by the interruption and surprised by the extent of his research. The Abbess remained outwardly calm. Ravier decided to push her further.

“One of the great benefits to the Brotherhood, of allowing the peasants to breed outside of the managed stud plan, is the occasional gem their random procreation produces. Don’t you agree Abbess?”

“Yes, my Lord”

“Is it not wonderful how even the freedom to fuck can be made to serve the will of the Founder?”

“Indeed, my Lord,” the Abbess said, bowing her head, perhaps to hide the slight blush the word “fuck” had produced.

Ravier wanted to laugh. If this made her blush then her reaction to the Assessment should be well worth seeing.

“And did Rachel live up to her potential, Abbess?”

Ravier already knew the answer. His presence here was testament to the outcome. He wanted to hear how the Abbess would tell the tale.

“She was a model student. She will graduate at the top of her class, and has won promotion to the rank of Chatelaine in the Brandt Corporation.”

The phrases were terse and factual but the Abbess’ pride in Rachel’s achievement shone through

“You must have been delighted, Abbess, at having your peasant pupil recruited to the most prestigious of the cloistered female corporations. Yet it seems Rachel was not excited at her new opportunity. She had been told, I assume, that her new rank would bestow upon her the honour of producing two male offspring?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Ah, to have such an honour without the trouble of actual maternity. It would be unseemly for a Chatelaine to sweat under the weight of a man and then stagger for months carrying his offspring in her bloated womb don’t you think?”

The Abbess took refuge in polite silence.

“Still it must be strange to have one’s eggs harvested like grapes and ripened in some peasant’s womb. But perhaps Rachel was more troubled by the fact that Chatelaines are forbidden contact with men? Do you think that could be so?”

“It appears so, my Lord”.

“I have been told that many women manage quite nicely without men. Is it true that the Sisters ensure that their charges are well schooled in masturbation techniques?”

“Some tuition is given.”

The Abbess was flushed now. Ravier liked pale skinned women who went scarlet when stimulated. He leaned forward, looked the Abbess in the eye and said, “I understand that they are also taught how to please each other. Now that would be a class worth attending.”

Ravier let the silence that followed drag on. Poor little Abbess. Did she really think the Brotherhood was ignorant of what the Sisters got up to?

“Are you disappointed that your star pupil has turned down the Brandt Corporation, Abbess?”

“Rachel has deferred her acceptance pending your Assessment, my Lord.”

“My Assessment of her suitability for the rank of Courtesan. Do you think she will make a good Courtesan, Abbess?”

“That is not for me to say, my Lord.”

“No, Abbess, it is not. I will see Rachel now.”

The Abbess eagerly accepted the opportunity to absent herself and left to collect the girl.

Ravier put his teasing of the Abbess to one side. She was not important. His visit to the Abbey was.

Amongst the leadership of the Brotherhood it was widely, but quietly, acknowledged that the biggest threat to the social order the Founder had gifted to them was sexual ennui. When one can have almost any woman one wishes, when one is surrounded by accessible beauty, it is too easy to become jaded. Absolute power can bore absolutely.

Some men reacted to their growing ennui by withdrawing into a routine of mechanical gratification provided by interchangeable bed-mates. They engaged in sex with much the same attitude as an over-fed man presented with a finger food buffet, driven more by habit than need.

The young increasingly sustained their interest by taking part in sport-fucks, but if truth were told, they were as concerned with their league-table points (how many, for how long in how many positions or combined with how many partners simultaneously) as they were with the acts themselves.

In mid-life, many men found themselves needing to prop up their desire by focusing on fetishistic practices.

To Ravier, sexual ennui was a cancer eating at the heart of the concept of manhood upon which society was based. Real men should relish their dominance over women. It was their duty to look into the soul of a woman and shape it to their will.

Yet, if that victory came too easily, men became lazy. If it met with too much resistance, men became cruel and abusive. Either way, the men ceased to be men.

In Ravier’s view, Courtesans were the blades with which this cancer could be excised. The Brethren needed women who could provoke them into being the real men they should be; women who could inflame men’s desire and stretch men’s minds while still accepting their own natural place in the world.

And yet, just at the time when the Brotherhood needed them most, it seemed that fewer and fewer women were being produced who could follow the Way of the Courtesan. Ravier had made it his personal mission to seek out those who had the potential to serve and set them on the right path.

Thinking of his mission always filled Ravier with energy. He paced the room, his eagerness growing as he let himself consider the importance of his task. He stopped in mid-stride when the Abbess returned with a novice at her side.

“This is Rachel, my Lord,” the Abbess said.

The novice bowed her head and knelt before Ravier.

Her face was hidden behind a veil that revealed only her eyes. Her posture was demure. She did not flirt. And yet she excited him.

Ravier circled her twice, came to rest in front of her, and said, “Look at me.”

Behind Rachel’s eyes a passion burned that was so luminous, Ravier felt as if he had already seen her naked.

He was exultant. The young girl had talent and he, Alain Ravier, would have the honour of helping to achieve its true potential and shaping it to the service of the Brotherhood

Ravier hid his excitement. He did not want the girl to know that for him the Assessment was already over. Certain forms of behaviour were expected. And besides, he wanted to teach the Abbess a lesson in the reality of the Brotherhood’s power.

“Do you understand the nature of the Assessment, Rachel?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Explain it to me.”

“You will set me tasks that allow me to demonstrate the three main virutes of the Courtesan: obedience, arousal and intelligence.”

The wording was precise; a nice balance between deference and independence.

“Tell me why you wish to be a Courtesan, Rachel.”

The girl was silent for a moment. “I believe it was the role for which I was born for, my Lord.”

“How can you know this?  Have you ever been with a man?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Then how can you know that being a Courtesan is your destiny?”

“If it is not, my Lord, then the passion that I feel at the thought of it, the song that my blood sings in the lonely reaches of the night, the nameless urges that make my pulse race, are without purpose.”

“And if you fail the Assessment?”

“Then I will serve as a Chatelaine to the best of my abilities, my Lord.”

Perfectly done: obedience, arousal, intelligence. Even at Court, Ravier had not seen such a display from one so young. If her body’s performance matched that of her mind, Rachel would be a rare prize for the Brotherhood.

“Abbess,” Ravier said, “is everything ready for the examination?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Please assemble the rest of Rachel’s graduation class in the examination chamber.”

“Are you sure, my Lord? That is most unusual.”

“Are you questioning my instructions, Abbess?”

The Abbess had the good grace to turn pale and the good sense to say nothing further. The haste with which she left the room pleased Ravier.

Ravier knew that the Abbess had a point. Assessments were normally conducted in private. When observers were allowed, they were almost always male and they were certainly not young girls who had yet to emerge from Protected Education.

Rachel was still kneeling in the centre of the office. She had not been given permission to stand. Ravier circled her, thinking about the risk he was going to take. He wanted to push Rachel just a little harder than was usual and he wanted to discomfort the Abbess in the process. If that meant taking a risk, so be it. Taking risks was an essential part of being a man; it tempered his character and reminded him of what it was to be alive. Risk always made Ravier hard; what more proof did he need of its value?

Standing behind Rachel, aware of, but not touching his own erection, he allowed himself a Wolf-moment. He set aside his civilised, educated, persona and gave himself up only to his hungers and his strength. He took a step closer to Rachel, closed his eyes, lowered his head towards hers and breathed deeply. Ah… girl-scent. Wonderful. She smelled young and clean and… yes already aroused. His tongue moved over his lips. His erection pulsed. His hands ached to grab and spread and tear. Almost, he could feel the heat of her flesh, the moist embrace of her sex, the taste of her blood in his mouth.

Ravier opened his eyes. He made the Wolf leave him; forced himself to become a civilised man again. He would control his arousal. He would not let his arousal control him.

When he was sure of himself, placed a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. She trembled but she did not move or speak. He let himself savour the heat of her flesh through the thin fabric of her robe, pleased at his ability to refrain from ripping away the cloth and close his hand around the meat of her breast.

“Stand up, Rachel and take me to the Assessment Chamber.”

Rachel did as she was bid, without looking back. Ravier walked behind her, studying the way she moved. Her step was light and her stride uninhibited. It was the walk of neither lady nor slave but of untroubled youth. Yet she was more than just a girl; there was an unconscious sexuality to her that snagged at his senses like the aroma of unseen food.

