Copyright© 2008 by colt45
Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Toliver Nelson, ex-solider and exile thinks he's lucked into a scheme that will bring him a goodly amount of cash, enough cash to live well on for a long time. What does he have to do? Nothing much; rescue the daughters of three of the wealthiest families on Earth from slavery, return them to where they belong and claim the reward from their grateful parents. A simple plan right? You know what they say; if you want to hear God laugh tell him your plans...
There are a number of things I don't like about Mars: no open spaces, not many trees, no large bodies of water, but there is another aspect of Mars that I really don't like. The sign on the door read "Department of Human Services" (also known as DHS); what it should have said was "Slave Market". It's really kind of ironic, that little bit of obfuscation; generally speaking Marsmen (they really don't like to be called Martians) have no problem calling a slave a slave; in fact, it's written that way in a number of their laws. But for some reason the government department used as the official clearinghouse for the buying and selling of human flesh had to be called Human Services. No one ever said Marsmen were consistent, or even particularly sane for that matter.
So what am I doing about to fork over a ton of my hard-earned, mostly legit, cash on three women I don't know and who everybody will assume will be used as my sex toys? Good question. Hang around for a bit longer and we'll get to that.
Anyway, I pushed open the door, entered and was greeted by that annoying little beep announcing my arrival. God, I hate those things; but then so has every customer who ever entered a shop. Probably had little bells on the doors back in Babylon and I'm sure it was just as annoying then as it is now. Anyway, there wasn't much to see: just a bare room with the Mars Republic's Department of Human Services seal painted on one wall with its two hands reaching out to the viewer. I'm surprised some dickhead didn't have cuffs on them. Maybe that would have been a little too honest.
I guess the stupid bell did its job because before I could even get to the counter the fattest, oiliest greaseball you could imagine oozed out from the back and slithered up to the counter. What is it about slavers that they all look like they crawled out from under the same rock? Them and aircar salesmen ... tax collectors, for that matter? I suppose it takes a certain kind to deal in human misery. I haven't met a one of them yet I wouldn't put in the "better off dead" category.
"May I be of service to you, Citizen?" he said stretching out his greasy paw obviously looking for a handshake. Well he wasn't going to get one from me. I looked at the offending appendage, sniffed and turned up my nose like some snooty Domer. Hey, I can act like one of them upper-crust skanks if I have to; I even wore my best suit for this and it isn't a cheap one, let me tell you.
"I'm looking for, ah, domestic assistance," I said in the crisp, brittle tones of one the Old Dome scions. I was thirty-two standard years old, hopefully any of you Terrapors [That's what Marsmen call an Earthman and it's not a derogatory term, not really, anyway. One of the scientists on the first Mars mission coined the phrase by combining Terran and Porcus: ground hog, get it? I don't think it's that funny either but the term stuck. Being a transplant, I'm still considered a Terrapor also.] out there already know we follow the same calendar here that they do on Earth. Yeah, our sidereal day is actually about twenty-four hours and thirty-eight minutes so it plays hell knowing whether its day or night outside, but since most of us spend 99 percent of our time inside and underground, it really doesn't matter and it makes dealing with the home world much easier.
How did I get off on this tangent anyway?
Where was I? Oh yeah, I was thirty-two but looked much younger: the proverbial baby-face and not terribly imposing in any respect at one hundred and seventy seven centimeters and seventy-three kilos. So I looked like an old teen or young twenty-something, just about the perfect age for some do-nothing counselor's son out buying his first toys without daddy. It's handy since it explains why I wouldn't use daddy's name, (I'm a big boy now!) but infers that the old man is still there standing behind me. Hey, it's not my problem if they come to the wrong conclusion.
Anyway it seemed to work again since greaseball pulls his hand back without taking visible offense. Actually I'm not really sure it's possible to offend this kind of slime; maybe if you claimed they were nice to some widows and orphans but that would be about it. They treat those below them like shit and expect the same from those above them, so unless they know differently if you treat them like crap they assume you're one of their "betters".
"What sort of, ah ... assistance might you be looking for?" he asks as if he hadn't just been slighted.
"I have very definite and discriminating requirements," I sniff.
"Of course, sir." Its amazing how that 'sir' pops up once they determine you're the top dog. "I am sure we have what you require. All our ... merchandise, is top quality and absolutely guaranteed."
"Good, good. I was told you might be able to help me. My fa― I heard your office has the best quality." Might as well throw the dog a bone; it did seem to puff up his fat little chest. "Here is what I require: three girls, young, older than seventeen but no older than twenty-one. One blonde: I want her to be of average height, about the same as me I suppose. I'd also like a brunette, a tall brunette: yes as tall as you can get. The third should be a red-head, short: I like short red-heads. Do you have anything like that?" I knew he did, at least as of half an hour earlier. In my business information is critical and I don't mind paying for the best and latest. He had them and I also knew they were here on-site for the next day or two.
"Hmm, very specific, but not impossible," he burbled as he typed the info into his console. "Do you have any preferences as to, shall we say, body types."
