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GULLIVER'S PLANET by [email protected] The two spry travel agents unpacked their client. They began the methodical rub down of the host clone, warming its chilled flesh and removing the packing goo that stimulated and preserved cell tissue until the download finished. The needles made a comical popping sound as they punctured the thin skin of the scalp, implanting hair follicles. It was this sound that brought Terri Waites to consciousness. Naked, hairless, one became used to such trusting helplessness. In colonial days, the term "light riders" had been born. Or more specifically, "light riders of the frontier". Nicely worded. Some bland and inexperienced poet had almost certainly coined it; someone who had never loaded his personality onto a beam of light and awoken in a host body several light years away. Light Riders. Travelers of the stars. Commerce of the old West brought to the new century. Quaint, but wrong. Travelers like Terri knew there was very little dignity in the awkward moments of a hardly used cerebral cortex struggling first to coordinate its body and second to accommodate the idiosyncracies of an imported personality. If a vehicle of light had a bumper sticker it would be this: Intergalactic commutes are a bitch. Under the salon helmet, a million pistoning needles continued their implantation of organic hair into the sockets of the host scalp. Terri had witnessed plenty of bald travelers, male and female alike; if you were only visiting for a few days, it was hardly worth the expense. But if a full head of hair helped make a sale then like the old adage said... spend a little to make a lot. The travel agents spun their human package down into a wheelchair while the clone's cerebellum worked feverishly to cement its connections. Agents were a special breed: patient, cooing nurses with plastic smiles. The strength of the young women was surprising. Had Gulliver been breeding females as work horses? You always heard such things, but you could never be certain until your own eyes fed you the details... and sometimes not even then. "Mistrust transducers for they are mere interpreters." Who was that? Roan? It sounded like him. Philosopher, poet, mad mathematician, cult leader. But such abstracts were for old age. When your grey matter was finally too decayed to qualify for regen, then you dove into his six volume broadcast on Fractal Reasoning, searching for spiritual answers, seeking an afterlife. But you didn't risk going Zen until you'd accumulated the wealth needed to enjoy it. After the blip that was light travel came the overly familiar routine. One clean white hall after another, showered, sterilized, stimulated, oiled, poked, flexed, pricked.... The seven halls of Hell someone had once called it. All body functions had to be tested, of course, from sneezing to shitting to vomiting. Disconcerting. Especially when you could only bear witness to the sickening convulsions of your host body through the god awful sounds it made. No one said it, but the travel industry had developed a credo: "Keep ?em numb. Don't turn on their nerves until they're halfway out the door." In the old days, it was slower, more thorough; they took greater care. Shit, they had to or risk losing the business altogether! The public was watching. No one had been keen on it back then, and if a politician could make a headline, you bet he wouldn't flinch. These days it was all routine, travel was nothing more than another assembly line. All hail the human widget! Still, no matter how many times a traveler when through it, it was always a trial. Slowly, the patchy sensations of coolness and warmness would overwhelm you. Even the most pleasurable caresses were painful until your clone brain learned to interpret them. Then the mad rush of sounds: the roar of air pressing on the eardrums, the garbled thrum of voices, the strange dull thumps and hums of internal organs, the beat of the heart, the toilet flush of the throat, the gurgle of the stomach.... When Terri Smiths's eyes finally came into focus, they ached, pulsed and were filled with rings of light. The agents rushed about gathering clothes and packages, pausing only to update their databases. Each step had to be documented for legal reasons (no one wanted to get sued). They hurried in and out of the room, bringing and taking things away. Cool smiles lit cool faces as they dressed their client. One of the girls noticed Terri's open, if slightly unfocused eyes and smiled. "Welcome to Gulliver 8." It was a reassuring whisper, but her motions, as that of her partner, were all business. Raise the arms, lean the body forward, strap something tight around the chest. Did the residents of Gulliver need a respirator? Before Terri could ask the question, the girls had bounced out of sight and were busy arguing with each other. Terri's eyes blinked involuntarily. "Um...." One agent's glowing blonde curls bounced as she knelt down to slip her client's lean leg into a long, silky white stocking. Terri's eyes swam. A distant complaintive moan sounded somewhere far away. Those were unfamiliar legs down there, soft, naked, beautiful and shining in the flourescent light. "Uh-" The agent knelt down and expertly rolled another stocking up the lean white thigh of her client. Terri's eyes tracked the stocking up the buttery soft flesh of the thigh to the hairless V of the crotch. "Excuse me-" The agent snapped a floral skirt into place. "Excuse me, but-" The agent's smiled was brilliant, her white teeth flashing. "It's okay. We've got just the heels for you." "But-but-" Her perfect porcelain features remained ever reassuring. Terri blinked and blinked again, feeling the bob of the host's throat. "I'm... I'm supposed to be male." The agents looked at one another. Their smiles dropped. # Slick hair, plastic smile, immaculate manicured hands clasping together, LL link pegged to his frontal lobe as demonstrated by the dim red pinpoint of light on the wall beside him, half public relations man, half lawyer, half accountant, half salesman, Mr. Alfred Play was here to explain the ins and outs of liabilities. Any man with divided loyalties is a half a man. Roan, again. Hell of a poet, so they said. Terri had never put much stock in poetry, truisms and the like. "Well, Mr. Waites, you're certainly on a reluctant adventure-" "Reluctant Adventure" was the latest drama running through the viral XP stores. Terri had experienced one or two episodes, but hadn't seen the appeal. It took all of his energy to unclench his teeth long enough to answer. "Yes. It would appear so." The dim red LL light fluctuated. "I should remind you of your travel oath, taken before each departure." Terri sighed. "I have no desire to litigate the matter, Mr.