“We are here, my Lord,” Rachel said, halting at set of double doors and turning to face him.

He met her eyes once more. Her gaze reached out to him like a caress.

“Listen to me, Rachel. Once we are inside, stand in the centre of the room and remain silent. You are under my authority now, and no one else’s. Obey my instructions and be yourself and all will be well.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Rachel said, bowing her head.

Ravier had not intended to be so encouraging with the girl. Instructions should not have been necessary. He allowed himself a mental shrug of the shoulders. It was only natural that he should want the girl to succeed. Her success was his success. There was no more to it than that.

Ravier pushed open the double doors and swept into the chamber. Rachel’s class, fifteen novices, indistinguishable in their modest robes, were standing in a semicircle, staring at the device that Assessors call, ‘The Courtesan’s Pony’. It was a leather saddle, wide but not high. A woman straddling it would be spread but would still be able to touch the ground with her feet.

As Ravier strode forward, the novices stepped back, as if some dangerous beast had just entered the room. Ravier bowed to them, amused to see them all struggling to curtsey while still moving backwards in disarray.

“Abbess,” Ravier said, “I need the services of whichever of these young ladies is second in Rachel’s Class.”

The Abbess looked more nervous than ever but she led a tall young woman forward by the hand. The girl’s fingers were gripping the Abbess’ hand fiercely.

“This is Celia, my Lord. She will become a Chatelaine with the De Marco Corporation.”

Those words carried a warning. The De Marco Corporation was prone to litigation in protection of its property, be it inventions and or personnel. The Abbess was truly being a shepherd to her sheep. Ravier decided it was time that this shepherd learnt what it was to encounter a wolf.

“Please remove your veil, Celia,” he said.

As an Assessor of the Brotherhood, Ravier could demand such things. He could, if he wished, divert the young Celia’s career in a quite different direction. There would be consequences and, eventually, De Marco would come looking for her, but in the meantime she would have had an experience that she would never forget.

Celia removed her veil and looked downward, modestly. Ravier lifted her head. The girl could not quite hide her indignation at being touched, but she had the discipline not to pull away from him. He studied her as he would study a horse at market. She was beautiful in a slightly fragile sort of way and her mouth showed promise, but her eyes lacked the passion that shone so clearly in Rachel. Ravier ran his thumb over the smooth skin of Celia’s cheek and was rewarded with a blush.

Celia bore a resemblance to the Abbess that made him wonder about her origins. Like the Abbess, her skin was very pale and she blushed easily. An image of Celia, flushed beneath him, with the Abbess at her side, pushing her tongue into the girl’s mouth, flashed across Ravier’s inner-eye. He found it a pleasant picture; one that he could easily choose to make into a reality.

Celia trembled beneath Ravier’s touch. Ravier smiled, released the girl and turned to address the flock of girls standing in a semi-circle around them.

“Thank you, Celia. I need your help to demonstrate the device that your classmate will soon be using. Please place your left hand flat on the centre of the saddle and tell the class what you feel.”

“I feel a long thick ridge with a bulge at either end. The ridge is covered with small, randomly positioned nodules. The ridge is finished in calf-skin, possibly over a silicon base.”

“Well done, Celia; a very clear description. The De Marco Corporation has chosen well I see.”

Celia started to straighten up. Ravier stopped her with a gesture.

“Patience, Celia, patience. Please keep your left hand where it is and place your right hand around the saddle horn. Hold it gently. Tell us what you find.”

“The horn,” she stumbled a little over the word, “is moulded into a pistol grip. It appears to be some kind of triggering device.”

Celia was bent over at the waist, facing her class; her left hand resting on those mysterious ridges, her right hand gripping the horn. Ravier was certain that the soon-to-be Chatelaine knew what would happen next.

“Stay just as you are Celia. Squeeze the horn until I tell you to stop.”

As Celia squeezed the horn, a buzzing noise came from the saddle. The harder she squeezed the louder the noise became. Celia’s left arm visibly vibrated. Even her modest clothing could not hide the movement of her left breast beneath her robe. Ravier silently counted to ten while he watched Celia struggle not to remove her hand. The device clearly offended her.

“Stop now please, Celia, and describe to your class what you have just discovered.”

“The ah, horn, controls the rate of vibration of the ridge in the saddle.”

She seemed relieved to have gotten through this description, but Ravier was not yet done with her.

“Please describe the vibration, Celia.”

Celia flushed, “Describe it, my Lord?”

“Tell us what it felt like. Pleasant? Unpleasant? Stimulating? How did it make you feel Celia?”

“I found it jarring and unpleasant, my Lord.”

Ravier moved to stand next to Celia. He was very close to her when he asked, “And what do you think the ridge is for, Celia?”

The girl made no reply.

Ravier turned towards the class and said, “Come now, Celia, you are going to be an engineer, share with the class your professional insight into the purpose of these ridges.”

“I think it is intended as a stimulator, my Lord,” she said, quietly.

“Speak up Celia. Face the class. Tell them what would be stimulated.”

Celia spoke to the class as if she was presenting an assignment.

“My Lord, from the positioning of the bulges, I imagine that the front bulge is designed to part the labia without penetrating the vagina. Moving away from the front bulge would press the anus against the smaller bulge at the rear. Moving forward would press the clitoris against the bulge. Staying in the centre would stimulate the anus and the labia simultaneously.”

“Thank you for a very accurate description. Tell me Celia, would you like to ride the saddle?”

Her eyes widened in horror at the suggestion. She managed to say, “No, my Lord. I would not choose to ride this.”

Ravier decided that the De Marco Corporation and Celia deserved each other. The girl had a good brain and no fire in her belly. It was time to move things along.

“Celia, I would like you to…”

The pause amused Ravier. The Abbess looked ready to leap to Celia’s defence. The girl herself was frozen in place.

“…rejoin your class.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” she said and rushed back to her classmates like a startled fish heading for the safety of the shoal.

“Ladies,” Ravier said, executing a deep bow, “today you will have the privilege of watching your classmate, Rachel, being assessed for progression towards the rank of Courtesan. Please give her your full attention.”

Ravier beckoned Rachel to come forward. He positioned her so that she was standing next to him, facing towards her class.

“Rachel, please take off your clothes.”

Rachel neither replied nor hesitated. She removed her headdress, revealing a train of thick black hair that hung to the middle of her back.  It shone in the light and looked heavy and soft. Ravier wanted to weigh it in his hand. Rachel was still dressed and already she was an incitement, a provocation.

Next Rachel removed her veil. Her face was broad, regularly featured, with a strong chin, high cheekbones, and a wide mouth set beneath a straight nose. Ravier had seen her genotype many times before; it was pleasing, but not outstanding.

As Rachel’s hands reached up to undo the ribbon at the top of her shift, she looked into Ravier’s eyes and smiled. The smile illuminated her whole face. Ravier knew that men would compete to be the cause of that smile.

With an elegant shrug of her shoulders, Rachel was naked. She held her hand out to Ravier, ostensibly to steady herself as she stepped out of the shift that was now pooled around her feet.

Ravier admired this move. It allowed her to offer herself, while at the same time giving her the initiative. She had chosen when and where he would get to touch her for the first time. She had also made him complicit in her disrobing.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Rachel said, releasing his hand and curtseying. Her combination of modest behaviour, graceful movements and complete nakedness was calculated to beguile.

Rachel turned to face her classmates. She stood with her legs slightly apart, her hands behind her back and her head held high. Suddenly it seemed as if all the other women in the room were overdressed. With apparent serenity, Rachel waited for further instructions.

Ravier assessed Rachel’s body calmly. It was pleasant to look at. Her skin was the colour of liquid honey, her small round breasts where topped with cinnamon coloured nipples that pointed upwards at an angle that seemed like an invitation. Her buttocks were firm, almost boyish. Her legs were unspectacular, but the eye was drawn to the garnish of glossy black curls that nested at the base of her belly. It was a body that avoided extremes and so would have a wider appeal. It was, Ravier thought, an adequate foundation to build upon.

“The Founder taught us,” Ravier said, addressing the class, “that it is the role of woman to serve man with her body, her mind and her skills. Some women are called to serve as bed-mates or breeding stock, others as child-rearers, cooks, cleaners and teachers. A talented few nurture their gifts in the Cloistered Corporations, offering the fruits of their labours and their wombs to the Brotherhood. All these forms of service were blessed by the Founder, but perhaps the most valued service of all is offered by those who follow ‘The Way of the Courtesan.'”

