"We do what we must"

[MarieDavisRPs]

"We do what we must"

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A sharp, quick whistle meant to awake the detained man did just that. He blinked his sleepy eyes back to life. His reaction to seeing the incredible woman standing there beyond the detention center's invisible energy field wasn't too unlike the reactions most men got when they first saw her.

Emily Engles wasn't your typical woman to begin with, but out here in the deep depths of the space controlled by the Crighton Consortium, she was simply one of a kind. First, the ratio of men to women working out here in The Void was estimated to be perhaps 24 to 1, and that included the women working the space station brothels and planetary red light districts. The ratio of men to attractive women was probably 10 times that.

Emily Engles was most definitely attractive. She was 5'4" (not counting the four-inch heels commonly found beneath her feet) and sported a tight, curvy figure that measured 34C-22-36. Her skin was flawless, almost China Doll perfect. Her hair, which had been genetically altered to forever be a mix of blonde and her natural light brunette, was fine but healthy and -- while in public she normally wore it balled up on the back of her head -- fell in cascades when loosed to reach all the way to her generous, firm, peach shaped ass. Her eyes were a mesmerizing, deep blue that sparkled in all forms of light, and her smile was one of dental perfection.

Men found it hard not to stare at her with jaws dropping open. Hell, women often found it hard not to ogle her, too, even those who'd never contemplated being naked and up against another woman. She had an allure to her that was impossible to escape.

Emily Engles was more than just a pretty body, though. She had standing out here in The Void. She was the beloved granddaughter and most trusted Operative of the Crighton Consortium's CEO. That alone would have meant she could have her way in just about any situation. But that standing she enjoyed wasn't simply a result of nepotism.

She had an IQ of 142; she had graduated each level of Education years earlier than those of her own age group; she'd completed 4 Degrees by the time she was 17 and could have continued racking them up if she hadn't decided that pieces of paper documenting her education were just a waste of paper.

At the same time that she was gaining all this education, she was also gaining life experience. She was a master of hand-to-hand combat, something she'd used in both competition and real-world self-defense situations. (She'd killed two men and permanently damaged two others during an attack on her person a couple of years back, something her grandfather had kept quiet simply because it would have been a distraction to both of them.)

She was skilled at driving high speed terrestrial vehicles, wheeled and otherwise; she could fly both atmospheric aircraft and spaceborne vessels of varying types; she'd climbed tall mountains and dove deep seas and braved the most dangerous of situations on multiple planetary bodies.

And Emily had done all of this before her 24th birthday, which -- by the still-often-used Earth calendar -- was coming up in just 20 days or so.

Today, as she stood in the Detention Center of Station Hulur Bravo -- in orbit of the 2nd moon of the planet that bore the name -- she was about to begin her latest adventure. And it all began with the man on the other side of the invisible, deck-to-overhead barrier.

"I've been told that you are in a bit of a spot, Captain," she said as she began a slow, deliberate walk closer to the line on the floor that indicated the presence of the field separating them. "Your ship is in need of repairs, replenishing, and refueling, something for which you cannot pay. And that doesn't even begin to include the docking fees and fines for landing without permits and clearance."

Emily stopped just inches short of the barrier's indicator, ignoring the polite, quiet warning from the Detention Officer, who was standing behind and to the right of her. She looked to the uniformed man, smiled, and said, "I'd like a moment alone with your detainee, please."

The guard began, "Oh, I'm sorry, Miss, but..."

He went silent, though, at Emily's hard stare: he knew who she was and the power behind her. He practically bowed to her as he responded before departing, "Of course, Miss."

Once alone with the detainee, Emily smiled again, then finished, "I have a proposition for you. I will pay your fines and fees, get you released from detention, get your ship prepped for travel, and ... pay you $70,000 credits, half now, half later, if you will take me and my cargo to Rostoff IV..."

And then, lifting a fingertip to her lips for a moment before lowering it again, finished, "...and no questions asked."

Emily couldn't know exactly what was going through the man's mind after hearing the proposal, but she had a pretty good guess: he was likely thinking either "Holy fuck, are you kidding? That's a fortune!" or "This is too be good to be true, so, what's the catch or con?"

