Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Coercion, Mind Control, Drunk/Drugged, Lesbian, Science Fiction, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Spanking, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Fisting, Sex Toys, Squirting, Size,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This was going to be a stroke story. I suppose it got away from me some. No sex in Chapter One. Although I intend to remedy that soonest!
It was just a poor market. No surprise, really, there had been no particularly good market in a long while. Still, it was a surprise to find myself three morning hours gone, and nothing gained - unless one counted the breaking-in of a nice pair of brogues. I didn't, really, and my temper was growing ragged. It is never easy for a Born, especially a TrueBorn, to handle the crowds of Market Square without an entourage to preserve personal space. Coupled with the frustration of knowing, deep in my groin, that I truly needed to find something, something good, or risk boredom setting in...
I was growing unhappy, and I was approaching the point where my frustration might erupt in random, unjustified action. Really, that is the only reason I left the narrow aisles of Market Square to wander the wide field where a sprinkling of tents marked the temporary establishments of small Outer merchants and the few odd Hunters handling their own catch. Not a group who, as a whole, I had ever been interested in. I prized the service of the major merchants, the guarantees on marred genetics, on disease, on sound conformation. And the sweetmeats and little cups of thick coffee, the sense of sophistication... There was precious little of any such in the mix of ragged lean-tos and small, neat tents I wandered through. No merchandise to catch my eye, either, the selection too thin to even tempt me to take a longer look.
Then I came to a medium-sized red tent, little more than two meters tall but five times as broad, on the far edge of the field. There was nothing remarkable about it, except for the fact that it posted no signs, and had no hawker to lure passersby. There was a plainly if neatly dressed man reclining by the tent flap, apparently dozing, and that was all. Nothing remarkable, all in all, until I came close and realized the red tent was PlasTex. All of it, not just a few panels stitched here and there, but the whole thing, yards of it. There was no mistaking the shiny seamlessness of the Old fabric, if you knew what to look for. I own a few garments of the stuff, and think myself lucky. I knew people who owned larger items. I had never seen anything like that tent. PlasTex is a technology we have long lost. We don't know how to extrude the long carbon fibers, much less how to coax them into the various shapes it's found in. Even working the material is now a challenge, since it is virtually impossible to cut, and stitching it prohibitively difficult. An artifact of this complexity, and red, not the much more common dark gray... I reexamined the sleeping man. There was nothing remarkable about him. Neat clothes in neutral gray, black, white, simple but tasteful, good useful thick-soled shoes, clean but not ostentatiously polished. A medium complexion, short brown hair and a small beard just a little redder. Even after this close examination I'd have trouble describing him in any terms that might allow a stranger to pick him out, should he change his garments...
"And how may I assist, you, friend?"
The voice was no more distinctive, a pleasant mid-range baritone. Yet I felt there was a bit of... something, maybe in the tone, in the way the flat vowels failed to dip in deference... I'm used to intimidating, sometimes frightening, casual acquaintances. I clearly had no such effect on him. His eyes, now fixed on me, under cocked eyebrows, were no more informative than the rest of him, either, a flat brown that I could only describe as, well, brown. I took a slow breath and gathered myself, analyzing and mastering my unaccustomed discomfiture. I smiled and asked him whether he was the owner of the establishment, and whether I might have known of his business? In what Enclave was he Incorporated? Might I know his name? That, at least, seemed to give him a moment's pause.
"Not Incorporated. Not a Merchant. Just a Hunter. Name of Claude."
And with that he seized the initiative for good. That a merchant should own such a tent was unlikely. For a Hunter, though, even his neat nondescript clothes seemed extravagant. Hunters were most often OutBorn, eking a meager living from their knowledge of the Outside by foraging for a living. Those working for a prosperous Merchant House might do as well as an Enclave domestic, but an independent Hunter would normally be hard pressed to feed and clothe himself. This man's tent could fetch two houses such as mine. And there weren't two houses such as mine to be had in our Enclave. I was visibly perplexed, and he seemed mildly, if courteously, amused by my discomfort. He smiled a small, pleasant smile.