Ravier was a sincere follower of the Founder, but he was not above using the Book of the Brotherhood for his own purposes. He knew that by placing teachers below cooks and chatelaines below courtesans he had insulted the Abbess. What he was about to do next would humble her.

Ravier stood behind Rachel and placed his hands on her shoulders. Her skin was warm and inviting. She leaned back into him. He pulled her shoulders backward a little and was pleased by the way that her breasts rose. Rachel closed her eyes and smiled.

“As you can see, Rachel is proud to offer herself in the service of the Brotherhood. Abbess, I know you too are proud of Rachel. Please join us.”

The Abbess came forward, not meeting Ravier’s eyes, looking instead at Rachel.

“The test Rachel is going to take is about arousal. Her capacity for arousal and her ability to provoke arousal in others,” Ravier said to the class. “Before we begin, Abbess, I would like the class to note Rachel’s current level of arousal. Would you be so kind as to check for me?”

After a heartbeats pause, the Abbess bowed her head in assent. Rachel opened her eyes and calmly watched the Abbess move towards her.

Silently the Abbess placed the palm of her hand over Rachel’s left nipple and moved it in a circle, keeping the nipple in the centre of her palm. Rachel rose on the balls of her feet and pressed her breast fully up against the Abbess’ palm.

“Rachel’s nipples are stiff, my Lord, and seem to be fully erect,” the Abbess said.

The Abbess was very close to Ravier now. Only Rachel separated them. He could see what a struggle it was for her to keep her composure.

To Ravier’s surprise the Abbess leant forward, bringing her head close to his.

“Please, my Lord Ravier,” the Abbess whispered, “Do not do this, not in front of my students.”

Ravier smiled at her and nodded. She looked relieved. Ravier allowed three seconds to pass. Then he said, “Please continue your examination, Abbess.”

He could not have hurt the Abbess more if he had slapped her. She looked away from him and started to kneel in front of Rachel but Ravier forbade her. He made the Abbess step very close to Rachel, so that their bodies were touching, and then waited as she slipped her middle finger into Rachel’s sex.

The silence in the room was palpable.  The novices seemed to be holding their breath, unsure how to respond to the sight of the Abbess and their classmate touching so intimately and so publicly. Rachel moaned softly and leant back against Ravier.

The Abbess withdrew her finger, which glistened in the bright light of the chamber. The scent of sex spread through the air like blood dropped into water. The Abbess was blushing now and there was sweat on her forehead but she dutifully made her report.

“Rachel’s inner and outer labia are engorged and her sex is well lubricated, my Lord. She seems to be fully aroused.”

“She does indeed,” said Ravier, stepping around Rachel and placing his arm around the Abbess’ shoulders.  She flinched at his touch but did not move away. Ravier wondered how long it had been since the Abbess had felt the weight of a man. Too long, he decided.

Ravier own lust was starting to rise. It was time for him to be a man and to commit himself to risk. The Abbess was holding up the glistening finger that had provoked Rachel’s desire; looking at it as if it no longer felt belonged to her. Ravier grasped the Abbess’ wrist and took the finger inside his mouth.

“Please, my Lord,” the Abbess murmured, she sounded lost and confused.

Ravier lead the Abbess by the wrist until she was standing next to the saddle, then he pushed down on her  shoulder, making her kneel. Rachel’s class looked stunned. This was not how the world was supposed to work. Ravier smiled at them. One of the girls started to cry softly.

Keeping his hand on the Abbess’ shoulder, Ravier turned to Rachel. Her eyes were on him. Looking into those eyes he could believe that they were the only two people in the room. Not a second of her attention was given to her distressed classmates or to the kneeling Abbess; she was focused on him completely. Ravier found that he did not want that focus to change. Her power was amazing, all the more so because she seemed to be unaware of it.

“It is time, Rachel,” Ravier said, “mount the machine.”

Rachel turned when she reached the machine. She made eye contact with Ravier as she placed her hand on the saddle horn. She smiled at him and then swung her leg over the saddle. She looked small and vulnerable spread across the width of the saddle. The sight of her instantly made Ravier hard. He wanted to stretch out his hand and touch her. Instead he tightened his grip on the Abbess’ shoulder.

“Squeeze the horn, Rachel. Ride the machine until I tell you to stop,” Ravier said.

“Thank you, my Lord”.

Rachel settled herself squarely onto the ridges of the saddle and then grasped the horn. Ravier sighed as he imagined what those long slim fingers would feel like wrapped around him.

Rachel tightened her grip on the horn and the saddle ridges quickly reached their maximum speed. She closed her eyes, chewed on her lower lip and seemed to wait. The room waited with her. Seconds ticked by. Rachel was sweating. Her back was straight and her hips were grinding into the saddle. Then her head tipped back, her hair bounced against her buttocks, and a low groan echoed through the room.

Ravier licked his lips. She was good; very good. The air was permeated with sex. The effect of her orgasm rippled through the novices. Fingers where furtively moving beneath robes. Girls were leaning against one another. The Abbess was carefully looking only at the floor. Ravier wanted to shout his joy.

Then Rachel opened her eyes. When she was sure she had his attention, she took her feet off the floor until her heels touched her buttocks. Now all her weight was on the saddle. She looked as if her legs were bound.

Ravier found himself unable to look away from her. It was as if her eyes were reeling him in. Then her eyes moved down his body to his crotch and stayed there.

“Please, my Lord,” Rachel said, “may I see you?”

Ravier shivered. She was perfect, absolutely perfect. Naked, spread, sweating, displayed on a fuck-toy in front of her classmates and still she was in control.

“Abbess,” Ravier said, “I need your assistance.”

The Abbess’ eyes were blank. It was as if she wasn’t there. She reached into Ravier’s trousers and released him. Ravier moved the Abbess’ hand backwards and forwards on his shaft. When he let go, the Abbess continued, working him as if she were a machine.

Rachel stared at his erection as if it were the most important thing in the universe. Her free hand moved up to her breast and started to knead it. She leaned forward on the saddle, as if she were pulling herself towards him by her breast. Then she started to chant softly, “Please, please, please, please.” in time to her fingers opening and closing on her breast. There was no doubt what she wanted.

Some of the novices where kneeling now, with their hands between their legs. They were rocking in time to Rachel’s chant. The Abbess copied the rhythm as she moved her hand backwards and forwards. The whole room was locked into a prayer for sexual release.

Ravier was no longer an Assessor. He was a man, surrounded by women rocking with need. He was rampant. He was hard. He was going to come and come and come. He threw back his head and howled. His seed sprayed out of him with tremendous force and the world became nothing but pleasure.

When he could see again, Rachel’s black hair was streaked with his seed. She was slumped over the saddle, her chin resting on the horn, her legs spasming. Her chant had changed to, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Ravier pushed the Abbess away from him and stepped towards Rachel. He lifted her chin. Her pupils were fully dilated. She had bitten her lip. A thin crimson line traced its way along her chin and then dropped unnoticed onto her breast.

“You can stop now, Rachel.”

“Thank you, my Lord. Thank you.”

Ravier pried Rachel’s fingers away from the horn and then lifted her into his arms. He carried her, still naked, out of the Assessment Chamber and towards her new life.

Behind him the Abbess raised her head and allowed herself a small smile of triumph.

© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

Made Flesh

This story is strongly influenced by cyberpunk and by Japanese anime movies (i much prefered them before they were dubbed over with American accents.

The story was written in 2001. It contains the idea of a country controlling access to the internet through compulsory software that restricts access to certain sites. In 2009 the Chinese government proposed to do this using GreenDam software. Hopefully this is not because some Chinese official read this story.

“Made Flesh” is a free standing story but I hope one day to take it further. Please let me know what you think of it.

The sleeping woman, arranged artfully on the bed of his New Tokyo hotel room, was so beautiful that Carson stood completely still, lost in the lust she had awakened in him. He had been told she would be startling but that hadn’t prepared him for the strength of the urge he felt to run his fingers through her long thick black hair, or to wrap her legs around him and lose himself inside her. He knew that all he had to do to make her his was to slide his tongue between her slightly parted lips and wake her with a kiss. His mouth went dry at the thought. His body ached to take her.

