“Well, you seem a somewhat likely group,” the man observed, still looking us over. “There are choices and decisions to be made by you, but those can wait until we get you a bit more comfortable. Just follow me.”
He turned and began crossing the cavern toward its far side, and there was nothing to do but follow along as he’d all but ordered. His attitude was superior and abrasive, instilling the sort of mood in us that the Management seemed to want. We still weren’t talking to each other, but now the silence was growing hostile.
We crossed the cavern and entered a side passage, and were still surrounded by rock that was lit with red. The mist only just covered the floor now, and a short way down the passage there began a series of heavy metal doors set into the rock and closed tight. The bearded man indicated a door then indicated one of us, his superior smirk adding to the annoyance he had already caused. Val was trying very hard not to look at him in that special way he had, and was succeeding only up to a point. It was a positive relief when we were shown our doors, and were able to leave the passage and the man.
Val’s door was just beyond mine, but once I’d pushed open the thing and stepped inside, I could see there was no communicating between rooms. The room was carved out of the same rock the passage was formed by, and the only thing interrupting the solid expanse was another door in the opposite wall, a mate to the one I’d just used. I stepped farther into the room to see what might be behind the door, and found a pair of slaves waiting for me, one male and one female. The male quietly closed the door behind me, and the female gestured to the massage table she stood near.
“If you will allow us, mistress, we’ll help you get comfortable and relaxed,” she said with a forced smile, taking one small step forward. “You may also have your choice between us for your pleasure.”
I glanced at the bearded male slave who stood with folded arms at the door, a smirk on his face as he looked me over, and tried not to show my annoyance. If I’d been in the mood to be appealed to, neither one of them would have made it.
“I think I’ll stay with the comfort and relaxation,” I told the girl, pulling the clammy skirt of my dress away from my legs. “Do you have anything dryer than this to put on?”
It turned out the girl had a towel, which the male slave held while the girl helped me out of the dress.
Once I was bare the male put the towel around me from behind, then held it in place while he put his lips to my ear.
“I heard the masters talking, mistress,” he murmured, positioning his hands strategically on the towel.
“I’ve never served anyone with your sensuality rating before, but I would really like to. Lie down on the table, and I’ll give you a massage better than anything she can give.”
The “she” he was referring to was the female slave, who was busily occupied with putting aside my dress, and briefly I remembered Greg Rich’s comment about the possibility of slaves taking advantage of my age. The slave behind me was telling rather than asking, but I had something of my own to tell.
“Uncle Val said I wasn’t to let anyone make me do anything that wasn’t my own idea,” I murmured back, making no effort to pull away from him. “If they try, I’m supposed to tell him about it so he can complain.”
The hands on me immediately pulled away, and I turned my head to see a suddenly very jovial male slave.
“I can tell the mistress is not in the mood for me right now,” he said, laughing nervously as he backed away toward the door. “If you should change your mind, mistress, just have the slave send for me.”
He completed his hasty withdrawal then, closing the door fast behind him, and I was able to take myself to the massage table without being bothered anymore. I was annoyed as hell about the slave’s comment on my supposed sensuality rating, that stupidity that had come up during the appraisal. Some women may react a little more quickly and thoroughly than others, but just how quickly and thoroughly usually depends on their partner. To say one woman is purely sensual and the next inert, is to say that the men involved are laying the foundations for a great-sounding excuse. I was surprised that the slave had mentioned it at all, and just thinking about it made the relaxing I was trying to do harder.
The massage started, continued, and went on to its conclusion, and that’s about the best that can be said for it. The girl was almost good, but not quite up to taking all the knots out of my muscles. When it was over she produced cool, wet cloths. to wash my entire body with, then went to one of the blank stone walls, a blankness that was temporarily broken when she pressed on one part of the wall and opened a four-foot section of what looked like closet or storage area. That was the place the wet cloths had probably come from, and when the slave stepped back out she was holding something long and silvery.
“We have to get you dressed now, mistress,” she said, coming toward me with a smile. “They’ll be expecting you soon, and won’t begin until everyone is there.”