"Maybe you would care to step inside? It's been a spare day for sales, and you seem like a knowledgeable gentleman. I think we might be able to do business."
This bit of transparent patter allowed me to regain my footing. I smiled back, more than half suspecting that had been exactly his intent, and nodded a generous nod, acknowledging the point. He stood up, raised the flap, and waved me inside.
The inside of the tent was much like the man, plain, but in a fashion so at odds with my expectations that it couldn't help but be jarring. A few cushions were strewn about, the only furniture to be expected in a traveling trader's, comfortable and portable. Thick pile carpeting covered the PlasTex of the tent floor, the only decorative touch, a beautiful and beautifully preserved Persian. None of the ostentatious display of the larger Houses, none of the threadbare gaudiness of the independent merchants, yet not much like the lean-tos of every Hunter I'd ever met either. Still, that was not something I dwelt on for long.
He had room for many more items than he stocked, maybe a score, but he had only a half-dozen. Still, to the trained eye, and I flatter myself to think mine is as sharp as any, what I had before me was the worth of a small House, and that at a conservative estimate. I sank slowly to the cushions. I started working out haggles in my head. I had a moment to think that boredom was unlikely to afflict me for the foreseeable future. Then I turned toward his pleased smile, and realized that my responses would put me at a great disadvantage unless I gathered myself, and quickly.
"You have very fine merchandise, Sir!" Disguising my admiration further, I thought, would have been useless. "May I ask how you stock such in these lean times?"
For the first time he seemed uncomfortable. Still, his smile tightened just a little.
"I'm afraid that, Sir, would be something I'd rather not reveal. Surely you'll forgive my rudeness, but these are, as you say, lean times..."
"Of course, of course!" I returned a broad smile, pleased to at least have unsettled him a moment. "Pardon my thoughtlessness!" I paused a moment. "To business, then. Do you carry a catalogue of your wares?"
"No, but we can go over any questions you might have. I've had just a price list printed." He reached into his coat for a large card of heavy stock and handed it to me. I noted first that all six items were on the card. None had sold, then, since the card's printing. And since I didn't know the paper stock, he hadn't had it done at our Enclave. My eyes drifted right, and I understood why. And how the tent, and the neat clothes. I had never seen prices like these. No one, to my knowledge, ever had.
"I... Claude, I mean... These are..." I took a long breath, then let it out. "These prices seem a little high."
"Yes, I expect they do." He was back in the catbird seat, and clearly knew it. "I believe you may come to think otherwise, in time."
"How... I've never paid this for anything. No one has. No one would. These are insane! How do you expect to ever sell anything?"
He looked at me a minute, smiling. He shrugged, clearly amused.
"I always sell my catch. I will sell these as well." His grin broadened. "I think you yourself might buy something today." Then he turned on his heel and walked towards the back of the tent. He paused in front of me, beside the leftmost of his displays. He lay a proprietary hand on the merchandise and looked me over. Then he launched into his sales pitch.
I let my eyes wander a bit, ignoring his words for a moment. It was still hard to believe what he had on offer. Six women, almost grown, all in their late teens, all beautiful, all of different genotypes - and all of genotypes I had never encountered. All clearly healthy, all clearly well fed. And, incredibly - impossibly, really - none of them scarred, injured, blemished.
The wild OutBorn that are caught and brought to market are usually a ragged, frightened bunch. Life outside the Enclaves is never easy, but for Wildlings it is usually very close to impossible. The genetic defects that keep them from becoming Registered OutBorn make many of them a burden on their little bands. Even if they didn't, life was rough, subsistence hard enough to come by, let alone prosperity. Most of the InBorn didn't much care to dwell on the fact that Hunters had a good deal to do with keeping things hard on the Wildlings, keeping them from putting down roots, or gathering in large groups for fear of being caught. So most of the catch each Market were young, early teens or younger, and even then most often badly blemished.