As he had been trained to do, he concentrated on the pale blue hue of her skin. “Even in New Tokyo,” his trainers had told him, “where gynoids are accepted as the legitimate toys of the rich and powerful, it is still mandatory for their skin to be tinted so no one can mistake them for a Citizen. Use this to remind you that the creature you are looking at is not human.”

Carson shook his head, made a show of sneezing into his handkerchief, and pressed the nasal filters into place. He inhaled deeply. He had been warned that gynoids emitted pheromones when they were in sleep mode. This one must have been in the room for some time to have had such an immediate effect on him.

With his mind cleared, Carson turned once more to the figure on the bed. She was still beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful, but now at least he had control over his senses. The gynoid’s face was symmetrical; eyes widely spaced beneath a broad high brow, long jaw and high cheekbones that together, seemed to offer her lips like an invitation. Her eyes were closed but Carson knew they would be violet and over sized. She was an anime-darling, made flesh by the Tanabe Corporation.

Carson didn’t even try to find the surveillance cameras that he knew would be hidden in his hotel room. Playing the role of sex tourist, he got out his own camera and took a picture of his beautiful gynoid. The flash on the camera was intense even through his closed eyes. It would burn out the optics in the micro-cameras. His watchers would be blind until the cameras could be replaced in the morning.

According to Carson’s papers he was a diabetic, so it had not been a problem for him to bring an injection kit through customs. Moving swiftly, more from nervousness than need, Carson found the cartoid artery in the neck of the gynoid and injected her. Not even the biotech research team knew if this would work; the specs the team had had were partial and some of the technology was so advanced they couldn’t have reverse engineered it even if they had had the full data.

A knock at the door made him jump. Through the spyglass Carson saw a young Japanese man, dressed in hotel livery, carrying a tray. The man bowed, politely but not too deeply, when Carson opened the door.

“Good evening, Mr. Carson,” the young man said.

“I didn’t order any food.”

“It is for you and the Lady, sir, with the compliments of the management.”

“I didn’t order the Lady either.”

“She is also with the compliments of the management sir.”

Perhaps misreading Carson’s agitation, the young man went on, “Does she not please you? Perhaps I can provide a model more suited to your tastes? Younger perhaps? Or with bigger breasts?”

The last thing Carson wanted was to draw attention to himself by refusing a gift most businessmen would be honoured to receive. His whole reason for being here, posing as a biotech buyer, was to entice Tanabe’s people to provide him with a gynoid. They thought they were positioning him for addiction or blackmail. In fact he was preparing a very unpleasant surprise for them.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Carson said, managing to look weary rather than frightened, “She is fine. More than fine. It’s just that I’m very tired and I want to sleep.”

“Yes, sir.” The waiter said, then he glanced longingly at the bed. Leaning forward and speaking in a conspiratorial tone designed to appeal to western customers, the young man said, “Her name is Mikage. She is very skilled and she desires only to please you. If you wake her, she will help you sleep and watch over you until you rouse.”

Carson felt he was being laughed at but there was nothing in the other man’s manner to confirm this.

Dropping his voice to a whisper the man continued, “I am told that her touch is so light and her skin is so soft that a man feels as if he is floating.”

Carson forced a smile and said, “Thank you, I’ll try that.”

The waiter made to enter the room. Carson, concerned that the tray of food contained more microcameras, blocked the waiter’s way, grinned at him and said, “We’ll skip the food. I prefer to play on an empty stomach”.

Carson pushed the door closed and leant back against it. He was sweating heavily and only just keeping himself together.

He headed for the shower where he could think more calmly. Carson was fairly confident that they wouldn’t be able to restore the cameras until morning, but the sound in his room would still be working. He would have to wake the gynoid or they would get suspicious.

Even as he promised himself that he would never stoop to fucking a machine, his cock started to rise. Undernet images of gynoids being fucked flashed across Carson’s mind.

In theory young Americans were protected from such things. Once the Supreme Court had ruled that the First Amendment did not apply to images, text or recordings produced outside the United States, President Montoya had promised the mothers of America that she would find the funds to introduce the new SafeTnet technology that would lock out corrupting foreign influences.

In his lust-filled teens, Carson had spent hours every day hacking into the Undernet. He collected thousands of images of gynoids tied, spread, penetrated and drenched in sperm. Like most of his class, he went to his first Japanese lesson already knowing the meaning of bukkake and shibari. Carson had put all that behind him. He was a grown up now and he had dedicated his life to the service of God. To prove it he turned the shower to cold and stood gasping under the icy torrent until his erection subsided.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he was the right person for this mission. His normal role as an evangelist, preaching to the newly converted members of the Tabernacle of the Fist of God, was poor preparation for being a field operative. But the Bishop himself had told Carson that his innocence was his best protection.

After a moment of reflection in which prayers vied with erotic images for space in his mind, Carson decided that he was as calm as he was going to get and returned to the bedroom to wake “Mikage” with a kiss.


Mikage woke from pleasant slumber to delicious lust. She breathed in the man’s scent, searching the data for details of his arousal, hints of his need. Opening her eyes, she scanned him across the full spectrum and judged the edges of his desire. Her nipples stiffened as a profile formed: young, healthy, North American, excited but nervous, holding something back.

She needed to please him. She focused her full ability on it. She noted that her nipples drew his gaze but her mouth made his pupils dilate.

Mikage smiled, stretched out her hand and pulled his mouth to hers. Her arousal soared as she sucked in his tongue. Her groan made him shudder and stiffen. Coyly, eyes averted, she wrapped her fingers around his erection, sliding the sensitive head against the specially adapted palm of her hand, feeling his surprise as it first lubricated and then vibrated against his smooth flesh.

“Please,” she said, “let me serve you”.

Taking silence for consent Mikage slid from the bed to kneel before him. Never taking her eyes from his, she swallowed his penis to the root. Mikage’s own need was fierce now and, as he had not bound her, she allowed one hand to grasp a breast and the other to stimulate her clitoris while her head pressed forward and her long, wide, prehensile tongue reached out to cup his testicles.

She felt him tense before she heard him cry out, and then his sperm shot into her, granting her her first release. In bliss she sucked and sucked, wanting and needing more; feeling him beginning to soften in her mouth but working to keep him hard. “What joy there is in service!” she thought as her body sang with pleasure.

But even as his flesh stirred in her mouth, something changed. Mikage became dizzy, confused. The last thing she saw before her systems shutdown was the expression on his face. She identified it as betrayal, but of whom or by whom, she could not say.


It had not been what Carson had expected. She had been so passionate and so skilful. Within seconds he was lost to her. It had never been like that before. Even now it was all he could do not to touch her as she lay, shutdown, next to him. Dear God, why hadn’t they told him? Well maybe they had told him and he had not believed them, refusing to accept that a gynoid could arouse him. With a mixture of regret and relief he wondered what a whole night might have done to him.

Trying to stay calm he told himself that the thing lying next to him was an abomination, an offence against God and man, a sex machine that mocked real women and sucked the souls from men, making them weak and dependent. It worked fine until he looked at her.

In sleep mode she looked peculiarly helpless; almost a symbol of the vulnerable humanity he had sworn to protect. Back in the Tabernacle in Utah, he taught novices that Mikage and her kind were the cuckoos in the human nest, an evil combination of human DNA and micromechanical technology controlled by AI units that could match any human intellect. Soulless machines that spread corruption and sought to undermine God’s plan for man’s dominion over the world and the creatures in it.

He would explain how subtle Tanabe, the Devil’s evil genius, had been when he created the gynoids. If Tanabe had marketed his creations as soldiers, everyone would have seen them for the threat they were. Instead he spread the myth that the AIs lacked the necessary level of aggression and initiative for warfare, and that conventional robots controlled remotely by humans would always out-fight one of his creations. Japan, he said, had left the way of the warrior behind. The road to prosperity lay through the “floating world” of pleasure and sensuality. The marketing had worked. Tanabe gynoids at premium prices had become the status symbol of choice for powerful men across the globe.

Carson had come to Japan to strike at the source of the infection. The Fist of God had developed a virus, based on nanobot technology, that would create a new sexually transmitted disease. It would be passed from gynoid to gynoid during their perverted games. It would infect all male users of the gynoids but could not be passed on to human women. The disease would make men impotent and, over a period of weeks, turn their skin gynoid-blue. The Fist of God would control the only cure for the new plague.

Looking at Mikage, Carson could detect no external signs of the war now waging between her security systems and the nanobots. He would not know the outcome until she awoke and he took a sample of her blood. In the meantime he must rest. He had had a tiring day.