Emily knew enough about the man's cargo ship, the cost of repair, replenishment, refueling, and relief of fines and fees, to know that paying for that and paying him 70 grand in Consortium Credits was fairly close to the value of his ship. She could essentially buy his ship for the cash she'd just claimed to be willing to spend.

But it wasn't just the act of interstellar transport for which Emily was paying. Anyone could buy a FTLS cargo transport, assuming they had access to near unlimited funds, as did she. That for which she was really paying was a skilled pilot who knew the space through which they'd be transiting ... who would not ask questions about where they were going, why they were going there, and what they were carrying.

"So," she continued, glancing off to the control panel that would drop the field and let him get out, not just out of the cell but out of his predicament, "Do I call the guard back in, or...?"

***********************​

The story line:

• Your character owns a small, FTLS cargo ship.
• You have a problem: you're broke. Hell, you can't even pay your docking fees, let alone fuel up for a paying gig.
• My character comes to your rescue with a slightly under the radar job: the transport of normal, everyday supplies ... in which are hidden a couple of dozen slaves (who are mostly women for the sex trade but include men for labor and "death match" fighting as well).
• There will be sex, but not right away.
• If you are female: We can alter the genders of the slaves to suit your character's sexual preferences if need be.

A little about me so you know into what you are getting yourself:

• I post nearly every day, often more than once a day. I am looking for a writing partner who can keep up with me: if you can post 10+ replies a week, you are my hero.
• I proofread and correct my errors as best as I can. I won't write with anyone who doesn't do the same.
• I have been described as pushy and dominant in RL, and I tend to be that way in RP. Most of my main characters are dominant in one way or another, and if I do write a more submissive character, it's only because in the end she will get what she wants from life and from others.
• I prefer a lot of story and a little sex, and what sex there is will usually be over in 2-6 posts. If you are looking for a constant fuckfest, my stories are not for you.

 

[KingOfNowhere]

Harmon Davis flinched at the unexpected whistle, then slowly turned from his left side to his right as he blinked to clear his eyes. He was certain that what he was seeing couldn't be real. Even after he rose to sit upright on the hard surface that was supposed to be a bed, he still didn't believe that she was real.

"I've been told that you are in a bit of a spot, Captain," the goddess began as Harmon stood and ambled toward the line on the floor that indicated the invisible barrier beyond which he could not travel. She spoke of his financial difficulties, then told the guard, "I'd like a moment alone with your detainee, please."

The man initially objected, thinking of her safety. But her words and stern look sent the man out of the detention compartment. She continued, "I have a proposition for you..."

Her offer was incredible, meaning -- by the word's true definition, without credibility -- and Harmon couldn't help but smile and shake his head silently. He didn't know what this bullshit offer was about, until she got to the part about the destination, Rostoff IV, and finished, "...and no questions asked."

Harmon knew that the cargo would be slaves: men for the mines and women for the beds of the Freemen who supervised the male slaves. Most people wanted to believe that in this day and age, slavery was only a scary story used to keep naughty children and older delinquents in line. But Harmon had seen the institution of forced labor with his own eyes on a number of occasions when he was receiving or delivering cargo, particularly on the less regulated planets and moons.

"So ... Do I call the guard back in, or...?"

"A hundred thousand," Harmon said firmly. He already knew that the offer she'd made was far more than sufficient, but at the same time he knew that she wouldn't have made it if she didn't have some upward wiggle room on the price. That was, of course, the nature of negotiating, even when one of the parties involved was standing behind an energy barrier that, if touched, would knock him on his ass and possible require the offending finger or hand to be amputated. He continued boldly, "And I get to make the grocery list. I have a ... delicate palate."

Harmon let his eyes take a long, slow ogle up and down the woman's body before smirking devilishly and finishing, "I'm quite the chef, which you probably already know if you've seen my personal file. I'd be more than willing to cook a fine dinner for you, baby."

(OOC: Sorry, I don't have an online photo sharing account anymore. Do you want to pick an image for Harmon that gets you wet? )

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

"A hundred thousand," Harmon negotiated from beyond the energy field, adding "And I get to make the grocery list. I have a ... delicate palate."