“Expecting me for what?” I asked, sitting up on the table to get a better look at what the woman was carrying. “What won’t they begin?”
“I’m not permitted to discuss that, mistress,” she answered, her smile turning just slightly forced. “The masters insist on explaining matters in their own way, and it won’t be much longer. Which pair of shoes would you prefer?”
The long silvery object she was carrying was a gown, and she put it down to show the wide shoebag she was holding under it. The shoebag opened easily to let her pull out two silver shoes, one a pump, the other a sling-back, both with heels high enough to make them dressy. When I indicated the sling-back she put the pump away and produced the second sling-back, then put all the shoes down and picked up the gown again. I still didn’t need help getting dressed but I got it again, and once I was in the shoes she brushed my hair then opened the wall again to show me a full-length mirror. The long silver gown was slit on the sides, was long-sleeved with practically all cleavage, and was tight enough to reflect black instead of silver at certain stress points. When the slave gave me long silver earrings to go with the rest I put them on, then looked at myself again with a critical eye. I turned back and forth a couple of times, stood sideways, then came to the inevitable conclusion that no matter how long I stood there, Val would still take one look at me and push the lecherous uncle bit for all it was worth. His reaction to the last slinky outfit I’d worn was something I didn’t care to remember, not when we were getting so close to what we’d come for. I could only hope the Management kept us too busy for a while for him to take advantage of the situation, at least until I did what I had to. After that I could do my own bit to make him keep his hands to himself.
The slave was beginning to get antsy over how long I was taking to admire myself, so I let her urge me away from the mirror and out the door opposite the one I’d come in by. Outside was another carved stone corridor about five feet wide, and about ten feet to the right a second, perpendicular corridor opened up to take us away from the area of rooms. The slave led me up the twisting corridor through the roiling red mist, her ankles and mine lost to the thick, red stuff, neither one of us commenting on it. The lighting was a lighter red but still a red, and the heat was just this side of uncomfortable. They were going to a lot of trouble presenting the classic picture of hell, and much as I would have liked laughing at the effort as childish, the increasing nervousness of my slave-guide took most of the humor out of the situation.
After a couple of minutes of walking, we came around one bend in the corridor and saw a wide arch carved in the rock ahead of us, spanning the corridor and clearly acting as the entrance to a room beyond. The slave came to an abrupt stop, quickly looked away from the arch, then glanced at me with fear.
“The masters are waiting in there, mistress,” she said as fast as she could, already edging back the way we’d come. “Refreshments will be served by others like myself, who have been assigned that duty. I have to get back to my own post now. I hope you have a pleasant stay.”
She sketched a quick curtsey then hurried away, not once trying to meet my eyes again. If I’d been given the chance I might have told her I wanted her to go the rest of the way with me, so she’d made sure I wasn’t given the chance. Sphere slaves seemed to live in perpetual terror in that place, and the attitude was beginning to get to me. I don’t like people who get a kick out of terrorizing the helpless, and I’ve been known to show that dislike in very direct ways. I looked again at the entrance arch, then moved ahead again in a deliberate way. If they were all so tough in there; they’d be looking forward to terrorizing me along with the rest, and it would be a shame to disappoint them.
I walked up to the arch and through it, ready for whatever they had- waiting, but the only thing waiting was about. a dozen and a half people, spread out in the large room and desultorily pretending to socialize. The men were wearing all black the way the man who had greeted us had done, and the considerably fewer women were dressed the way I was, in silver, clinging gowns. Quite a few eyes came to me when I appeared, male and female alike, and then a naked male slave materialized at my elbow, carrying a silver tray of drinks.
“Will you have refreshment, mistress?” he asked in a husky voice, extending the tray as his eyes looked into mine. “I’ll be glad to provide any refreshment you’d care to name.”
He grinned at me insolently, just about the only slave I’d seen there who wasn’t panic-stricken. Over his shoulder a familiar face caught my attention, and when I looked at it directly I was pleased to recognize, engaged in a low-voiced disagreement with John Little-Richard Radman. .