-?" "Mr. Play. Thank you for acknowledging my being." Great, a humanist. That's all the world needed was a lawyer slash accountant slash zealot who believed that individuals existed to serve corporations. "We've been conferring about your matter, of course. So, first an explanation." "Please." The voice that was humming in Terri's throat felt too soft, too light, too... insubstantial. It always took a few hours to get used to the travel host's voice, but this female tone was ridiculous. How he could ball someone out if the slightest hint of intense emotion made it quaver? He sounded more nervous than angry. "Well, as you may or may not know, there are many files transmitted from your P.O., uh, that is, your point of origin." Again through gritted teeth, Terri interrupted, "I KNOW what it means, thank you." "Thank you for improving my perception. Anyway, there are files such as your personality matrix, of course, but also financial information, supply on arrival orders and last, but not least, your host preference file." Terri nodded. They'd planted a full head of hair, a full head of long, luxurious blonde female hair, which was even now brushing across his neck and shoulders. "The projections through which our clients travel go through a long string of way stations. It seems at the time of your travel, several of these stations were rendered inoperable." Terri pursed his lips. He sighed heavily and un-pursed them, feeling the pinch of flesh folding between his eyes as his host body struggled to keep up with his emotional state. "Rendered inoperable... by what?" The LL light blinked. Mr. Play blinked. "Well, Mr. Gulliver's brand name planets has garnered some unwanted attention. It seems there is a faction or two, fanatical and unreasonable, of course, that has expressed reservations about our operations. We believe it was an organized attack." Terri rubbed his eyes and nicked a cheek with a long, unfamiliar fingernail. "Okay, that's all the information I believe I need in the category of what happened. Now, let's move on to how you're going to fucking fix it!" Mr. Play's smile became more plastic. The LL light went into a mad, staccato Morse Code of activity. "Yes, well, the FLC has temporarily suspended all travel through our network until a complete investigation can be conducted." There was a flush of hot blood in Terri's cheeks. "How long will that take?" Mr. Play smiled. "Not longer than a few days. We, of course, are just as unhappy as you about this unexpected situation, and you are not the only client inconvenienced." "So, there are other clients in the wrong gender hosts?" "Well... no, you were the only one affected in quite that manner." "Just me? Why just me?" The knuckles of Mr. Play's clasped hands turned white. "Your preference file was lost. Oh, it's most unfortunate. You see, last year our little get away was plagued by an unbalanced quantity of male tourists. A pleasure paradise composed of mostly male clients is hardly a paradise, er, except in certain sectors, of course. So an effort was launched to increase female tourism. It worked, very well actually. Now 53% of our clientele is female, and in your case those odds worked against you. The computer placed you into a female host because the odds dictated that you were more likely to be female. Your name is, as you know, ambiguous and with no preference file-" "But-but-" Terri raised a finger and was struck by the small, slender length of it. "But why the hell didn't you just look at my damn P.M.?" "Mr. Waites, the DC Privacy Act forbids us from performing any type of analysis on matrices of a personal nature." Terri sighed, which sounded abnormally sweet and gentle, when what he was going for was I'm-going-to-beat-the-shit-out-of-you frustration. "Okay, just get me into the right host." "Yes, well, I've been trying to explain. As long as the FLC is investigating, we are not allowed to move anyone anywhere by light." Terri glared at the plastic gleaming teeth of Mr. Play. "So... I'm stuck." "Only until the FLC has finished its investigation." "Which could last days...." "Yes." The thought hung in the air like sour milk. "Or...." Mr. Play's smile was strained. "Or... possibly, at the outside, at most, a slight chance of, uh, lasting slightly longer." "How long? "Well, there's no reason to raise any concern-" "How fucking long?" The moment stretched into a long tunnel of sound and light. "The absolute worst scenario, which we do not anticipate by any stretch of the imagination would be... two weeks." # Terri surveyed the damage. The soft bowl of her belly. He sighed heavily, and damned if it didn't sound lost and vulnerable and sensual as hell. Her soft hanging breasts, with their small slightly upturned nipples. "Like two fucking ripe fruits that I'd pick straight off the vine if I still had a fucking penis!" That hairless mound, cleaved in two so ready to divide. He had to admit he already missed the lumpy, clumsy mess he called genitalia. Always in the way, hardly ever in the state you wanted it, hard when you needed comfort, soft when you needed arousal. He put his slender pale hands on his breasts and gave them a little squeeze. Her lips seemed to have been stained red with a pigment too thin to stay in place, the color bleeding far past the outline of the mouth, as if he'd spent the last hour drinking red punch. Pink cheeks, clear blue eyes, barely visible blonde hairs like the fuzz of a peach making her face seem all the more soft. Small hands with long fingers and even longer nails. Too much hair, yet not nearly enough; volumes spilled out of her scalp, but she was slick as an eel everywhere else. Her hairstyle had become all tussle and tangle during the trip to the hotel, blown this way and that by the shots of compressed air inherent in mobile stations, hissing doors, passing cars, fast tubes.... Her joints seemed askew and clumsy. It could be the clone's brain still trying to make sense of a male matrix or it could be his male memories were unable to make sense of the way a female was ordered by natural design to hold itself. He pressed the flats of his fingers against her soft skin, touching her forehead, his forehead, massaging her aching eyes, smelling the odor of her armpits, his armpits and staring for the longest time at the strange fleshy cloven hoof that was her vagina. "What in the hell am I supposed to do with this?" This was not the body of a salesman; this was the body of a fucking billboard. Terri surveyed the finances. Free hotel for as long as he was inconvenienced, meals and travel comped. That was a mark in the black, but against the potential lost of a sale, it wasn't nearly enough. Terri's thin voice was flat as it bounced off the tiles of the bathroom. "Terri, my friend, you're fucked." Mr. Play had authorized a personal tweaker just in case Terri needed to make some mental adjustments. Such a convenience was unheard of. If you felt your host body had not quite been configured correctly, it usually cost. Even though a personality reset was supposed to be free, there were still service charges. Travelers learned to make do. They had set his body to neutral. He'd feel no female urges, but no male ones either. He was androgynous for the most part, a chink in a personality that had been decidedly male. He assumed they'd lent him the tweaker so he could compensate in whichever way he saw fit. He considered altering his personality so it was a little more on the female side, if only to assist with any identity confusion. It would certainly be more comfortable, but such adjustments came with pricey side affects. He could adjust himself to feminine, but also adjust his desires towards the left, but at the moment he didn't relish any desires of any sort at all. He had an early sales meeting and it was already later than he'd thought. He set the shower to brisk, reluctantly chose pink on the meter and used the comp code he'd been given. He let the concierge profile him and suggest a light dinner. The closet dressed him in light green synthetic silk pajamas, which, though more feminine than he liked, was suitable. He was surprised to find the selection of a fruit salad and small pseudo fish was satisfying in both taste and portion. He considered a little viral entertainment, but after flipping through previews for ten minutes, gave up. The concierge chimed and suggested several outfits for the next day. He chose the least offensive and set the alarm to bright and early. He was exhausted, and should've dropped into slumber the moment his head hit the pillow, but every roll either pulled his long hair or pinched a cumbersome breast. Finally, after desperation he accepted a sedation on the house. # All roads lead to the dome. It was clearly the center of commerce, and clearly designed to be lush and lavish and beautiful. They'd done an excellent job with the sims from ancient Rome to the Palisades. And it was crowded, more than he'd expected. He wondered what kind of profit Gulliver made off this planet. He wondered if he would ever be able to even conceive of