Emily wasn't surprised by Harmon's counteroffer: although she'd offered him more than any other job would ever pay him, possibly in his entire lifetime, Emily did in fact have some wiggle room on the offer, just as Harmon had expected.

When he spoke about making a fine dinner for her, her lips spread in a wide smile. "I accept ... both the increase in credits ... and the offer of a fine meal."

As she was speaking the words, Emily shifted her weight from one tall heel to the other, drawing Harmon's eyes back to her delicious body. She reached to her left ear to remove one of three earrings piercing her lobe. It wasn't the most expensive of dangles currently decorating her but it wasn't costume jewelry either. Despite its value, she tossed it out before her at the invisible barrier: the full width and height of the screen flashed, the center's alarm began sounding, and the earring disappeared in a bright flash and a puff of smoke.

The guard -- with his sidearm pulled -- hurried back in from outside, checked that his charge was still detained, and silenced the alarm. He questioned Emily about what happened, but she only shrugged before looking back to and approaching Harmon until she was just an inch from the barrier.

"If you ever call me baby again," she said in almost a whisper, "I won't be looking to replace an earring ... I'll be looking to replace a pilot for your ship."

Emily gave Harmon an opportunity to respond if he wished, backed up, turned, and strode for the center's door. The told the guard, "Your detainee's bail and fines have already been paid. Please let him out."

No sooner had Emily left then two brawny men walked in: they had bodyguard written all over their hard expressions, muscular bodies, and almost identical suits, neither of which was designed to hide the weapons bulges under their armpits.

They were there to escort Harmon back to his ship without getting lost. It was, of course, unnecessary: Harmon needed this job more than Emily needed him to take it. But Emily wanted to impress upon the man how his life would unfold over the days to come.

 

[KingOfNowhere]

Responding to his counteroffer, Emily told Harmon, "I accept ... both the increase in credits ... and the offer of a fine meal."

He smiled wider, thinking that his flirting just might get him laid by the most incredibly sexy woman he'd seen in forever. Then, she removed an earring and tossed it into the invisible security shield, where it essentially vaporized in a flash and cracking pop. Harmon practically jumped out of his shoes, stepping back as she warned him about calling her baby.

He contemplated a verbal response to her but the words escaped him: Harmon hadn't dealt with a woman so confident and determined in quite a while.

"Your detainee's bail and fines have already been paid," Emily told the guard as she departed. "Please let him out."

"What the hell?" Harmon called out before laughing. His new employer had been confident enough that he would accept the job that she'd already put out the money to get him freed from lockup, really? He called as she disappeared out the door, "I look forward to working for you, boss!"

When the two big men entered to escort him back to his ship, Harmon wondered into just what he'd gotten himself. The field was dropped, his personal possessions were returned to him, and off he went, with one of the mountainous men before him and the other following.

They took him back to the ship, where he found work crews already deep into repairing the damage the vessel had suffered during his last job: he'd been smuggling goods through a debris field that was unpatrolled specifically because it was dangerous to travel through, and he'd taken three strikes that had destroyed his primary communications dish and punctured the hull, causing decompression of a third of the ship.

One of the men watching over him -- Harmon had taken to calling him Frick and, obviously, his partner Frack -- gave Harmon his orders: complete the shopping list of food, drink, and other supplies; work with the repair crews to ensure the ship was safe to travel; and convert one of the underheated, underpressurized cargo compartments to full life support.

That latter command only further convinced Harmon that he would be transporting slaves or, at the least, indentured servants or other slave wage workers. He asked Frick if beds and other basic furnishings were on their way, things Freemen would typically be afforded for the 5 week-long transit to Ranyan IV: the man only turned away without speaking a word.

***************************​

Awaking with a start to a hard, loud rapping sound, Harmon looked to the now open door of his stateroom to find Frick staring hard at him. The big man told him, "Get up, get dressed, get to the bridge. Miss Engles is aboard and wants to leave ... now!"

Harmon might had responded It's about time if Frick hadn't already headed away down the passageway. Instead, he just stretched his tired body and did as told. He arrived at the bridge to find his beautiful employer waiting.

"It's about time," Harmon finally got to say. "It's been eight days. I thought we'd never get away from this place."

