To the Last Man I Slept with and All the Jerks Just Like Him (22 page)

Stricter masters don’t work. More exotic scenes and sex don’t work. Dr. Xotcd even tries writing the code so that the men actually do “love” the subject. But those scenarios don’t result in the secretions that pay for his research.

He shuffles his notes nervously. He’s not looking forward to his meeting with the captain. Although she’s never warm by any means, her cold distance is infinitely preferable to her actual displeasure. It’s unfortunate that the project couldn’t continue optimally until she departed for the new assignment.

The captain enters the conference room, her antennae click, click, clicking.

“What happened to that last batch, Dr. Xotcd? I thought the enzyme issues had been resolved.”

“Yes, ma’am, they were, but new issues have arisen. The subject is no longer achieving maximum levels of pleasure with the submissive scenarios. Her emotional responses have modulated out of the range of the programs, and her dissatisfaction apparently taints the results.”

“This is very annoying.”

“Ma’am . . . if you would permit me, I have a suggestion.”

“What is it?”

“My research has indicated that the subject’s reactions to date are most likely the result of traumatic incidents during her developmental phase. We have the technology to go back and erase the trauma from the subject’s memory. If I could have a few months to identify and realign—“

“Look, Xotcd, we don’t have time for this.” The captain’s feelers rasp against each other once, twice. “The subject is dissatisfied by the submissive role, you say?”

“That is correct, ma’am.”

Several facets of the captain’s eyes gleam.

“Then I’d say it’s time for a switch.”

Stephanie tugs at the chain attached to the young man’s collar. He scurries on his knees across the carpet to the kitchen to bring her a drink. Stephanie puts her feet up and lets her riding crop rest on her knees. Now
this
is the life.

“Madam . . . the new slave is ready. She’s waiting for you in the dungeon.”

“Thank you, slave,” Stephanie says, standing and swatting at him affectionately with the stiffened leather braid. She laughs aloud as she walks down the stairs. Her experience has taught her well, and now she’s reaping the rewards. Her clients pay plenty to be spanked, degraded, and reamed with a strap-on. Life is going to be easy from now on.

She opens the dungeon door. A plump, young blonde kneels on the stone floor, all done up in black vinyl.

“Mistress Stephanie, please accept me as your slave. I’ve been a bad, bad girl!”

The lab technicians report that the levels of tasty acids and pheromones in the latest batch are through the roof. The company has recovered its Special Blend, with a higher market value than ever. Dr. Xotcd is relieved. And then . . .

Stephanie falls in love with the blonde slave and lets her run away.

Xotcd tries slaves of different types, desperate to keep the project on track. Smaller, darker males do well for a while, until the subject’s frustratingly inevitable sympathy for her subjects kicks in and the scenarios are derailed. Older, paler male slaves have the interesting effect of inciting anger. The subject unleashes hitherto unseen violence against them, kicking and shouting. But she doesn’t climax from this. She does, however, release perspiration that turns out to be quite effective as a stain remover. The formula is synthesized and sold for a tidy profit.

Although the company’s chemists persist, they remain unable to synthesize the subject’s sexual fluids. The exact make-up is indefinable, available only from the subject herself, under increasingly specialized circumstances. Dr. Xotcd is under pressure. Pressure to perform.

His brief attempt at turning the subject back into a slave is quickly aborted when it unleashes her most violent reaction. Researchers, designers, programmers, and xenobiologists gather for grave meetings. Profits can’t drop. The CEQ won’t have it.

New human subjects with similar chemical builds have been taken from Earth, but the methods don’t work on them at all. For some reason, these subjects resist the alternate reality mental programming. They reject it entirely, and the company is forced to restore them to stasis lest their mentalities collapse.

Worst of all, People for the Ethical Treatment of Humanoids has gotten wind of the company’s methods of profit. In a flurry of tersely worded secret memos, Dr. Xotcd and his subject, along with the failed Special Blend Project abductees, are sent away to another lab, hidden under one of the company’s caterpillar-milking facilities.

Emotionally taxed and uncertain of his future, Dr. Xotcd decides to lay low for a while. He sets a basic background program—food, water, shelter—for his subject. He leaves the subject to her own devices while he updates his resume and puts out feelers for new opportunities, just in case.

Burned out on her old way of life, Stephanie decides to live off her savings for a month or so while figuring out what to do next. She spends her time in her apartment poring over the want ads. Stares at the ceiling. Eats. She’s gaining weight again. She doesn’t really care. She has more important things to worry about.

“Wanted: coffee shop waitress,” an ad says one day when she’s almost out of money.

Customer service isn’t unlike many things she’s done before. It’s full of degradation, humiliation, and kissing ass. Stephanie becomes good at her new job.

The lack of contact from Xotcd’s bosses makes him nervous, at first. Then, he reads about the success of the company’s latest project. Rich clients pay handsomely for the most vicious, violent imported human males to compete in their sports arenas. His former teammates have been back from Earth for a while now and are preparing to go back and import more subjects from the planet’s military forces. The company’s other scientists have been able to successfully alter the subjects’ testosterone, increasing their lust for blood. Humanfighting has become the latest craze. The company’s resources and watchful eye are completely focused on it.

The waning human lubricant trade is temporarily forgotten. The pressure’s off Xotcd and the paychecks still come. He decides to dedicate himself fully to his current research. He imagines that he might publish or even win a prize, even while he accepts the more likely fact that no one will really care.

“Hey, baby. How about a little sugar with that cream?”

Stephanie ignores the customer’s request for affection. She hasn’t felt like dating lately.

“Oh, Brad—at first our biting banter and violent passion thrilled me, but lately I’ve been hungry for something else. Please, darling—just hold me!”

Stephanie turns off the TV. All the shows have become so boring and crass.

She goes to the used bookstore and trades in her romances for the books that were considered racy decades ago. She goes to the flea market and acquires a free kitten to keep her company in her apartment late at night.

Right before she goes to sleep, she doesn’t think about movie stars or her boss’ muscular arms. She thinks about mundane things, like dishes and bills. It’s boring. The boringness puts her safely to sleep, where she dreams of bills and dishes. It’s almost like she’s dreamed too much in the last few years, and now she has to fill her dreamtime with other things.

Again, this is like the tiny humanoid farm—something to care about. Xotcd goes into the program module and leaves surprises for his subject to find—attractive mates, opportunities to excel at her chosen livelihood, little bits of cake. Some treats she takes, and some she ignores as she industriously scurries through her life.