What happened to their elders I didn't dwell on.
Yet Claude's catch were... The one on the left, on whose hip his hand rested while he spoke unheeded was closest to what I'd expect: she was healthy, and in her late teens, but she was lean and wiry to the point where each and every muscle was clearly delineated under the skin, and in her thinness was somewhat like a Wildling's. She had a close-cropped shag of carrot cropped hair, matched below, and her impossibly fair skin heightened the play of her sinews, making her seem as if made of milky glass, imperfectly opaque. She was tightly bound to a stand, hand elbow thigh and ankle, as were the others, so her start when her captor touched her was bootless, but it did make her body heave as if Claude had upset a bag of snakes; muscles tensed into visible fascia up and down her limbs and torso, tense tendons revealing the intimate engineering of each limb. Even her face's sharp-drawn lines and planes seemed to harden around her wide, bright-green eyes. She wasn't beautiful as much as handsome, although a smile might well bring unsuspected loveliness to her small-featured face. She was lean-hipped and almost breastless, two faintly padded spots on her chest capped by very, very pale nipples.
Next to her was a tall ochre-skinned woman of medium build, with almond-oval black eyes and long black hair, near-black nipples and tight-curled black pubes. Her lips were slightly parted, and I could see her very white teeth, and surprisingly pink tongue. She shifted uncomfortably as her neighbor was touched, and I could see a brief flash of the same pink between her legs. It made me almost giddy, like a schoolboy at his first glimpse of lingerie. I'd thought myself years past such feelings.
Next was a very small chestnut-haired, gray-eyed woman, all smoothly-flowing curves, with wide hips and large breasts, small coral nipples and the tiniest feet I'd ever seen. Her skin was as pale as the first, but her smooth body had to it something of the smooth even solidity of porcelain. She was bare below, not a trace remaining that she ever had had hair there. I glimpsed a trace of moisture running down her left thigh, and stared at it for a moment before lifting my eyes to her face. She was fearfully contemplating Claude, her expression unreadable, and I could make no sense of what I thought I'd seen. I shook my head in wonderment and let my eyes move on.
The fourth woman was even tinier that her, well under five feet, with astonishing blue eyes. Her nose had the most delightful upward tilt to it, and the teeth in her partly opened mouth had well defined canines that made me think at first of wolves, until I took in her wild blond mane and golden skin. Then lions came to mind, and she remained in my thoughts a tiny wild-maned cat. Her nipples were golden brown, her pubic mound covered in gold wire. When she shifted to look to her right, I saw a quick flash of bright pink where the top of her slit might be. That, I thought, would also bear investigating.
The fifth was so dark-skinned that in dim tent I could make out only her teeth and eyes. Close attention revealed little else: a close cap of black curls, medium high-set breasts that seemed to come to a point at nipples that were black points on a black background. I had never seen such a creature, and thought what fun it would be to explore at length such novelty. I did not linger on her: I felt I had no point of reference, as if she were totally alien. Her black skin unsettled me as if reality wavered around her. Yet I felt my loins quiver and throb, as I had with the others.
And then I felt them engorge as my eyes alit on the woman to my far right. She was furthest from the tent flap, almost in shadow. She was farthest from me, as well, so it took looking directly at her for me to really notice her. Yet, once I did, that seemed impossible, as if she must have commanded my attention from the first. She was the tallest of the bunch, taller than anyone in the tent, taller than anyone I knew, well over two meters, and heavily muscled. She shared characteristics with several of the others: like the smallest she was golden-fleshed, almost luminous, with tawny hair, though hers was a deal shorter. Like the first she had unusual muscle definition, but while the redhead's evoked coiled rope and taut cables this last woman's were like planes of sandstone grinding each on each, a deliberate, powerful shifting under her skin. Her eyes were the same gray as the one I thought of as the porcelain doll, though on her they seemed flint-hard. She was also shaven between her powerful legs, but here I had more than just just a glimpse of pink: I had a clear view of the largest clitoris I had ever seen, like a glistening fingertip trying to be born. I looked up and realized she was staring back at me levelly. I saw her test her bonds, her shoulders rolling heavily. I stared enthralled for a moment, then realized Claude had stopped speaking, and I wrenched my eyes back onto him.