having that kind of inter-planetary wealth. He checked in with a secretary panel and waited in the waterfall room. The monkeys kept him company for awhile, until he grew bored and decided to wander. He remained mostly on the outer rim, though the inner domes tempted him. How hard did paradise get, he wondered. He'd heard the tales, of course, where perversity prevails. The argument was always that if a human were allowed to indulge in its deepest fantasy, then it functioned better in commercial society. He wasn't sure if he bought it, but it was an old line that a ton of council members had used when the press published their names on the Gulliver guest list. Gulliver was close to receiving acceptance. Perhaps closer than anyone realized. A beautiful girl approached him, her auburn hair strung back into a tight bun, black thin-frame cat-classes balanced on the tip of her nose, deadly black stilettos. "Mr. Pallis will see you now." Terri had chosen a pantsuit, English tweed style with a low waist and a high collar. He hadn't been terribly fond of the oversized tie, but it was inextricably glued to the outfit. The girl had given him the once over and hadn't approved. It was the first time he'd been on the receiving end of this sort of assessment and he was surprised to discover the chunk it took out of his self-esteem. What did she expect, heels and hose and lipstick? He found himself developing a low-grade loathing for her. If he'd been tweaked closer to the right, that opinion might have been overshadowed by lust. She did have a nice ass, and was clearly dressed as a secretary ready to burst into vixen at any moment, but in his current matrix, that didn't seem to matter. It was enough that she had assessed his clothes and lack of makeup as a lack of value and importance. Mr. Pallis stood as Terri entered the room. He had the look of a frontiersman who had grown comfortable with his wealth and charm. He was tall and masculine with a wide jaw and heavy brow with shiny black hair and even darker and shinier eyes. The gentleman caveman, Terri thought, and was instantly aware of how he dwarfed her, towered over her, his soft padded hands enveloping hers gently but squarely. "I was just on my way to the inner ring. I hope it's okay if we travel as we talk. It's a five minute slide, that should give you time to bend me a little, if you like." He'd met his share of sales reps. Terri laughed and it felt odd and misplaced; genuine enough, but artificial. "I don't have any desire to bend you so much as your ear. And the honest truth is I won't need to do much of that. Our products sell themselves. My job is merely to educate, Mr. Pallis, not to intimidate or persuade." His patter was off; he could feel it. Maybe he wasn't used to the lush lips; maybe the host brain wasn't quite synched; or maybe it was the balance, the motion of a body with its weight and counterweight placed to demonstrate its fertility. He felt like he was all boobs, butt and hip when he needed to be mouthpiece, balls and backbone. "I'm in no doubt of the quality of your products, Miss Waites, but the honest truth is there may be a lack of necessity in your service. Look around. Does it look like we've missed a single detail?" Terri lowered himself into a chair, crossed his legs and looked up into Pallis's shiny black eyes. "How much did this chair cost?" The man lowered himself into a chair next to him. "I'm sure I don't know." Terri leaned forward, licked his lips, unaware of the sensual stroke he'd so casually created in the gentleman caveman. "I know." Pallis crossed his legs, sat back and smiled. "Do tell." "This is a halderman style platform with schoolroom legs and plain adhesive. Not a bad quality. Not at all. It's expiration date would be pushing two years maximum with minimum use. It cost you, I would guess, roughtly four hundred credits and that's by retail standards. And I won't even get into the hidden costs of bulk discounts." Pallis's eyes drifted away, studied the blur of a Martian landscape complete with rovers and scantily clad warrior women. It was a simulated war, where the losing side became love slaves of the winning, at least until the next simulated battle, all of which was held in both regular and planned spontaneous sessions. Canals criss-crossed under bouncing factions with stroboscopic lazer pistols striking the low hanging clouds. Ahhhh, they'd reached the inner domes at last. Terri had not won him over with the pitch. It was an unanticipated result. What kind of buyer had no interest in cost reduction. Was it just his damn patter? He felt he'd drawn the man in for a moment there, but had promptly lost him. "What would you say if I told you I could deliver the same chair at half the price?" "I'd say, we already have the chair, Miss Waites." "Yes, but this planet is already two years old. Most, if not all, of your furnishings are already past their expirations and every re-order takes six months for delivery if you order from the closest retailer and most of your cost will come from delivery." "So you can deliver faster and cheaper?" Pallis asked, his focus adrift on a sea of islands and tents and jungles where he knew from experience roamed a large group of overly-amorous apes, both brutal and tender. "Well... yes, by waiving the delivery fee." "Miss Waites, we already have a binding contract with a branch of our own company." Terri unbuttoned her jacket. Her breasts pressed firmly against the thin latex top, her nipples playing a game of hide and seek with Pallis's eyes behind the large polyester tie. "A contract with your own company is hardly very binding and besides this type of arrangement is fine for inter-stellar populations. Hell, it makes sense, but makes not one bit of sense for an outer-stellar system like yours." Pallis's attention was back. "You want me to order merchandise from outside our own company?" "A deal even Gulliver would approve of, given half the chance." She leaned forward and put her elbows on her legs, rubbing her hands together and nodding like a man considering a sports bet. "He's all about cost reduction, I know. Keeping it in the family makes sense as long as its productive, and let's face it, there's not a lot of competition." "Except your lot." "True, but our sales are not even a bump in your profit margin." The chimes sang and they both felt the sensation of a rapid slow down. They left the tread and walked for awhile in silence, Terri deep in thought. Why is this so hard? He should be eating out of my hand with what I'm offering him. Why is my damn patter off so bad? It can't be just that, the pitch is the pitch. He seems to come and go like an oscillating fan. They came to the end of the walkway and Pallis motioned toward a door with a decidedly female icon on the door. "Have you been in a pleasure dome before, Miss Waites?" "A few, yes." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth. It was mostly holos and hallos, but they were pleasure domes all the same, and cheap ones compared to this. "See you on the other side then." # There was an empty corridor that led to a door. The door was locked. Beside the door was a small glowing pad with three panels. From left to right they read, "SUB, SWITCH, DOM". Terri asked for an observer status, but was informed there was none in the Gulliver system. He chose SWITCH and the door disappeared. Behind the door was a night club with red carpeting and black tables with small glass-encased candles. Mr. Pallis sat at the rear of the room in a dark corner. Terri joined him and together they watched the show, which was chiefly a history of sex, starting with the experience of a mitosisizing amoeba through the missionary position all the way through manufactured orifices. There was no time for conversation, which was just as well because Terri was fixated on the waitresses and waiters, all of whom sported gyno-phallic suits. He'd heard of them, but had always assumed them to be myth or at the very least criminal. Although his clone had been tweaked to neutral, the SWITCH of the room setting apparently had some effect because he found a certain erotic curiosity. He saw a customer reach out and begin softly stroking a waitress's ass. The effect was devastating. The waitress began to moan and sweat and tremble. The customer slapped her on the ass and, still trembling, she stumbled away in a daze only to return later with a drink. She waited, hesitated, but the customer ignored her. Nearly sobbing, she wandered from table to table apparently hoping another customer would stimulate the suit. Terri was tempted, but did not indulge. Instead, he logged back into the show and experienced the control of a tender rapist. He found himself leaning more and more toward the victim's P.O.V. and began to feel the matching sensations, the constriction of the bound wrists, the desperation, the shame of lubrication and pleasure, the secret desire to be opened and used. He switched back to the rapist, but it was all he could do to ward off the gentle temptation of the victim. A waitress broke the experience momentarily and he saw Mr. Pallis snatch the girl by the hand and begin a gentle circular rubbing of her palm. Terri logged out of the experience entirely to watch as his prospective client brought the waitress to her knees with just the rhythmic motion of his thumb. "Open your mouth," he ordered and she did so. He let go of her hand and began to gently rub her bottom lip back and forth with his thumb. She trembled and breathed in intensely sharp gasps and breathed out ragged moans. "I would like a Tom Harry. Make it and return in under two minutes and I will continue your massage, this time, perhaps, a nipple." She leapt to her feet and hurried away. Pallis stood and motioned for Terri to follow. "Aren't you going to wait for her?" He chuckled. "She'll dream of this for the rest of the evening if I don't." Outside the club, in the cool breeze of a balcony, Terri tried a few more pitches, but Pallis was unresponsive. Terri managed to squirm out of him an agreement for them to revisit the meeting at a later date, which, all things considered, was a monumental achievement. Despondent, Terri took a quick meal at a stand and worked his way back to the hotel. He should've had a signed contract to transmit home. He'd come away with nothing, which was inexcusable, but even worse, he couldn't put his finger on what he'd done wrong. He considered asking for an analysis from his pitch recorder, something he hadn't done since the early days. Still, pride be damned. The recorder identified one instance where Pallis's attention had been focused and receptive. Terri studied the pitch, but found nothing out of the ordinary. It made no sense until he turned on the third party observer and saw his own position in relation to Pallis. He'd unbuttoned his jacket and there was the faint impression of nipples beneath his shirt. In contrast, every time he gestured or adopted a masculine posture, Pallis seemed put off. Whether or not Pallis knew his true gender, he responded as Terri himself would to a beautiful young woman. When she behaved as such, she had the ability to draw attention, and attention was nine tenths of the sales game. When Terri, in his mis-fit body had behaved as himself, Pallis lost interest. He began to re-think his strategy for the next day. # A wealthy man wandered away from his palace one day. He came to a soiled alley where a poor man sat in filth, drunkenness and squalor. The wealthy man gazed down upon the poor man and said, "I envy you." A story from Roan, of course. One of the early ones. A story that every citizen knew, every child, yet none could remember where they'd first heard it or how they'd come to know it. It was the first story to combine Jung's theory of the collective unconscious with Angele's principles of viral media, long before the vaccines. And almost as many people knew the back story, that Roan had written it on a bet: a bet that he could write a story that would pervade no less than 82% of the public's mind for one hundred years. With 68 years down, everyone was still waiting to see the outcome. Why that came to him now, he couldn't say, but he found himself dwelling on it. He should be sleeping, but instead he was staring at the tweaker on his bedside table. He turned to the com and logged in. He'd received a message. When he decided to play it, he was given the familiar choice of sim or playback. That phrase had become so mainstream that they'd based a program on it. Sim Or Playback wasn' t half bad, which of course meant it was only half good. He longed to hear Polly's voice, to talk with her, but he suspected her state of mind would lead to a disappointing end. He chose playback instead. For him to get the message now, she'd probably left it seconds after he'd left. "Hi...... it's Polly... like who else would it be... I miss you... even though... well... I don't know... but I wanted to talk to you, to hear your voice... I know things haven't been... I don't know..." He logged out. He couldn't bear anymore. He couldn't keep his mind on business with such thoughts running around in his head. He picked up the tweaker and adjusted the matrix to a decidedly more feminine aspect. He considered other settings, then chose them carefully. He would have to be attracted to Pallis if he was going to pull this off. It had to be authentic. No since getting out of control, of course. He wouldn't be aiming for crazed sex kitten, but he did need his passion back, even if that passion conflicted with his old self. He slept while the settings took hold, suddenly tired. He hoped he hadn't overdone it. You could never be sure how the settings would affect you, how they would interact, and they more then occasionally were felt more powerfully than intended. Better to leave it to the professionals, which explained the regulation. Still, the professionals had fucked him up enough. Time to take matters into his own hands. # When her eyes fluttered open, she sat upright, swept the covers aside and shuffled to the bathroom before it became clear what she'd done to herself. At first, she felt little difference, but as she dropped her silky P.J. bottoms, she gathered up the hem of her oversized top in a twisted bundle and sat on the toilet and began to notice something less than subtle. Her sense of self was different. She urinated and wiped and stood and breathed and felt her soft belly and sighed. She stared at herself in the mirror and studied the glisten of her wet lips, the translucent shine of her clear blue eyes, the tangles and fly-away strands of her blonde hair. With a start, she realized she was very aroused. Her hands dipped down to that soft cloven flesh and traced with the tips of her fingers down into the crevasse of her thighs and back up across her stomach. She found herself with an arm slung over her breasts, barely touching, shifting back and forth, stimulating both nipples at once while her other hand dove down, rubbing in tight searching circles for an indiscriminate spot. Her fingertips moved by themselves, closer by degrees, until they felt moisture, wet, warm and slick with pleasure. Then they rubbed, almost by accident, the most tender of spots, a small rubbery nub. It was electric. It brought her nipples to life at once, followed by shudders, shivers, moans and a smile the likes of which she'd never felt stretch her cheeks before. Even as her body was awaking, rising, she was disappearing, fading, sinking into pleasure. Not ecstasy, not pounding orgasms, just soft, quiet bliss. She panted with each stroke, with each tickle of her erect nipples, with each further parting of her soft flesh, with each tap of that button, toes curling, back arching.... She made desperate, pleading little noises, which only served to tickle her to even greater heights. For the first