The repairs had been completed three days ago, and Harmon had expected to depart then. And yet, every time he asked for an answer as to their departure time from Frick or Frack -- he had neither seen nor spoken to Emily since the Detention Center -- all he got was an answer comparable to Not now.

"When's the cargo gonna be loaded?" Harmon asked. In addition to the completion of the repairs, the vessel had already been fully replenished: the pantries and other storage spaces had never been so full of food, drink, medical supplies, and other cargo in all the time Harmon had owned the ship. But he hadn't seen hide nor hair of the expected human cargo. He wanted to refer to the slaves by that very specific word, but since neither Emily, Frick, or Frack had spoken that term, Harmon had decided not to use it either. "I think we're ready to go, ya know, once that's in the hold."

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Frick and Frack.

The two bodyguards' names were actually Robert and Victor, but Emily, too, had taken to using Harmon's nicknames for them recently. The pair had typically been very loyal, reliable, and professional. However, two days after Emily first met Harmon, the were involved in a bar brawl that left one man dead and another crippled, likely for life.

If Frick and Frack had been protecting their employer at the time of the fight, they wouldn't have been looking at a punishment any more serious than perhaps a warning to limit the severity of their beat down in the future. But Emily hadn't been anywhere near the scene of the brawl: she'd been at dinner with a male friend while the fight -- a disagreement over who was at the head of the line to enjoy a particularly skilled whore's services -- erupted and resulted in thousands of credits of damage to the establishment.

Still, Emily had found herself being questioned by the Authorities regarding her minions, and in shame she'd reluctantly reached out to her grandfather to fix the situation. It had cost him a big chunk of change to correct the witness statements in such a way that the two men didn't spend the rest of their lives performing hard labor in a mine on some asteroid or beating/getting beaten on the Cage Fighting circuit until there was simply nothing left of them.

Emily had given the pair a choice: leave her employ without a reference -- which would likely put them on that fist and fury circuit after all -- or work for her for one-third wages until they'd saved Emily enough to compensate her grandfather for what he'd put out to save their asses. They'd taken the latter, of course. (In truth, Emily's G-pa hadn't actually tasked Emily with paying him back what he'd paid out. Simply put, she was simply keeping the difference for herself. No one needed to know, she told herself.)

"It's about time," Harmon said when he entered the bridge and found Emily sitting there waiting for him. "It's been eight days. I thought we'd never get away from this place. When's the cargo gonna be loaded? I think we're ready to go, ya know, once that's in the hold."

"The cargo was loading during the night," Emily responded, and with a touch of critical harshness in her tone, she added, "While you were sleeping off another one of your nights spend with a bottle of cheap ... whatever that shit is you drink."

She stood and smoothed her clothing into its proper placement. Emily had traded in the latex and leather outfit she'd been wearing when she and Harmon met for a softer, less flashy bodysuit that was more comfortable and yet still clung to her curves as if a second skin. She noted the man's up and down viewing of the new-to-him wardrobe and smiled.

"I should probably make something clear to you before we get underway, Mister Davis," she said as she stepped closer to him. Harmon was a full head taller than her, so she was looking upwards into his face when she vowed, "You will never touch me ... ever. I'm sure you've fantasied plenty about how I would look like out of my clothes and about how it would feel with my young, tight pussy wrapped around your big, throbbing cock..."

She hesitated just a moment to let her crude description sink in, then continued, "...but you will never find yourself inside me, let alone see me out of my clothes."

She peeked past him toward Frack, who had remained near her while Frick was talking to the Dock Master about getting underway. Looking back to Harmon she clarified, "My boys will tear you limb from limb if ever you lay your hands upon me without permission, direction, and or demand. Do we have an understanding?"

Emily didn't wait for Harmon to respond, instead turning and heading for the Bridge's exit as she commanded, "Clear our departure with the Dock Master. I want to be off this rock in ten minutes."

 

[KingOfNowhere]

"The cargo was loading during the night," Emily responded, adding, "While you were sleeping off another one of your nights spend with a bottle of cheap ... whatever that shit is you drink."

"Hey, that's the good stuff," he said about the nearby and nearly empty bottle at which his new boss had glanced while mocking his tastes. Then, the first half of her statement sunk into Harmon's hungover brain, and he asked confused, "It's loaded? When, how ... what the fuck?"