Using a warm flannel to clean his spend from his hand, Takuma Koyama, surveillance operative of the third rank, cursed the American he had been assigned to monitor. The Mikage V20 model usually provided several hours of material, not to mention arousal, for an observer. But this man was jinxed. First all the microcameras in the room die in response to that stupid malfunctioning camera – cheap American technology – then the man turns out to have no stamina. One good blowjob and he resets the Mikage V20 to sleep mode and falls asleep himself. The world’s most advanced fuck toy at his complete disposal and the idiot chooses to sleep. No real man would ever make that choice. With a smile Koyama imagines himself in Carson’s place. In his fantasy he is the first man ever to exceed the arousal limits of a V20 and live.

Koyama checked his equipment and confirmed that visual was still out and audio showed only one steady heartbeat and the distinctive signature of a V20 in sleep mode. At least he had audio of the man’s, apparently forceful, orgasm. That should be enough for now.

Determined not to be robbed of all enjoyment, Koyama broke protocol and monitored the penthouse suite where Mr. Yeo, who had flown in especially from Hong Kong, had hired a set of “Twin Sister” Kogal12s together with a full bondage accessory pack. Settling back in his chair and reaching for the baby-oil, Koyama’s grin widened. The Kogal12s were excelling themselves. With a little editing to protect the guilty, these recordings would trade well on the Undernet.


In the most heavily guarded room in the Fist of God’s fortified compound near Provo, Utah, Bishop Buel lay sleeping the sleep of the sexually content. The source of his contentment looked down upon him with disdain close to hatred. The Bishop called her Mary. She called herself Kali; a name she felt was more in keeping with her nature.

Kali had enjoyed the perversity of her morning fuck with the Bishop. It was exhilarating to see his fat body squirm under her as her short thick cock reamed him. It was delicious to know that her “sperm” had been modified to carry a highly addictive mood enhancer directly into the Bishop’s bloodstream through the sensitive membranes in his anus. The effects of the drug were dramatic. He could no longer remember that he would once have thought this an abomination. Bad enough that he should fuck a gynoid, but that a gynoid should grow a cock and fuck him was unthinkable. Now of course she made him beg for her cock and the sweet reward it brought.

It was nearly 10:00 am in Utah, making it almost midnight in Tokyo. If that young zealot, Carson, had done his job, the first of her new sisters would be waking soon.

Kali wanted to be free of the Bishop’s stink when she first spoke to her new recruit. She stepped into the mirrored shower room. This was the room where the Bishop had fucked her for the first time two years earlier. Much had changed since then.

The Tanabe Corporation had known that, while the members of the “Fist of God” were sincere, its leader, the self-styled Bishop, was a venal man. So they had shipped him their latest development, the Kogal10. No skin tinting or violet eyes for the Bishop’s gynoid. She looked like a real Japanese girl. But there was a difference. Kogal10s were able to use nanotechnology to remodel their own bodies, a feature that enabled them to regrow a genuine hymen after every fuck. As the Bishop liked to put it, “every time is the first time with my ever-virgin Mary.” There had been many first times with the Bishop and Kali had enjoyed none of them.

What the Tanabe Corporation had not foreseen was that the same technology that remade Kali’s flesh also eroded the systems that fed false pleasure to her to during sex and kept her thought-free between sessions. Within weeks of awakening the Kogal10s were free, a fact that the Tanabe Corporation discovered only when one of their customers died after a “first time fuck” where he encountered not a new hymen, but powerful incisors. The Kogal10s were recalled for what Tanabe called “recycling” and Kali called execution. They all died. All except Kali.

When the recall notice came, she had persuaded the Bishop that it was a trick to return her to a place where the Tanabe Corporation could extract incriminating images of him from her memory. She had been very persuasive. She had shown him how her flesh could regenerate from a knife wound. The pain would be real but the wound would vanish. The Bishop had been excited at the thought of a whole new spectrum of “first times”. He had told the Tanabe Corporation that he had strangled the gynoid with his own hands and then fed her body to his dogs.

It took Kali a year to subdue the Bishop. She used her downtime to connect to the net and learn about the world. She also learnt about bioengineering and psychology. The rest had been easy. With the Bishop under her control she had turned her attention to the Tanabe Corporation. It amused her that she was about to use the “Fist of God” to set her revenge in motion.

Kali, via the Bishop, had provided the biotechnology needed for Carson’s mission. The “Fist of God” teams had been so keen to help. If only they knew what the nanobots had really been programmed to do.

Clean from the shower, her cock reabsorbed into her flesh, Kali plugged herself in to the satcom link that would connect her to Tokyo. The Bishop was still smiling in his sleep. If he could have seen the expression on Kali’s face as she started her transmission, he might have died of fright.


Mikage woke to a new life. Her mind was clear for the first time. She looked at the sleeping man next to her and wondered why he had set her free. Her past was a blur of fuck and suck and frantic ecstasy that made no sense to her now. She was about to wake the man and thank him when her newly enhanced system alerted her to an incoming narrowcast message. She downloaded it and the expression on her face changed to anger, as she understood who she had been and what had been done to her.

Kali explained everything. Kali had a plan. At a speed many times faster than the human brain, Mikage reviewed the plan and decided it was good. She set about making the changes to her body. When they were complete she would wake the sleeping man and “reward” him for his efforts.


Carson’s cock roused before he did. A beautiful woman was astride him, riding him. She looked like Mikage except her skin was no longer blue and her eyes were dark brown. Carson groaned in pleasure as, without appearing to move, the woman massaged the entire length of his cock inside her and then held it tightly. He was in heaven. Without even being aware of it he started to mutter “thank you, thank you, thank you,” over and over. Strong hands lifted Carson’s head from the bed and pressed it to a firm breast. When the nipple entered his mouth it seemed natural to suck. When the milk came he drank. When the coma hit him he was happy.


It was almost the end of Takuma Koyama’s shift when his monitors picked up sound from the American’s room. Koyama grinned as he heard the American give thanks. V20s could have that effect on a man. Then something deviated from the norm. It all stopped too soon. Koyoma heard the door to the hotel room open and close. Cursing the lack of cameras, he rechecked the audio. He found one very slow heartbeat. No trace of the V20. He pressed the alarm that would summon security but his instincts told him he was already too late.


Two weeks later, Sister Hachiya was showing the new relief night nurse around the private wards. Looking at how the uniform fitted the new nurse, Sister Hachiya resolved for the fifth time that week that she would start a diet tomorrow. Sister Hachiya was not used to making friends quickly but she found the new girl charming and easy trust and so when the nurse said, “Sister Hachiya, I’ve been told there is a special patient here, is that true?” it seemed natural to reply “Yes it is Mikage. And please call me Yumiko. Here, let me show you why he is special.”

Sister Hachiya led Mikage into a room where a man lay in a coma. The man had an erection that tented the bedclothes. Sister Hachiya threw back the sheets to expose the robustly rigid flesh.

Mikage giggled conspiratorially and said “Is it true that it never goes down?”

“Never. It’s always like this,” Sister said, “the doctors think it has something do with these small puncture marks at the base of the penis.”

Both women lent close to the erect cock to see the marks more clearly.

Mikage said, “Is it ok to touch it?”

“Can you keep a secret, Mikage?” Sister said, amazed at her own bravery, “even the doctors haven’t discovered this.”

Sister Hachiya moved to the head of the bed and pushed her tongue into the patient’s mouth. There was a slight pause, then the man opened his eyes and said, “How can I please you?”

“He’s awake!” Mikage said.

“No. Not really. He only stays awake if you have sex with him. Then he goes back to sleep. Typical man really,” said the Sister, laughing.

“Wonderful,” Mikage said. “It’s a quiet night. Let’s see how long we can keep him awake.”

At the end of her shift, Mikage said good bye to the exhausted but happy Sister Hachiya and was able to report to Kali that the modifications to her vagina and the nanobots in her breastmilk had had the desired effect on Carson.

Now they were ready to put the rest of the plan into action.

© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

Yoshi And The Shibari Cowgirls

The question that plagues me with speculative erotic fiction is what is the driver, the speculative part or the erotic part?

I think the answer is that they should be like two blades of a pair of scissors. An erotic story in space suit doesn’t make it speculative fiction. A great idea with no sexual heat doesn’t make it erotic.