“Mistress, forgive me,” the male slave whispered, his insolence gone, his hands causing the tray he held to vibrate faintly. “I didn’t mean to insult you. Please don’t report me to the masters!”
“You didn’t insult me,” I told him sourly, reaching over to take one of the glasses from the tray he held.
“And this is all the refreshment I’m interested in right now.”
“Yes, mistress,” he acknowledged with a relief that was sickening, bowing and backing away. “Thank you, mistress.”
As soon as he could he turned and went elsewhere, leaving me to stand alone just inside the entrance to the room. I sipped at my drink, wondering why Val wasn’t there yet, deliberately keeping my eyes away from Radman. I was somewhat curious about the reason for the slaver’s being there, but I wasn’t about to look my gift horse in the mouth. If Little had gotten him there for one of the reasons I’d planned, I would thank the Lord of Luck once I was off that planet. It looked like my plans were finally starting to go the way they were supposed to.
“Well, Jennifer, you look absolutely lovely,” a voice said from my right, and I turned my head to see that John Little had left Radman to come over to me. “That gown becomes you more than anything else I’ve seen you wear.”
“Thank you, Mr. Little.” I pretended I didn’t see the gleam in his eyes. “Do you know where uncle Val is?”
“He’s likely still-dressing,” Little answered with his usual greasy amusement, making sure to hesitate before the last word. “If a massage is to do what it’s designed to do, it can’t be rushed. Suppose I introduce you around a bit until he shows up, eh? That way he’ll be here before you know it.”
He took my arm without giving me a chance to refuse, and rather than balk I went along with him. The feeling that he was up to something was stronger than ever, and I wanted to know what it was. I let him direct us both to a group of three women, examining them as we approached without being obvious about it. All three of them were brown-eyed brunettes and the two younger women were pretty in a plain way, but they were too strongly built to be considered attractive, especially with the way they were holding themselves. The older woman stood square and belligerent, wearing her gown like a sack, uncomfortable and unhappy and wanting everyone to know it. She was feeling put upon, and the two younger women reflected the emotion, their own gowns fitting better but not much. Their eyes came to me as we approached them, disapproval growing as they looked me up and down, their self-consciousness increasing when they compared the way I looked to the way they looked. John Little was wearing even more of a smirk than he usually did, and it suddenly came to me that he’d brought me over to the women for the sole purpose of making them feel lousy. If I could have walked away at that point I would have done it, but unfortunately I was already committed.
I was introduced to Margaret and her daughters, Estelle and Angela, all of us acknowledging the introductions stiffly, and in the process learned that everyone there used first names only, surnames never being mentioned. Little was sleek and urbane with the three women, laughing at them with his eyes alone, and after a couple of minutes excused us from their company. I was ready to put my foot down against being used like that again, but the next one he led me toward was Radman. The slaver looked even more square and blocky than ever, dark haired and dark eyed and a little bulgy around the middle, standing alone in his blacks with his feet in the mist. His eyes attached themselves to me even before -we reached him, and John Little was just about preening himself.
“Jennifer, I’d like you to meet Richard,” Little said in a tone that suggested “Richard” was no more than a casual acquaintance only recently met. “Jennifer is here with her uncle Val, Richard, and he’s done quite a lot to brighten her pretty eyes. It’s hard to describe how surly and bored she was before he took her in hand and taught her how to behave. She’s learned that if she wants him to make her feel good, she’s got to be a good little girl. Isn’t that right, Jennifer?”
I gave Little the blush of embarrassment he was expecting, glared at Radman for his low rumble of laughter and tried to turn away from them both, but Little wasn’t having any. His hand tightened on my arm, the grip unbreakable unless I wanted to use something fancy, his chuckle joining Radman’s laughter.
“That’s one of the most important lessons for a little girl to learn, John,” Radman rumbled in true amusement. “If you don’t behave yourself, you don’t get what you need. Why don’t you introduce her to James next?”