Harmon wondered for a moment whether or not he was in fact drinking too much these days: had he really slept entirely through the loading of the presumed human cargo?

Emily stood, showing off her shapely form once more, with Harmon unable to keep his eyes from wandering about her delicious curves. When she spoke of her pussy and his cock -- which had already been a bit swollen but was now hardening toward full stiffy -- he couldn't help but chuckle. But then she told him flatly that he would never have her in the way all men likely fantasized, finishing, "My boys will tear you limb from limb if ever you lay your hands upon me without permission, direction, and or demand. Do we have an understanding?"

Emily headed off the bridge, giving her order to make the final preparations to take to the air then subsequently to space. Harmon was still mulling over the sexy woman's words, and chuckling again he called to her, "So, permission, direction, or demand is still a possibility, though."

His boss didn't respond, and Frick only gave him a critical stare before he, too, departed the bridge. Behind them, Harmon laughed at what he thought had been a witty remark. Still laughing, he got onto the radio and contacted the engine room, where Harmon suspected that the ship's only other long-term employee was likely taking yet another nap.

"Taylor!" he screamed into the microphone after turning the volume up fully from his end. "Get this bucket in the air!"

A moment later the frazzled tone of his Mechanic came over the speakers: "Crying out fuckin' loud, Harm! You don't have to scare the piss out of me."

"Fire it up boy," Harmon ordered, "we're outta here in ten."

Making his way out to the loading ramp, Harmon had his final conversation with the Dock Master, and almost precisely on time, the freighter's vertical takeoff rockets fired, lifting it high into the air while slanting to begin moving it horizontally out over the city. Thirty-five minutes later, they had gained enough speed and separated enough Hydrogen and Oxygen for the RAM jets to send it upwards and out of the atmosphere.

"Activating arti-grav' now, people," Harmon said over the 1MC before flipping a switch. After a handful of seconds, the artificial gravity sucked him down into his seat, just as it was sucking everything and everyone else down at .8 g's. Playfully, Harmon announced his version of a 20th century airliner notices for passengers, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain announcing that it is now safe to roam about the cabin."

A couple of minutes later, Harmon had performed the calculations for their course and then began the vessel's acceleration to and beyond -- far beyond -- the speed of light. There were faster ships than his out here in the void, of course, but nearly all of them were directly owned and operated by the Crighton Consortium. Harmon was suitably happy with what he had, though: he'd been making a decent living with it until this last run -- during which he'd nearly destroyed it in a debris field -- and didn't regret making the deal for it.

Of course, after he finished this run, he would have to make a decision as to whether he should keep and upgrade his current ride or buy a new one. He couldn't outright buy a newer ship with only 100,000 credits, of course, and would have to finance at least that amount, possibly twice as much. But, that was a decision he didn't have to make for several weeks.

"We are at cruising speed," he announced over the 1MC sometime later, adding, "Next stop, Ranyan IV."

Saying it the way he had made it sound like they were expected to reach the planet in five hours, not five weeks. Harmon was accustomed to long voyages through the void, so there was nothing new to him here. Well, except for his boss and her cargo, of course. They were both very new to Harmon.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

"So, permission, direction, or demand is still a possibility, though," the pilot called as his employer headed aft from the bridge.

Emily couldn't help but smile at the man's pie-in-the-sky, wishful thinking. Actually, to be totally honest, Emily was attracted to Harmon. He was ruggedly handsome, tall, and well built. Under other circumstances, she could easily see herself filling the transit time by riding his cock to a multitude of satisfying and stress relieving orgasms.

But she had a rule about sleeping with the help, and that's all Harmon was: like Frick and Frack, he was nothing more than the help. Emily knew, of course, that she would need some sexual release before this God-awful long transit was over. It was such a shame she didn't have access to any number of slaves with whom she could discover some degree of carnal delight. Oh wait, she thought as she continued after toward the cargo bay in which her cargo was being held. I do have such available to me.