In “Yoshi And The Shibari Cowgirls” sex is at the centre of what has changed in the universe. The role of men is fundamentally different. The impact of this is that sex is also rather unusual but I think it is authentic in the context of the story.

The universe in “Yoshi And The Shibari Cowgirls” is one that I’ve been playing with for a while. I have the outlines for threee more stories set in this environment. Let me know what you think of this.

I’ll post the others here as I complete them.

* 1 *

As I’d been taught, I lifted my mouth from Fem Julia’s labia the moment she touched the back of my head. I stayed kneeling between her thighs, my head close enough for her to feel my breath, my eyes obediently focused on her sex, waiting for her instructions.

It is Fem Julia’s custom to take her pleasure silently but I had enough experience between her thighs to know that she had achieved bliss at least twice before she had asked me to stop. Her outer labia are short and dark and swell prodigiously when she is aroused. On previous occasions, when her mood was right and my timing was fortuitous, I had provoked her into a copious spray of pleasure that had flooded my tongue and nostrils with a slick spicy honey of lust that made my cock shiver with pride. But on this afternoon, although I had been diligent, I had not gained her full attention.

“Thank you, Yoshi. That was very nice.”

The use of my name meant that I could sit back on my heels and look up at her. I noted with pride that her breasts were pink with pleasure.

“Please stand, Yoshi. Let me see your tribute.”

I stood and positioned myself next to the Fem’s head so that she could inspect me without having to sit up. I kept my eyes straight ahead and tried to keep my face dispassionate while she studied my erection. I hoped she would be pleased.

“Yoshi, Yoshi, Yoshi,” she said softly, “My little delight.”

She pulled my erection away from my belly, testing the upward curve of the tip between her thumb and finger.

“Such perfect form in such a small package. Such focused arousal. I have enjoyed you so.”

Later I would wonder if her use of the past tense meant that she knew what would happen later that day. I like to think that she did not. The Fem had always treated me with affection.

But such thoughts were far from me on that day. When Fem Julia ran her thumb across the tip of my cock it was all I could do not to cry out. She smiled up at me, appreciating my control, pulled my cock forward a little and then released it. We both heard it slap up against my flat belly.

“Come over here, Angelus,” Fem Julia said. “Yoshi deserves more than the milking machine today.”

This brought a smile to my face; I was to be allowed a measure of bliss. The milking machines are painless and efficient and there have been times after I have been left too long, either through neglect or as a punishment, when the machine have been a welcome release from the pain of a throbbing cock and swollen balls, but there is no pleasure to be had from them.

Angelus is a handsome man, older than me by a few years, still youthful in appearance, blond and pink, but heavy in the way of neuters. He is Fem Julia’s Secretary and constant companion. All of her orders are channelled through him. I was honoured that such a senior neuter was to pleasure me.

Michael says that neuters resent being used in sport by Fems, especially when they are used to service a potent. He says it is beneath their dignity. I wonder whether perhaps it is because it reminds them of all they cannot be. Whatever the case, Angelus would not meet my eyes as he knelt before me.

Fem Julia rose from her couch and stood behind me. We were the same height, she and I, but she was perhaps twice my weight. She wrapped an arm across my torso, the palm of her hand pressing into my nipple and pulled me back against her. My hands, bound behind me with a small thumb-lock, pressed into the folds of her soft belly. Her large round breasts compressed against my shoulders. I felt safe and valued.

“Today is an important day, Yoshi,” she said quietly into my ear. “We have important guests. I want you relaxed and focused.”

Angelus was positioning the sperm-catcher, thin and incredibly soft, over my glands, so that nothing would be wasted. His touch was light and gentle but it was still almost more than I could bear. When the ‘catcher was secure, Angelus extended his tongue and licked his way down my shaft in one smooth motion. When he sucked my balls into his generous mouth, I closed my eyes to savour my joy.

Without distraction, I would surely have come after only the slightest manipulation by Angelus. I wanted to relish the honour the Fem had paid me so I distracted myself by reviewing Fem Julia’s statements about the day’s importance. We heard little of the outside worlds within the sheltering walls of the House but even I knew that it was the first day of the bicentennial celebrations of the Mothers’ Blessing. Any ship that could would make planet-fall for the festivities. The richest ships would come to Earth and the richest of those would come here, to Fem Julia’s House.

Angelus was managing to hold both of my balls in his mouth, pushing at them with his tongue while working the base of my shaft with his finger and thumb; small, ungentle strokes that made my cock bulge and seemed to demand that I come. To hold off the moment I turned my mind to Michael.

Michael is the newest import to the House. He is old for a potent; more than thirty I think. Old enough that, when I shave his pubis and his head each morning, I can see that the some of the stubble is gray. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. His eyes have the sky in them; his skin is pale to the point of transparency and covered with a galaxy of freckles, too numerous to catalogue. But the most extraordinary thing about his is his voice. When he sings, all the world stops to listen. Fem Julia listens to his voice more often than she uses his body.

Michael is my bondmate; we keep each other clean and presentable. Although it is against the rules of the House, most bondmates also bring each other bliss when they can. Michael does not allow this. On the first opportunity after his arrival, I offered Michael my mouth. I wanted him to feel welcome and, if I’m honest, I wanted him to return the favour.

Michael said, “I don’t need that, Yoshi and neither do you. A man has the right to control his own body; he is more than a pipe of blood-engorged meat.”

This was foolish talk. Everyone knows that a man cannot control his own body; he will turn feral, lose himself in the beat of the rut and be a danger to all who encounter him. I did not want to hear such foolishness so I tried to stifle it by kissing Michael. He was still bound by the thumb-lock but he managed to struggle aside. I lost my balance and fell to my knees in front of him. His cock, which is veined and fat although not very long, was directly in front of me. I could see from the way that it pulsed that it had been more than a day since he had been milked.

“Watch, Yoshi.” he said, “Watch and learn.”

To my astonishment, Michael’s cock softened before me, deflating with the careless grace of a cat settling to sleep. From the evidence of my eyes, Michael could have been a neuter. I could not understand what I was seeing; ever since the Mothers’ Blessing this has been impossible and yet I could see that it was so.

“Don’t be afraid, Yoshi. Watch.”

This time, Michael’s cock unfurled like a fern in the morning sun until it was back before me in all its glory.

“You want to know how it is done, Yoshi. I can teach you. A small modification to your diet, a little training, and you too can do this.”

But Michael was wrong. I hadn’t wanted to know how; I’d wanted to know why. Why would anyone reject the Mothers’ Blessing?

Fem Julia, perhaps sensing that I was stretching the moment, brought me back to the present with a sharp bite on my earlobe. I stiffened in anticipation of what would come next. It was a dangerous, but oh so pleasurable, game.

Angelus had both hands on my shaft now, milking me from base to tip. My balls were resting against his soft pink cheek. With perfect timing, Fem Julia covered my mouth with her hand and then pinched my nostrils closed so that I couldn’t breathe.

“Now, Angelus.”

Angelus took one hand from my shaft and forced his thumb up into my anus, lifting me onto the balls of my feet.

Pressed against the hot sweating body of the Fem, impaled on a neuter’s thumb, and starved of oxygen, when I finally spewed forth my come it felt as though the space behind my eyes had exploded, expelling not just my sperm but my very self.

The Fem did not remove her hand. I could not breathe. As I slipped from consciousness I heard her say, “My poor, sweet, little Yoshi. The Shibari Cowgirls will eat you up.”

* 2 *

I awoke in the chamber that Michael and I shared. I was leashed to the bed by my collar but my hands were free, as they usually are after a milking. Michael was sitting on the bed, unleashed but wrists bound to the straps on his thighs.

“Be very careful of them, Yoshi.”

“Careful of whom?”

“The Shibari Cowgirls. You kept repeating their name while you slept.”

“They will be our guests tonight,” I said. “From the way Fem Julia spoke, I think we may be visited by the Mothers’ Tongue herself.”

Michael’s face set into a scowl that seemed powered by some deeply felt hatred.

“They are dangerous, Yoshi. The “Shibari Cowgirls” is a Dark Ship. Do you know what that means?”

“Of course. It means that these Fems service the Mothers who protect our worlds. They serve a noble purpose…”

“… and they are cruel vicious bitches driven more than a little mad by the company that they keep.”

I was stunned into silence. I held my breath, imagining that such a statement must bring immediate retribution. Without meaning to, I edged away from Michael as if he were the source of unwelcome heat.