time in Terri's life, she imagined a cock, big and bold and beautiful, stiff and straining, pink and purple and veined. It startled her, which started a feeling she couldn't quite put her finger on, no matter how hard many times it rubbed over that little newfound button of hers. There was something there; something she couldn't identify, a sense of completeness, a sense of wanting something, a foreign desire. In no time at all, the first orgasm came crashing into her. Soon, she would have a vague memory of kneeling on the carpeted floor, bucking her pelvis against her own delicious hand and squealing with delight. The scent of her own arousal, of herself, her pussy, her sweat, her sweet and sour morning breath, all mixed in her nostrils like a bundle of aphrodisiacal flowers, straight from the Orient or New Saudi. Mysterious and full and demanding. She followed each convulsion, one hard upon the other, colliding, impatient and wrenching the most needy groans from her throat, which only served to drive her further unto the welcoming arms of bliss. When the second orgasm hit, it was a shock. It was harsher than the first, more exhausting and it brought with it the urge to shove... something... anything up inside her, to be filled, to be completed with that elusive massive missing puzzle piece or be damned. When the third hit, like a lesser echo, she tasted the salt of her own sweat in mer mouth and prayed for it to end. She did not, however, stop fucking her hand. Though her thighs were shaking and her vaginal muscles were sore, she felt oddly sated, satisfied at having been used, even if only by herself. She sat on the bathroom floor for a long time, awash in the afterglow, trickles of perspiration trickling down the small of her back, and finding a strangely pleasurable path into the crack of her ass. God, that felt good! But now it was time to shower, to dress, to clean up and to smell nice, to look pretty, maybe a little dirty, just a little, a little glisten, a little stardust, a little twinkle, a little sweat, just enough to tease, just enough to hold someone's attention, just long enough... ... to close in for the sale. # On the air cushioned ride to the domes, two words rang like a mantra in her head: fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. And it wasn't desire, but a fucking cerebral stroke, a towered clock bell gonging in her head. What. The hell. Did I do? It was too much. She'd tweaked herself too damn much. No wonder the things were so fiercely regulated. From now on, whatever the emergency, no matter how bad the travel agents fucked up, she'd leave tweaking to the professionals. The problem wasn't that Terri, consummate salesman to the stars, felt awkward or like a stranger in a foreign skin; just the contrary... she felt comfortable, too comfortable. It was common enough for him to ask the cab for a quick peek at himself, straighten the tie, check the cuffs, the links, the seam (more than one salesman had forgotten to seal up after a piss). It wasn't normal, however, for Terri to spend nearly 20 minutes fixing her face... again. It wasn't normal for him to obsess about which lipstick was more appropriate and then fall in to an unnerving, never-ending female loop of logic, chattering like circling chipmunks in her head: ?Deep red lipstick? Oh, that is all about desire, of course, but maybe too much for a business meeting? Do I really want Pallis to desire me? No, subtlety is best here, I think. He shouldn't exactly consciously want me, just be totally driven to pay total attention to me. I've got enough competition with all those girls in their little suits and those pleasure domes, after all. He should crave my smile, my pleasure, my approval and that means a more muted color, still shining with gloss, of course, shoot a few sparkles into his eyes, and after all wet lips are sensual and healthy and attractive, but the base color should be....' Her thoughts buzzed like this for much too long. And that was just the face. The long ride to Pallis's office zipped by because of Terri's sudden fixation with her own appearance. She'd gone Business Geisha, of course, which was servile and professional, but still sexy as hell. With chopsticks in her bun and a few flyaway strands to frame and soften her face, sharp shiny bangs, she'd darkened her hair until it was nearly black, and subtly streaked it with dark, rich strands of blue which brought out the blue in her eyes. Blonde was nice and sunny, but too playful for Pallis. He needed the secret, the mystery, the challenge. Her blouse was pseudo-silk and red with a Oriental blossom print, collaring her neck while leaving her shoulders bare, and though it showed no cleavage, it did more for her bosom than if she'd chosen a string bikini. The skirt... the skirt was all about sin and distraction. Mid-thigh, split on the sides, giving Pallis's eyes tantalizing glimpses at her white thighs, pseudo-silk, red with an accommodating hi-cut thong. She'd left her legs bare, because after trying on hose and stockings for nearly an hour (had some strange new girly fashion sense awoken her early for just such an emergency?), nothing beat touchable, smooth flesh. The secretary, still dressed in her tight business suit, still waiting to burst into vixen mode any moment (Terri wondered if she ever did), looked up as Terri approached. The girl gave her the once over then broke out in a broad toothy smile. "Welcome to the Pleasure Dome, Miss...." "Waites. I have another appointment with Mr. Pallis today." The girl looked confused. She looked through Terri for a moment, and then, recognizing her, began to nod almost as if she didn't know she what else to do. "Oh! Yes, Mr. Pallis is inside. He's waiting for you." She motioned Terri toward a door. Once Terri had closed the door behind her, she shook her head, pausing to consider the girl's reaction. Like night and day. The secretary had obviously approved of Terri's fashion sense this time and had responded with deference. Had she been underestimating the power of fashion all these years? In the waiting room, her hand hovered over the glowing panel that read "SWITCH". There was the oddest odd sensation tickling her somewhere inside, somewhere deep and private, stirring and inquisitive. What if her hand slipped? What if it accidentally hit "SUB"? What would happen? What would that feel like? What would Pallis do? Would he know the minute he saw her? The sale. Remember what you're here for, she chided herself. She pressed her hand against the glowing panel and waited for the door to open. As a female voice notified her that she was on a temporary pass and wouldn't be permitted in certain areas, she sized up her shimmering reflection in the black glass and dove to buckle the loose strap of her left pump. Jesus, what in the hell was wrong with her? Was this what women did all the time, fuss to keep every strap and button perfectly in place? "Understanding a mechanism does not make one immune to it." "The Doctor" might be an insipid soap opera experience, but at least it had a good tag line. Terri knew she'd over-tweaked herself, pushed her gender selection too far to the girly side, but there was no fighting it now. She sighed, took a deep breath and repeated an old salesman's mantra, one she hadn't thought of in years. "Keep'em yes'ing." She stretched out her small hand, gold bracelet dangling, painted nails and all, the moment she saw the tall, square shouldered Pallis. They approached each other on a manmade catwalk, a "shore" of sorts, while repta-philes slithered in their body suits against one another in an oxygenated syrup that was a reasonable facsimile of a swamp. Pallis smiled, paused, then smiled wider. He had actually hesitated, Terri noted (with more than a little pride), and was grinning, if she wasn't mistaken, much like a blushing schoolboy. Beneath his pronounced brow his eyes twinkled. She noted also how