Emily reached the bay as the vessel's engines -- which had been softly purring for quite some time already -- began to roar and shake the ship from stem to stern. She stopped at the compartment's door, reaching out to accept a Pocket Tablet from Frack. On it was a view provided by a camera on the other side of the bulkhead.

"Let's check the cargo," she told the bodyguard. She tapped a code into the door panel that even her men didn't have and let the recently installed iris scanner verify her identity. The door's lock disengaged, and Frack -- with a stun gun in his hand for insurance -- entered before her. Emily followed behind the big man, pulling the door behind her. She scanned the hold's occupants, asking with a polite tone, "Everyone comfortable?"

Emily hadn't expected much from the others: they'd all been given sedatives to ensure that their loading and initial captivity were accomplished without any trouble. Still, there were plenty of dirty glances and quiet murmurs, some including the worst examples of profanity.

Both Emily and Frack strapped into seats they folded down from the bulkhead. As she felt the vessel rise from the landing pad, rocking and shaking and showing its age and condition, she scanned the lot of the passengers.

Sitting or lying upon thin sleeping pads were 26 women and 13 men whose ages ranged from 14 to 32 for the former and 15 to 44 for the latter. The majority of the females aged 18 and older were intended for the sex slave market, though a few of them were more suitable as domestic servants or laborers.

Despite being a merchant of slaves which in and of itself was considered a despicable trade by most, Emily had a strict policy regarding underage girls: those who were under 18 would be sold with the understanding that they were to be neither used in nor trained to participate in the sexual service industry until they'd reached their 18th birthday. To enforce this policy, Emily checked up on her previous sales from time to time. If she found an underage girl was being used sexually, she had her ways of not only punishing the abuser -- sometimes by her own hand -- but also of making sure other potential buyers knew that it had been her who'd inflicted that punishment.

As for the males, most of them would be joining the labor force in some capacity once they'd reached their ultimate destination. Sure, some of them would become sexual servants just like the majority of the females, and for the younger males, Emily enforced the same 18+ policy. But out here in the void, there were already plenty of males providing sexual service, whether by choice or necessity: marketing males for this purpose wasn't at all a profitable venture.

The ship continued to shake fiercely for what seemed like an eternity before finally settling into a relatively quiet hum and vibration. Harmon's voice came over the ship-wide communication's system: "Activating arti-grav' now, people."

Emily had always hated Zero G, so she was happy to finally feel her body settling back down onto the seat of the chair into which she was strapped. Throughout the cargo bay, the passengers -- who each had a foot shackled to an eyelet set in the deck -- had been gently floating about: they'd held onto their possessions as best they could and, more often than not, grasped their chain with one hand as well, to prevent discomfort from the unpadded metal ring. Now, though, as the artificial gravity grew with intensity, they and their things all returned to the deck, generally where they'd been before.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Harmon called throughout the ship again, "this is your Captain announcing that it is now safe to roam about the cabin."

"Stay here," Emily ordered Frack.

She unlatched her seat's buckles, stood, and smoothed her clothes again while scanning the slaves. She repeated the security steps to reach the passageway again and headed for her quarters, where -- after securing the door with yet another recently installed security panel -- she laid down for a badly needed nap.

"We are at cruising speed," she heard Harmon announce. "Next stop, Ranyan IV."

A moment later, she was out.

 

[KingOfNowhere]

Robert Durrow, aka Frack, unbuckled and stood as Emily herself did, out of respect more than thinking he was escorting her anywhere. He and Emily's second bodyguard were still in the dog pen with their employer after the incident at the docking port bar. He'd been more than happy to suffer the cut in wages to remain in the woman's employ: even at half-pay, this was still the best job he would ever find out here in the void short of returning to being an organized crime knuckle breaker.

"Stay here," Emily ordered before going through the security procedures to get out of the cargo hold.

"Is it time for Victor and I to..." he began as he gestured toward the security panel. He let the thought fade as Emily departed without so much as glancing back at him. As the pressure door slammed shut, leaving him trapped inside with the enslaved, he remembered that the ship had suffered a partial depressurization on its last voyage and he murmured to himself, "I mean, why would I need the key to the door. It's not like anything could go wrong, right?"