"Well, I'm not that concerned with that," I said slowly as if thinking about it. "They all pretty much come with the same accessories, as they say. Not too heavy and not too skinny but other than that I'd like to see what you have and see if there is anything I like."
"Very good, sir. I think we have a number that would meet your requirements. Would you follow me to our viewing room?" He led me back behind the counter to a nicely appointed room with a couple of comfortable chairs facing a blank wall. "Would you please wait here while I bring in the first group of candidates?" After I waved my hand in confirmation, he left and I sat down in one of the chairs to wait. It took about ten minutes but finally the door opened and two guards carrying stun rods entered herding three blondes and lined them up against the wall followed by greaseball.
"I believe any one of these would meet your requirements, sir."
He was correct, all three of them were quite attractive and if I had been in the market for myself ― my own pleasure that is ― anyone of them would have been more than tempting. But I wasn't looking for a bed partner willing or otherwise; I was looking for a payday and the one that was going to give me that payoff was the one in the middle. My daddy always told me you never let the seller know just how much you want anything he's selling so I made a big production over inspecting each of the offerings, muttering, hemming and hawing over each one. Two were obviously scared, not that I could blame them. After all I was potentially someone who would be in complete control of their lives. I could make living a hell or maybe a not quite hell; I doubt they even considered their lives would be anywhere close to being pleasant. Fuck, what a society we had!
The third wasn't scared; she was pissed, really pissed! This was the first time I had ever seen Teresa Mari Athena Dubois in the flesh and I'll have to admit I was impressed. She was just about my height, maybe a centimeter or two shorter and massing maybe sixty kilos give or take a couple. She wasn't fat by any stretch of the imagination but curvy and well padded; especially given she had huge tits that were well beyond what was fashionable for the day. Her hips were a bit wide also, not really a big ass, just wide hips ― "birthing hips" is what my grandma would have said. Kind of surprising in this day where a sufficient amount of cash could buy you any kind of body you wanted and she definitely had the cash, or at least mommy did. The reports all said she was some kind of genius, at the very least a hell of a lot smarter than I am but then again maybe that isn't a very high benchmark to measure by. Genius or not, it was obvious she didn't spend a lot of time worrying about what her peers thought about her; my admiration moved up a notch. Her curves came with a pretty, heart-shaped face with full lips and piercing blue eyes.
It was the eyes that really grabbed me. I don't think in all my years in the army and the war I have ever seen eyes hold that much hate. If the old saying "if looks could kill" were anywhere near accurate I'd have been a walking corpse right then and there. I could tell she hadn't made her time in captivity an easy one. There were the telltale signs of stunstick strikes visible on her neck and the exposed portions of her arms; lord only know what you'd find under that plain gray tunic.
"This one looks interesting," I muttered noncommittally.
"Ah yes, the gentleman has exquisite taste," greaseball crooned. "This one is a fine specimen; although in all fairness I must admit she is as little, ah, high-spirited. Takes a firm hand, this one."
"Well, I certainly have never flinched from a challenge," I answered grudgingly. "Tell you what ... Why don't we keep her here and see what you can do about my other requirements?"
"Very good, sir." For some reason I got the impression he would be more than happy to have this one off of his hands. I had to control myself from chuckling out loud and gave her another point or two. The two guards grasped her arms and moved her over to a place behind the chairs and pointedly motioned for her to stay put. They, along with the greaseball, escorted the other two girls out of the room.
I moved over to her, but not too near, and whispered, "What's your name?"
"Fuck off, asshole!" At least she whispered it back, not much chance we weren't being monitored and she knew it.
"Stand easy, Miss Dubois. You're supposed to be pretty smart; start acting like it," I hissed back. That one shut her up; actually I thought her jaw was going to hit the floor. You could almost see the gears turning in her head and smoke coming out her ears.
"Who the hell are you?" But before she could say anything further the door opened and again a line of girls were trooped in for inspection. This time there were six of them and obviously greaseball's idea of tall was fairly flexible since four of the girls were considerable shorter than I am. But the other two ... Holy shit! I was in love! The other two were tall, over one hundred and eighty cm., at least. Both were slim, leggy and stunningly beautiful. One with short curly hair and the other with long, really long wavy brown tresses. To tell the truth I had to clear my throat and grab myself by the short and curlies trying to remember exactly why I was there. These were the two I concentrated on trying not to trip over my tongue as I approached them. One thing that really helped was catching the nasty smirk on greaseball's face. I was really beginning to hate that son of a bitch; I started seeing his fat face framed in the crosshairs of a scope; a dangerous thought, but pleasant.
I'll admit right here I would have sold what little soul I have left to be with the short-haired goddess so I guess it was for the best the one I came for was the other; I'm not sure any amount of money would have persuaded me to give her up otherwise. So after giving miss short-hair the once over ― hopefully I didn't drool on her too much ― I made my way over to the long-haired beauty. Miss Eveta Marissa Delgado stared back at me from her pale gray eyes like an entomologist studying a specimen. I was a bug beneath her notice; I suppose she wasn't far wrong at that. In any other lifetime the likes of me wouldn't have been allowed to be within a klick of her. But that was then and this is now. Right now she was credit on the hoof and I was going to tap that stack of beautiful cash.