much darker his eyes seemed, and how his hand, enveloping hers, slid so smoothly and firmly into place, and did not let go. "Is this you bringing out the big guns?" he chuckled. She suppressed the urge to give him a faux curtsey, but let flow a bubbly giggle partnered with a glistening smile. Even as her pearly whites worked their magic, she noted the dip of his gaze, brief, but thorough. Clearly, he liked what he saw. She wondered if she dipped her own eyes what she might see in the way of tip and shadow, but his suit was too cleverly designed, too Italian, to betray him. "Do I need to?" she quipped. At once, she noticed the difference. He did not motion her to follow; no, without releasing his grip on her hand, he folded her into his arm and began to lead her to the next dome, talking all the while, never breaking contact, his cologne pleasant, his size daunting and thrilling, his warmth disarming. "Your pitch will seem much more compelling today. Of this I'm sure, and I would do best to call my accountant and put a hold on all cash flow until you've gone." She blushed. She found that she liked blushing. It felt good. It felt... positive, like a warm and glowing hearth, something that plumped her already full lips and waved her long lashes. "I wouldn't want to bother your hard working accountant at this hour." He laughed, a belly laugh. Her lips tingled slightly. She couldn't be sure, but she thought it was a sign of something, the way he stood staring at her, at her mouth, smiling so broad that his incisors shown like wolfish fangs. He wants to kiss me! It was a shock, and not an unpleasant one. "Shall we talk somewhere?" she asked. He nodded automatically and said, "Let's." The first yes might be the sweetest, but the last would be the most lucrative. # The mask that had bonded with Caroline's features was almost indistinguishable from the real thing. Terri had seen implants, whiskers, ear lifts and reformations, lip retracts and the like, but the bio-masks of the felines in the 909 Dome were almost as good, and not nearly so permanent. The girl, with her short red bangs, meowed convincingly, arched her back and raised her rear into Pallis's waiting palm, swishing and curling her artificial tail around his leg. "It seems to me your products have a short expiration," Pallis said, walking brusquely away from the purring cat-girl. "What difference does it make?" Terri replied. She wanted to kick the girl with "Caroline" on her collar, feeling a little catty herself when the girl hissed at her. "Our current products last much longer," Pallis countered. They moved into the next chamber. "True, but when you can replicate a product in minutes, every thing is infinitely replaceable at a moment's notice." Pallis paused and leveled his gaze at her. "It would hardly do to have a chair or a bed break while a client was using them." She swallowed. He was too tall, too dark and handsome and commanding with his angular jaw and his hand, so hot, resting on her shoulder. It was so large (or she was so small) that he was literally caressing the side of her neck with his thumb while his little finger curled around and nestled into her armpit. It stirred her, but she didn't know why. Was it the symbolism? His finger penetrating the soft flesh of her inner arm? Or was it just his towering presence? "True, I suppose." It took all her concentration not to stutter. "But-" "This type of business is always under close scrutiny. It takes very little for a lawsuit to breech my truce with our corporate government. He was doing this on purpose, she realized. Trying to make her feel small. Trying to pose her like a little girl. Make her explain herself. The problem was it was working. She did feel small. She did feel like she was some naive little Alice in his Wonderland. "I-I hardly think that-that our products are quite that fragile." She had to beat this. She couldn't be the first woman ever to deal with a dominating client. So what did they do? How did they respond? Did they fight back? Did they... give in? She realized she was standing, her hands clasped before her, fidgeting while he stared down upon her, shaming her like a daughter violating curfew. A client on hands and knees, a tray balanced in her teeth crawled up behind him and waited. Terri raised her face, sucking mischievously on her bottom lip. She grinned and moved toward him. He retreated, just a step, and tripped over the servile waitress, falling into a plush sofa chair. Terri's skirt, silky and red and split up both sides, accommodated her easy crawl into his lap. The thin material of her thong passed the current of his erection straight through his pants and into her awaiting mound. It was hardly a "dry hump" as they used to call it, as she was already feeling hot and moist and open for business. Which was just the trouble, of course... this was still about business. She placed her hands on his shoulders and lowered herself on top of him, her lips mere inches away from his, her breasts like two soft pendulums begging for the warmth of his palms. She gazed down into his eyes and whispered, "Our products could certainly stand up to this." He blinked rapidly and nodded. His arms began to coil around her. Before he could get a firm grip on her, however, she removed herself from his lap and sat on a nearby sofa. It was fun, she had to admit, to watch him pull himself together, clearing his throat, straightening his jacket, crossing his legs to conceal his hard-on. She wanted to laugh, but thought better of it, and instead ordered a drink from the waitress, wondering idly how the girl would manage to balance the tray once it was under the load of her Spanish Martini. Pallis opened his mouth to speak, but Terri beat him to it. "Besides... you and I both know that our products are only slightly under the specs of your current inventory. They certainly won't be breaking under your clientele, and I would think that your litigation sims would have such minor incidents well in hand." He agreed that they did and that, yes, the specs weren't much different and was busy searching for his next point when she interrupted in her sweetest tone, "So, shall we discuss price?" His mouth clamped shut. He nodded slightly. A moment later, when he had finally gathered his wits about him, he began to smile. # She had him on the ropes and they both knew it. By the look of his grinning, blushing face, he was none too broken up about it. She had a sense just then of the ancient strategy of women, getting their way, making it too pleasurable not to. Was what she'd just done, that spontaneous, instinctual stunt... was that what they meant when they said "feminine wiles"? They began the long, intricate game of haggling. The ping pong match of their pricing war was where Terri had always shone. The deal was done; it was just a matter of money now. But Pallis was by no means defenseless. If Terri's main strategy was to distract him with her beauty, sensuality and mischievous temperament, Pallis had the sim domes to fall back on. His strategic distraction was no less powerful. Casually, almost absentmindedly, he ran their fair haired waitress through her paces. It was so second nature to him that Terri wondered if he even knew he was doing it. What must that be like to so easily use someone, someone that so eagerly wanted to be used and wouldn't complain because it was (apparently) their deepest fantasy. And it didn't hurt that he was damn good at it. Sipping a tall flask of German Weisse beer, he was running numbers with her while the waitress adopted a tense position on hand and knees. She'd had started away after delivering their drinks, but he'd snapped his fingers. She's responded as if it had been an electric shock. "I know the order of the day is installment and credit, but honestly, I've always preferred delivery on demand." Without even a glance at the girl at his feet, and without a break in the