He was grinning widely now, his eyes sparking mischief; no longer expressionless. He offered me his hand, and pulled me onto my feet, then nearer the women. We stopped in front of the redhead. He kept my hand, and I watched distractedly as he guided it towards her bare midriff. He laid it lightly on her, then let it go. It remained there, as if no longer mine, as I examined what my fingers told me: her flesh was firm, much firmer than mine, firmer than I'd ever felt, yielding only slightly to pressure; I could feel the ridges and striations of her corder abdominals through her skin; I thought I could feel her blood flowing. The sensations added up to an odd intimacy, as if all this unusual information might allow me to deduce the rest of her, her thoughts, her inner workings. She was warm; with that body, her metablism was probably much higher than mine. I let my hand drop and looked back into Claude's grinning eyes.
"Let us step back outside a moment. This is clearly hitting you hard." His eyes twinkled brighter as he opened the flap, and then we were back in the dusty sunlight. His smile faded a bit, and he spoke in businesslike tones. "I think you have some idea of why my prices are as they are." I nodded mutely, but made no answer. He smiled again. "I have some idea that you might pay more than what is printed on my sheet. Still, those are the prices, and I'll stand by them. Do you have any questions?"
I looked at him as if he were an idiot. I hadn't any questions. I was too overwhelmed, too perplexed to formulate any. I thought again of what he had beyond that tent flap, and no longer wondered at the prices. He was right that they no longer seemed high. Not low either. Just entirely beside the point. I shuffled from foot to foot. He turned away and fetched a pack from beside the tent, extracted from it two heavy pewter goblets and a flask. He poured thick amber liquid, slow-flowing, into the goblets, and handed me one. I watched him for guidance on how to drink this, and as he sipped from his goblet I did the same. At first the drink was viscous and very sweet, tongue-coating and heavy. Then it seemed to thin and heat up, until the sugar caught fire and flamed down my gullet. I gasped and wheezed a moment, and then, at the last, I felt the drink in my blood, and felt it reach with ticklesome fingers into my brain, and soothe and caress it until the tumult died down, and I felt very, very calm. I took another, larger, freer, swallow and felt it do its work, as if from a bemused distance.
"You could sell a flask of this for almost as much as you charge for them." I nodded into the tent.
"No." He shook his head. "And it is somewhat harder to come by." He smiled again.
"And how easy are they to find?" My mind felt clear and quiet, very still.
"Hard enough to stay costly." His chuckle was warm, with real amusement behind it. "At any rate, we should perhaps come to business. I trust you're up to it?"
"Yes, yes, by all means." Anxious might have been a better word for it. "Your prices: they seem high, even for the quality. I'd be hard pressed to pay the lowest of them, and I am fairly sure you will find few anywhere who might..." I quoted him a much lower figure, to start things off.
"No offense meant, Sir, but I find haggling... distasteful. It cheapens us both." He maintained a warm smile, though. A show of resolve was a common bargaining gambit. "Perhaps you would like to sample the goods? I believe that should dispel any doubts as to their value."
And I found myself once again on awkward ground. If this Merchant - this Hunter, I had to remind myself - really were proposing what I thought he might be... Well, one just did not... I mean, privacy and all... I looked around. The Market was winding down. Traffic elsewhere was thinning down. Around us only a few people stirred, and those were mostly involved with their own affairs: folding tents, a few desultory conversations, idle pacing... In any case, my curiosity was too strong. My misgivings hardly slowed me down. "That sounds..." I swallowed hard. "That is most kind of you. I'd be delighted to accept."
"Then let us get on. It gets late!" Smile still firmly in place, he swept the tent flap aside, bowing slightly. "After you!"
Without a word I walked past him, still a bit dazed. I felt him reenter the red tent behind me.