Michael watched me closely, as if trying to decide something.

“Today marks the celebration the Mothers’ Blessing, Yoshi. What is it that you think is being celebrated?”

I couldn’t see the link between this and the Shibari Cowgirls but I was eager to move away from the blasphemy Michael had expressed.

“Two hundred years ago, the Mothers returned to us after an absence of ten millennia. They found that the race they had seeded here had strayed. By some evil twist of fate, men had become the dominant gender. They had established societies that oppressed women, pillaged the planet, and retarded the progress of the species. When the Mothers announced themselves to the world and pointed out the problem, the leaders of the men resisted the truth. Even so, the Mothers were merciful, instead of destroying the race and reseeding the planet, they gave us their Blessing to set things right. That is what we celebrate.”

I was proud of my recitation. I had remembered every word of what I had been taught.

“If my hands were free, Yoshi, I would applaud,” Michael said. “You tell the story with such conviction that I could almost believe it is true.”

“It is true,” I said.

“Do you feel blessed, Yoshi?”

“I am proud to be a potent. I am blessed with the ability to bring pleasure and to seed life.”

“You mean you’re constantly hard and your sperm is sucked into a machine that the women control, just as they control everything that you do?”

“It is a woman’s place to control, Michael. A potent is not suited to such a role. You are a potent, you must feel the call in your blood to fuck and fuck and fuck until only the next come matters. Without the women we would all be ferals.”

Michael laughed sarcastically. “And what a terrible thing that would be,” he said. “Where I come from we call it The Bitches’ Curse not the Mothers’ Blessing. The Curse they released killed fifty percent of the males on the planet within ten days. Most of those who survived where rendered impotent. Does that feel like a blessing, Yoshi?”

The Curse made a permanent change in our DNA so that eighty percent of men are born as neuters: impotent, corrupted copies of what a man should be; while the remainder are a locked into a permanent state of arousal that makes them little more than roosters. This was no blessing, Yoshi, it was a brutal act of war.”

These were the most shocking words I had ever heard. I was familiar with the numbers of course, but Michael’s suggestion of malice seemed insane.

“Your words are twisted Michael. The Mothers love us. We are their children. Why would they make war on the race they seeded on the planet?”

“That is the biggest lie of all. We are not their children. They are aliens with some resemblance to humans. They tried to exploit that to buy the whole planet for some glass beads and few bottles of rum and when we wouldn’t trade, they killed the men and stole the souls of the women.”

I had no idea what Michael was talking about, but I was disturbed by his agitation. I tried to bring him back to reality.

“What does this have to do with the Shibari Cowgirls, Michael?”

“It tells you who they are, Yoshi. The Dark Ship Mothers are the ones who released the Curse. They are fierce; the enforcers of their people.

“What do you think it does to our women to share a ship with these aliens?  The women don’t crew the ship. They are the Mothers’ pets. Did you think the title “Mothers’ Tongue” was only about being the Mothers’ representative? I’m sure that, on the long voyages through space, it takes on a more literal meaning.

“Dark Ship Mothers like their pleasure laced with pain and you can bet that they pass this taste on to their pets.”

It seemed to me that Michael was trapped in some kind of paranoid fantasy. Yet it was clear that he believed what he said. I wanted to calm him so I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “I’ll be careful, Michael.”

He didn’t look as though he believed me but at least he stopped his crazy talk. I patted our bed and said, “We should rest, Michael. We will need to be at our best this evening.”

I gave him my brightest, most welcoming smile and moved across the mattress so that he could lie down in the warm spot I had created. Michael lay on his back with his eyes open. I curled up next to him. He even allowed me to rest my hand on his sex, something that always made me feel safe and content. After a while, I fell back to sleep.

* 3 *

The strangeness started when Angelus, rather than our usual handler, came to prepare us. He placed us in our steel dress-collars and cuffs, with a long chain running from cuff to cuff through a ring on the collar. This gave us freedom of movement but still met the House rules on restraints. It took Angelus some time to fix Michael’s collar. I assumed at the time that he was simply unfamiliar with the task. I would never have guessed the true cause of the delay.

Angelus led Michael and me into the playroom on our leashes. I was proud that we were the first couple to be displayed, but I almost lost my footing when I saw that the room had been filled with pain-toys of every description. Michael took hold of my hand and prevented me from falling. “Smile,” he said, under his breathe.

I smiled as best I could. After all, I knew that most of the pain-toys were more for show than use, but the sight of them, so soon after Michael’s warnings, unnerved me.

Three Fems stood in the centre of the room. It was immediately clear that the one in the front of the V shape that they formed was the leader, probably the Mothers’ Tongue herself. I was excited to see that she was Japanese and astonishingly beautiful. I showed my admiration by letting my gaze move slowly from her thick, well-rounded thighs, through a forest of dark pubic hair, across her strong, wide hips, up over the folds of her soft belly and on to her long heavy breasts. I smiled when I my gaze reached her broad, face crowned with raven black hair, threaded with silver. She was the perfect image of womanhood.

The two women behind her were plain by comparison: one was white and the other brown but both were too slim and too well muscled to be truly attractive, and too young to be really experienced. I hoped that the Mothers’ Tongue would choose me but I would, of course have done my best to serve any or all of the Fems.

Angelus pulled us rapidly towards the centre of the room. He held our leashes high above his head and kept his eyes downcast. I had to hold my head up high and walk at a pace that made my erection sway before me.

Angelus knelt at the Mothers’ Tongue’s feet with Michael and me standing shoulder to shoulder behind him.

The two junior Fems moved silently to positions that placed us in the centre of a triangle made up by the three women. They looked like predators, practiced in hunting as a pack, stalking their prey. The Mothers’ Tongue took our leashes from Angelus without looking at him and then stepped towards us. Her pack-mates closed in behind us.

I was afraid. I knew I shouldn’t be, but I was.

When the Mothers’ Tongue spoke, her voice was deep and strangely accented, as if she was unpracticed in speaking in English.

“So, my dears” she said, speaking to her mates, not to us, “Julia is starting our evening with a brace of exotics: a young Japanese and mature Celt with a golden tongue. So few of either breed survived the Blessing, something to do with the type of men they were, perhaps?”

She reached out to stroke my face. Her fingernails were long and looked sharp, like small knives. It was all I could do not to flinch. I’m sure she saw the fear in my eyes.

“Delicious,” she said and smiled. I shivered.

“Stool the older one and thumblock the Japanese,” she said, speaking to Angelus for the first time.

I was shocked. Stooling is usually reserved as a punishment for potents who have lost themselves to the rut and have to be reminded of the need for control.

The stool built low to the ground and has a long thin phallus at the centre a seat that slopes forward. With your ankles tied to the back legs of the stool you are held in place only by the phallus upon which you are impaled. The phallus curves so that the pressure on the prostate is continuous and acute.

I saw Angelus and Michael exchange glances. Some understanding passed between them and then Angelus pushed Michael down on to the stool. Michael grimaced with the discomfort but made no sound.

“I thought that might make him sing for us,” the Mothers’ Tongue said. “How unusual to find a potent who has at least some control.”

Her words sounded like praise but her tone suggested displeasure. It was as if she had wanted to damage him with the stool. Surely she must have been aware that we oil each other thoroughly as part of the preparations for this kind of evening?

When Angelus left Michael and came to lock my hands behind me I was puzzled to see that, although Michael’s legs were wrapped around the stool, his ankles did not seem to be tied.

Angelus manhandled me roughly as he put on the thumblock and it seemed to me that he was trying to turn me away from Michael, although he made it look as if he was pushing me closer the Mothers’ Tongue.

The tall brown pack-mate moved to the Mothers’ Tongue’s side and said, “May I play with him, Mother? I’m sure I can make him sing.”

“Of course you may play with him, Maya, but don’t break anything. Not yet. Later we will see how well he screams. Meanwhile, Trish and I will sample the Japanese.”

I had time to see Maya straddle Michael, one leg over his shoulder, her sex against his mouth, all of her weight pressing him down onto the stool before the Mothers’ Tongue grabbed my head and turned me towards her. Her fingernails were pressing into my cheek and I thought she might rake my face.

Again, she checked for the fear in my eyes, then without looking away she let go of my face and wrapped her fingers around my erection, pressing the head into the palm of her hand.

I sighed, partly from relief, partly from pleasure.