sentence, he commanded her. "Up." The girl rose to a kneeling position and clasped her hands behind her head. "It keeps us honest, don't you think?" Pallis smiled. Terri's eyes flitted to the girl, her lithe white body still as marble, her small breasts lifted by her position, her nipples pink and slightly wrinkled. "Yes, of course, nothing would please, um, us more, but-" Pallis tweaked the girl's nipple until the wrinkles faded and the nipple grew taut. With his legs crossed, he inserted the toe of his shoe between her white thighs and began to rock it slowly back and forth, casually stimulating her and pausing every time she began to moan or respond in the slightest way. Terri tried not to pay any attention, but there was no denying the heat in her cheeks, the secret stirring in her own panties. For once she was glad she was female in that there was no tell tale erection to give her away. "I know, I know. What kind of discounts might we expect for such a courtesy, yes?" To the girl, without breaking the pace of his sentence, though Terri noted a drop in tone and felt a little of its effect no matter how she resisted. "Toe. I shouldn't think our asking reduction would be more than the market could bear." The girl was salivating, her tongue wildly licking her lips as she slipped Pallis's shoe from his foot, slid his sock off of his perfectly manicured toes and slowly began to lick the underside of each. "It depends-" Terri's attention wandered again to the girl, noting her closed eyes, the quiet sounds of her mouth, lapping like a dog, and the soft whisper of her frustrated moan. "-on... it, um, depends on what, uh, y'know, you think the market's demand is." "Yes, I suppose," Pallis considered, his eyes remaining ever distant and calm, giving no trace of any amusement, though Terri was certain her own squirming thighs had been noticed. "I suppose the definition of market demand might be in some question. Suck. But I think our asking price would more than fair. I've taken the liberty of doing a little research on your little company." The girl slipped her wet lips around his toe and began to draw it away slowly, even as her hands slipped to her own body, one caressing a breast, the other dipping between her thighs, fingers folded to a point and rubbing. Her moans grew slightly louder, though still scarcely more than a whisper. Terri crossed her legs, smoothed her skirt over her thighs, then smoothed it again. She blinked and realized she was feeling light headed, probably because she'd been holding her breath for the last few minutes. She licked her lips unconsciously, noting how dry her mouth seemed suddenly and reached for her Martini. Her aim was slightly off, because the vodka sloshed in the glass and sprinkled her chin. She licked her lips again, laughed shyly, crossed her legs again-when had they become uncrossed?- and realized she was squeezing her thighs together, and what a tense, firm squeeze it was. She replaced the glass on the nearby table and consciously willed her legs to relax. Instead, they grew wet with perspiration. A dull ache began in her lower back and she leaned forward over her crossed legs to ease it, but somehow a draft of cool air miraculously found its way through her locked thighs, through her tight thong only to discover moisture. It was as if someone had just jabbed an air co nditioner up her skirt. Pallis smiled and lowered his foot to the floor. The girl's mouth obediently followed, licking around his ankle, her face planted on the carpet, her heart-shaped bottom waving like a teasing banner in the air. "I'm considering a 2 in 3 package. That's fair, don't you think? Considering the lesser specs of your products. 180 and pose. Yes, I know, they're not off by much, but lesser is lesser." The girl spun herself around, keeping her face to the floor, swinging her wet and willing bottom into view. Terri couldn't be sure, but she was almost certain she'd gotten a whiff of the girl's arousal. She uncrossed her thighs and put the heels of her shoes firmly on the floor. As she did so she felt the slippery slide of her pleasantly swollen lips in her panties, one across the other, and the tightening of her nipples inside the soft, restrictive material of her brassiere. She found herself swallowing repeatedly, her breathing shallow. She found herself compelled to stare at the overly submissive girl as Pallis placed his toe at the entrance of the girl's bush, her parted glistening lips clear and present, her moans no longer quiet, secretive, but desperate, whiney and pleading. "2 in 3 is-" Terri hesitated. Her shoulders shuddered once involuntarily, "-unfortunately unacceptable. Our... our company... doesn't really except... uh-" "I must apologize, Miss Waites, but would you mind if I took care of my client here. The tart did a little too good of a job on me." In a daze, Terri tore her eyes away from the girl's wet and willing flower."Wh-what? Um, no, if, uh, if-" "Thank you. This won't take but a second. You may go if decorum demands, but she greatly enjoys having her debasement watched." Without another word, Pallis dropped his pants and planted his cock deep inside the girl and began to ruthlessly fuck her. Terri watched them for a long while, before she finally managed to stumble away, the girl's squeals and screams of pleasure haunting her. # "Hi, it's Polly. Like who else would it be, right?" "Hi," Terri replied. "How are you?" Her voice sounded sadder than before. Had the sim magnified it or was it just his imagination? "I'm fine. How are you?" "I miss you." "I miss you, too." "I wanted to talk to you, to hear your voice." "Okay," Terri said and took a deep breath. "I know things haven't been... well...." "Yeah, I know." "I don't know, Terri. But I do know I miss you and I want you to come home." "But then we fight." Why did he bother? The sim wouldn't match that, but the damn things were getting better. Perhaps, it would construe enough of her mental state to provide a response. "I want... I want to try harder. It's just when you're gone, I feel so alone, but I do miss you and I want you to come home so we can try. Okay?" If you talked to a sim message too long, it would exhaust itself. There was only so much material in a single call, after all. "Okay." He clicked off. Was that really what Polly wanted? Sim or no, it gave him hope. The DG rang and displayed Pallis's digital signature on the contracts. Terri transmitted it to home office and imagined a cheer or two from the CFO. He might even get a pat on the back. Another message popped up. The icon was of a pretty blonde travel agent. "Yes?" "Hi!" "What can I do for you?" Terri wondered if the travel agent would call him Mr. or Miss. Either way was a risk, he supposed. He crossed his legs and became acutely aware of his body odor. It had been a long day and he needed a shower. All the perfume in the world wouldn't mask that pungent girly smell. "I'm calling to notify you that the FLC has finished its investigations. Light travel is no longer suspended. We can take care of your host whenever you'd like." "Thank you." "Would you like to make an appoint-" "I'll let you know." He clicked off the phone, then--staring at his small slender fingers with their gleaming red polish-dimmed the lights. The sheets were cool and crisp and fresh. He lay back in them getting another whiff of his body. It triggered a wave of arousal. He sighed, his soft hands already giving his even softer breasts a slow methodical massage through the equally soft silk of his blouse. He thought and he thought and finally gave up the battle in the shower. His job here was done. # He felt unnatural, browsing the closet. As a man, Terri had two styles of dress: "I care how I look" and "I don't care how I look". And that was it. As a woman, there was too much subtlety, too much second guessing, undertones, overtones, complexion, contrast, color... "What do I want to say? What