"I can't decide," I sighed. "Either one of these would do."
"Why not take both?" greaseball prompted.
"Hum, tempting," I sighed again. "But Fa— I mean my budget is not unlimited and I really did have my heart set on a redhead to complete the set. Well nothing for it; the one with the long hair: I'll take her." Quickly one of the guards led her over to stand next to Dubois. She must have made some sign of recognition because Dubois subtly shook her head and lowered her eyes. I tried to ignore them. In fact I stayed a few meters away until the next batch was led in.
There were four of them and redheads they were. Shit, shit and double shit! The one I was looking for wasn't there! Where the fuck was she? I know that she was here just an hour earlier and according to everything I'd been able to find out they never transferred one of the slaves without all kinds of administrative bullshit and a few days' lead time. She couldn't have been sold already, could she? I have to admit I was a bit shaken but still I pulled it together enough to go over and pretend to study each of the ones brought in.
"No," I sighed again. "These are very nice, but just not what I was looking for. Are these all the redheads you have?"
"I'm afraid so, sir," greaseball oozed. "But any one of these is excellent, I assure you."
"I'm sure they are," I agreed. "But ― and I can't really put a finger on it ― just not exactly what I want."
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that; maybe we can bring back the other tall brunette? I noticed you were quite taken with her also."
I paused thinking furiously, "Tempting, but no. I really am set on a redhead."
"Then I'm not sure we can help you..."
"Sir!" a voice interrupted us. I turned; it was Dubois. What the hell was she up to? "I know someone you may be interested in."
"Be quiet, you!" greaseball ordered. "You will speak only when spoken too!"
"Wait," I said holding up my hand. "I'm interested in hearing what she has to say." I walked over to Dubois and looked down at her. The hate was gone from her eyes replaced with curiosity and something else: hope, maybe?
"Why would you help me?" I demanded.
"If I'm to be own— go with you, it would be better off for me if you were happy. It sounds like getting a redhead would make you happy so if I can find you a redhead it would be better for me."
"True," I agreed. "Making me happy is in your best interest. Where is this mythical girl? The director here doesn't seem to know of her."
"I saw her just today," she answered stubbornly. "But she isn't in the best of shape. Maybe they don't consider her to be saleable product yet." I winced at the sarcasm but controlled myself and looked over at greaseball questioningly.
"Well, there is one other," he said clearing his throat. "But she is a bit, ah, unstable. Not really suitable for a young man, ah, starting his household."
"Maybe I should be the judge of that," I responded. "She's not physically damaged is she?
"Oh, no!" he said quickly. "No physical damage; it's just that she's not, really all here." He tapped the side of his head.
"I'd like to see her."
"Okay," he said with a shrug. With a wave of his hand the other girls were marched out and moments later another was brought in.
"Not in the best of shape" was an understatement. She shuffled in slowly, head hung down so far I couldn't even tell if her eyes were open. She was definitely the one I was looking for: Keelin Orla Tiernay, but this girl only superficially resembled the bright, smiling young woman I'd seen in the vids. As much as Dubois hadn't been broken, and probably never would be, if you want my opinion, this one had. When the guards stopped she did also but never looked up.
"Lift your head, girl!" greaseball growled. "Let the man see you." She did as ordered. Where Delgado had looked at me with utter detachment, this ones eyes held nothing but terror. She looked more like a whipped and beaten puppy than a human being.
"Hmm, very pretty," I said as I walked over to her. I lifted my hand to touch her cheek and she flinched away stifling a low moan of alarm. I dropped my hand before actually touching her.
"She's just what I was looking for," I announced. "Doesn't seem to have much intelligence, but then that's not really one of my requirements, I suppose. I'll take her. I'm sure I can find some use for her."
"Very good, sir," greaseball purred and the haggling over price started even before she was led over to stand next to the other two. I noticed Dubois put her arm around Tiernay's waist and pulled her in close as silent sobs sent tremors through her small frame.
I won't bore you with the next half-hour of wrangling over price. I consider myself to be fairly sharp when it come to negotiating and could probably have talked him down a few thousand but that wouldn't have been in character. Some rich punk spending daddy's money for his first harem of house nookie isn't going to quibble over centimes. I didn't get taken too badly I thought, pretty close to what I expected to spend which wasn't too bad considering I'd never bought or sold a slave before in my life and the gods willing never would again. I've had dealings with the scum of the earth ― and Mars ― for most of my life: drug dealers, pimps, reporters, politicians and ― heaven forbid ― lawyers; but I'll have lived a happy life if I never saw a living slaver again. Dead ones I can handle; in fact I'd be more than happy to assist in the process.
Anyway the haggling was done, the credit transferred, papers notarized and the chips imbedded in the backs of their necks reprogrammed. It was time to finally get the fuck out of there.
Edited by Morgan