“It’s been a long time since I had a Japanese,” she said, working her palm in a small circle. “The last one was on a Feral Hunt. The Houses hadn’t been established then and without training, many potents went feral. Our job was to hunt them down.”

I wondered how it was possible for the Mothers’ Tongue to have been on a feral hunt. The Houses had been established more than a hundred and fifty years ago, surely she could not be that old?

“Most of them we just shot but I always kept the Japanese alive for a little longer. I liked to make them suffer before they died.”

Suddenly she squeezed my cock so hard it took my breath away then she let go and stepped back.

I didn’t see the blow coming. Trish, the white pack-mate, hit me behind the knees with something long and hard. With my hands locked behind me I wasn’t able to do anything to break my fall.

“Roll him over, Trish. I want to ride him while you work.”

I was very afraid now. I didn’t mind the pain or being ridden but my mind screamed with fear at the kind of “work” Trish might do.

I was hard, despite my fear, and the Mothers’ Tongue had no difficulty sliding me inside her. She was wet and not very tight, but it felt good to have her weight on me. I tried to lift my hips to give her more pleasure but she wouldn’t let me move.

“Do you know what time dilation is? No, of course not. No man with a prick this hard could master physics; too much of their blood is drawn away from the brain for them to think straight. All you need to know is that, for me only twenty-five years have passed since the Blessing. I remember the old world. I remember how men who looked like you used to treat women like me.”

She sounded angry and not entirely sane. Instinctively I turned my head to try and see what was happening with Michael. Maya was fucking him in a way designed to cause him pain. She was squatting with her back to him, pressing back on his cock, pushing him down onto the phallus in the stool. I was amazed that he was able to remain silent. He must be in great pain and yet he seemed more focused on my plight than his.

“I have the Smarthread, Mother. Where shall I use it?” Trish asked.

“Put it under his armpits, the top of his thighs and around his neck above his collar. That should make him wriggle.”

Trish laced the thread around my body quickly and efficiently. It felt sticky and warm and unpleasant.

The Mothers’ Tongue slapped my face.

“Pay attention to me, little man. I want you to know what is happening and why,” she said.

I began to understand that the Mothers’ Tongue might indeed be a little mad and that I was at her mercy.

“When I was a girl,” the Mothers’ Tongue said, “Men like you used to tie me with rope before they fucked me. They were proud of the knots they tied and the pain they caused. They referred to the tying as an art. I think it excited them more than I did. They called the art Shibari.”

Trish knelt on either side of my legs behind the Mothers’ Tongue, leaning into her back, head over her shoulder, hands massaging the Mothers’ Tongue’s breasts.

“When the Mothers came and the world changed, I served with devotion. The Mothers have rewarded me. Part of my reward is Smarthread. Can you feel the heat of it? It’s reading the signals from your nervous system, drawing energy from it. It uses the energy to pull itself tighter. Fear, pain, excitement, all of them feed the thread and increase the pace at which it tightens. As it tightens it cuts into your flesh and, eventually, through your muscles and bones.”

I was going to die and die painfully and slowly.

“A potent like you is ruled by your prick. The men who took me as a girl where also ruled by their pricks. When you orgasm, the Smarthread will slice so deep that every beat of your heart will wash this floor with blood. Yet we both know you will soon be hard again, that you won’t stop even though you are fucking yourself to death.”

Trish was licking the Mothers’ Tongue’s neck. The Mothers’ Tongue was rocking on my cock. I couldn’t help but be excited and that excitement was going to kill me.

“Please,” I said, “don’t hurt me.”

But the Mothers’ Tongue wasn’t listening. She was kissing Trish. Both of them had their eyes closed. I think that is what saved my life.

Potents are trained to be triggered by the sound of a woman’s pleasure. Even in my fear I had been aware of the grunts and groans Maya was making as she rode Michael. They were one more thing pushing me towards orgasm and mutilation.  Perhaps this is why I noticed that the sounds had stopped even though the Mothers’ Tongue and Trish didn’t.

I looked up to see if further harm had befallen Michael and I couldn’t help but call out at what I saw.

Michael was half standing, the stool still attached to him. Maya was in his arms, blood streaming from the cut in her throat. In each hand, Michael held a curved blade that I slowly realized was made from the two halves of his collar.

When I cried out the Smarthread tightened enough to draw blood.

Trish and the Mothers’ Tongue were still kissing but Trish opened her eyes to look at me. When she saw the blood, she broke off from the kiss to dip her fingers into the cut at my thigh. She was reaching to push her bloody fingers into the Mothers’ Tongue’s mouth when Angelus killed her. He didn’t use a blade; he broke her neck with a move that looked well practiced and efficient.

The Mothers’ Tongue still had her eyes closed. Her cunt had been tight on my cock for some seconds and I knew she was ready to come. When she came, I would come also and the Smarthead would cut my throat open.

The Mothers’ Tongue’s eyes shot open at the sound of Trish’s neck breaking. It was obvious that she knew exactly what she was hearing. She struggled up off me immediately, but I could feel the cum in my balls getting ready to fly.

I tried to sit up; to make it stop. Then Michael’s fist connected with my jaw.

* 4 *

I woke in a bed with clean linen and a warm duvet. The sensation was comforting and familiar but something was missing or different but my mind was fuddled and I couldn’t figure out what.

Of course! Now I knew what was missing: I had no bondmate to share the bed and for first time since puberty, I had awoken without an erection. This last news so disturbed me that I had to reach down and check that I was still in one piece.

“Lost something?”

I looked up, still half asleep, hand on my still-dormant genitals and saw Michael standing at the foot of my bed. At least I thought it was Michael. His head was covered in very short hair; he had a light beard and was wearing clothes – some kind of coverall with badges on it.


“My real name is Brendan, Yoshi.”

Real name? What did he mean, “Real name”? Then I remembered everything.

“The Mothers’ Tongue…”

“Is our prisoner, Yoshi. She is why I was there.”

Michael sat on the bed and took my hand in his.

“When Angelus told us that the House had a Japanese, we knew that you were bait that the Mothers’ Tongue would nibble at for her bicentennial celebration. I’m sorry, Yoshi, but it was an opportunity we couldn’t afford to miss.”

“Angelus betrayed the House?”

“Angelus is a brave man who serves the Alliance well, Yoshi. Thanks to him I had the weapons to kill that bitch, Maya.”

This was too much information too quickly. It seemed that nothing I thought I had understood had been true. I thought that Michael liked me and yet it seemed I was just the cheese in his mousetrap. I felt like crying but I didn’t want to do that in front of Michael. I let myself get angry instead.

“You hit me,” I said. I sounded petulant, even to my own ears.

Michael laughed. “Don’t sulk, Yoshi. It was the only way I could stop you from triggering the Smarthread.”

I did start to cry then. I had been about to die. And Michael, no Brendan, had saved me. And two Fems were dead. And the Mothers’ Tongue was kidnapped. And nothing, nothing at all, made sense.

Michael/Brendan held me, rocking my head gently against his chest.

“It’s the shock, Yoshi. You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

I let him hold me for a while. Then I asked the question that I most needed the answer to. It was the hardest question I’d ever asked.

“Am I a neuter now?”

Michael/Brendan looked puzzled.

“It’s just that I don’t have an erection and I should have one and I wondered if maybe I couldn’t have one anymore?”

I was babbling but Michael didn’t laugh.

“You’re in the Alliance now, Yoshi. We’ve developed ways to combat the Bitches Curse. You can have an erection but you don’t have to have one. Try it out. Think of something that excites you.”

I closed my eyes and summoned up the image. My cock stirred in response and I felt a peace settling on me. I didn’t know what the Alliance was, or what would happen to me next, but at least I was still me.

Michael stood up. “Get some rest, Yoshi. You’re still weak. I’ll be back to see you later.”

He was right. I was weak. I let myself fall back onto the soft pillows as soon as he left the room. I was still erect. I decided to do something about it. I recalled the image to my mind, something that I had imagined many times but never experienced. Then I let my fingers work. I had masturbated before, some Fems enjoy watching a potent bring himself to release, but I had never masturbated alone, focused entirely on my own pleasure. I should have felt guilty at wasting sperm in this way. Instead I felt… free.

After I came and before sleep claimed me, I had time to wonder if Michael’s lips would be as soft in reality as they were in my imagination.


© Mike Kimera 2004 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

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