statement am I trying to make?" A woman had to analyze her mood, both what she was feeling and what she wanted to feel. She had to think of where she was going to be, what type of people she would meet, but mostly what she wanted them to think of her. Terri stood before her closet and watched as dresses came and went. She narrowed her preferences. Something short. Something with leg. Something that would make his eyes pop, but wasn't TOO obvious. The closet called it a babydoll mini-dress in nest egg blue. Nest egg blue. Did women need every fragment of the spectrum labeled with some quaint colloquialism? The closet suggested blonde hair, but she opted for red. It came out too bright, too brash at first, so she darkened it, lengthened it and curled it. By the time her makeup was done, she took a gander at the new creature in the mirror and feet breathless. It was too much. Was it too much? Was she being too obvious? If she were still male, what would she have thought of a girl who presented herself to him in such a state? He would've thought he was a very lucky man. The spaghetti straps displayed her delicate shoulders; the loose swirling skirt flirted with her legs; the bottomless auburn curls heated everything to the boiling point. She was cool and sensual and dreamy and hot as hell. She was just going to see what it was like. She wasn't going to actually do anything. So, why had she spent so much time picking out the right push-up bra and the right thong? Why did she have a field of heels strung out on the floor of the closet? Why did she stand there, gawking at herself, in her heels and hose, in her flirty dress and red glistening lipstick thinking of the waiting room, thinking of her slender hand with the long red nails that matched her long red hair resting on the panel that read, "SUB"? # She found him at a table with a workspace open before him, scribbling notes on miscellaneous screens, a pair of black-rimmed half glasses balanced on his nose. The multicolored light of the hovering screens lit his face and floated in the glass of his anachronistic spectacles. She watched him fuss over figures, studying spreadsheets, muttering, clearly unaware of her presence. She realized she was holding her breath and made a conscious effort to relax just as he pried his eyes away from his work and spotted her. He peered at her over his glasses. "I thought you'd be halfway back to your home office by now." "I wanted to come visit you again, you know, in a more social setting." She kept waiting for signs that something was different, but she felt normal. Maybe it worked on the placebo affect. Wouldn't it be something if all the debate about the Gulliver worlds was over nothing? Maybe people just thought something happened when they pressed the SUB panel. Pallis smirked. "I'm not buying any extended warranties, no matter HOW 'social' you are with me." They shared a chuckle. Pallis waved her to a nearby sofa chair. "Have a seat." Terri dropped automatically, sporting a slightly befuddled expression. She hadn't hesitated. Not for a second. There had been no consideration. He'd told her to do something and she'd done it. The result was a small wave of nervous excitement bubbling up from somewhere murky and deep. There was some kind of erotic tension building, though she couldn't identify exactly the point of origin. She realized with alarm that Pallis was staring at her. She smoothed her dress over and felt his attention give way. Her face felt suddenly cool as her hot blush subsided. "So... why the glasses?" "I have a genetic myopia." She leaned forward over her thighs, planted her elbows and gave him her full attention. "Why not have it corrected?" He tossed his glasses on the table and the screens began winking out one by one. "An alteration to the smallest part is an alteration to the sum of the parts." She giggled. "You sound like the old guy from the Foster sim. 'I don't want nobody meddlin around with my genes!'" He grinned. "Who knows what they'll change, inadvertently." She continued in a more reassuring tone. "They're very focused, you know. Their little viral bots are very good." "And who knows what they'll load into one of those very focused viral bots." She smiled, unaware of how sweet and charming she appeared, but aware that she was having some kind of affect on him. He crossed his legs hiding what she guessed was a budding erection. "Now you just sound paranoid." He breathed deep. "Science has always served the state first and the people second." She was enjoying the back and forth. It was like an exciting little debate, but more teasing than adversarial. If she'd been female longer, she would've recognized it as a flirtation fostered by sexual tension. "So," he continued and glanced at a waitress covered in body glitter and nothing else, "why are you really here?" "I wanted to?" He interrupted. "Would you like a drink?" Her mouth snapped shut. She nodded. The waitress stood submissively before him. "What may I serve you?" Terri opened her mouth to ask for a Genuos' whiskey, but Pallis interrupted her again and again her jaw snapped shut, almost as if by an unseen hand. "She'll have a Golden Tier and I'll have a Grant's." The waitress glanced at Terri, pausing long enough for Terri to correct him. When Terri didn't, the girl curtsied quickly and hurried away. Pallis stood, traversed the few feet between them and settled into the chair beside her, locking his eyes on hers. "You didn't take the guest pass today." Terri's heart dropped into an abyss. Speechless, she could only shake her head and study her fingers fiddling in her lap. "I see. So you came to experience the domes then?" She nodded. "Did you have a particular dome in mind?" She shook her head. He sat back and considered her, his eyes running over her petite frame, her wild auburn curls concealing her face, her thin arms crossed over her bosom, her lily white thighs exposed by the short blue babydoll style mini-dress. He stroked his chin. "I have something I think you might like." He stood and marched away, and when she didn't follow, he turned and said, "Come." Terri noted at once how her body responded to his command, dangerously quick, dangerously obedient, dangerously pleasurable. It was subtle, that nervous tension, erotic, building, to what end she could only guess. She peered over her shoulder at the waitress, wanting to ask, 'What about the drinks?' But before she could, he turned on her with a stern expression. "At all times, behind me. Is that clear?" Eyes wide, nodding unconsciously, she slipped behind him, feeling her presumed equality slip with each footfall. She'd fought so hard to find her place on the playing field, coming in male where her territory was defined and historic, adapting to female where she'd learned to take more a subtle posture--appearing vulnerable as a position of power--and now, submissive, where all her rights and power were slowly becoming null and void. As they settled into the mobile for the short ride, he lectured her on their destination. His tone slowly transformed to one of assumed authority and condescension. Its effect was notable: she began to feel smaller, less intelligent, like a child receiving an education, but strangely, more and more important. His attention was absolute. No matter what they did or where they went, his focus was on her. Even as she felt like her opinion mattered less, she also felt she was the center of his world. It was like the Sun shining on her, making her glow, warming her skin with its kiss, but the Sun was all knowing, untouchable and she was nothing in comparison. Weathered and beaten stone stairs lined the path up to the castle. They climbed until they came to a gatehouse. The air had turned frigid and there was a slight drizzle. Terri shivered in her mini dress and stumbled after him. Heels were not meant for cobblestones. "In the ancient world, enemies of the state were put to deat