Robert glanced around the room, finding some of the others staring at him intently, others diverting their eyes when they met his, and still others paying him no never mind at all. He let his eyes wander over the bodies of a few of the women, specifically the beautiful and/or shapely ones. For the transit, they'd all been dressed in basic dresses and slip-on shoes with very conservative undergarments hiding their more personal places.

The wardrobes were thick and capable of conserving body heat, which would be a great comfort in the 19 degree Celsius cargo bay. They did nothing to show off the women's curves -- or lack thereof in some cases -- but that didn't mean that Robert couldn't imagine what was underneath.

His mind ran with thoughts of how he would fuck this one or that one or whether that redhead or this brunette was capable of swallowing the full length of his thick, nine-inch cock. Of course, after the bar, it was very unlikely that Emily was going to let either Robert or Victor partake of the sex slaves, despite the term for what they were now: sex slaves.

His stomach rolled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast, some 7 hours earlier. He glanced about, looking for the boxes of nutrient packs they'd brought aboard for the slaves: nothing. He dropped onto his chair, shook his head lightly, then closed his eyes. It's gonna be a long transit.

###################​

As Robert's paternal cousin, Victor sported the same surname of Durrow. He was less excited about the pay cut and had actually considered moving on to something new. He was a big, brawny, mean-as-hell thug, and as such had found this line of work perfect for him. But secretly, he had always wanted to be a professional pianist; he'd taken lessons as a child and performed on the streets and in jazz clubs as a teen, and still today he had fantasies of returning to that life.

In his mind, the bar incident had rendered him nothing more than an indentured servant to Emily Engles. Okay, so, maybe not, but still, after he'd been bailed out of a potential life sentence of hard labor by Emily's grandfather -- the CEO of the most powerful entity in the void -- Victor had felt obligated to continue protecting her and her interests.

When he heard her very familiar walk echoing down the passageway, Victor stood from the chair that was positioned outside her stateroom: either Robert or Victor would be on station outside Emily's room when she slept, just as at least one of them would escort her about the freighter when she was out and about.

Emily's compartment was one of six VIP passenger spaces. They were fairly large for this type of vessel, measuring 4 meters by 5 meters with a 3-meter-high overhead, two one-meter diameter portal windows with a view unobstructed by exterior equipment, and private Hygiene Facilities with a shower, toilet, and sink. (If Emily wanted a bath, she would have to use the Shared HF down the passageway. If she did go looking for it, though, she would find that it wasn't functional, one of many things there simply hadn't been time to repair before they left port.)

Her stateroom had previously been used for storing freight and replacement parts. Robert had supervised a crew of port workers in emptying the room; Victor had worked with another crew to wash, sanitize, paint, and decorate the compartment as directed by his boss. As well as playing the piano, Victor had a bit of a talent for interior design.

(One of the crew men had a centuries old joke about the connection between a man having that talent and a taste for cock, too, and he just about died for it when Victor wrapped his hand around the man's neck, slammed him against the freshly painted bulkhead, and lifted him a foot off the ground. The irony was that Victor was in fact gay and -- as they used to say generations ago -- out of the closet, but he hadn't liked the man's flippant remark.)

After Emily entered her stateroom, gave orders for her not to disturbed, then closed the door, Victor sat again and pulled a nutrient bar from his jacket's pocket. As he chewed on the surprisingly delicious treat, he wondered whether or not his cousin had thought to snatch one during the pantry's replenishment.

###################​

Once they were at FTLS cruising speed, Harmon headed aft to check with Taylor Kling regarding the engines and other systems that were either vital to the ship's operation, recently repaired and thus reasons for worry and concern, or both. They spent almost two hours checking everything of importance before Harmon headed off to take care of some personal business.

"When do I get to sleep?" Taylor asked with a desperate tone. "I've been up for almost 30 hours--"

"Shut it, you whiner," Harmon snapped at the man who was a decade older than himself. Taylor did need some rest, though, so the ship's owner told him, "Let me get a shower and a sandwich, and I'll get back up to the bridge and monitor everything from there, okay?"

"Make it fast, boss," Taylor grumbled. "I'm minutes away from falling over I'm so zapped."

Harmon waved dismissingly at the man and headed for his own stateroom. It wasn't anything special, just another one of the VIP staterooms. It did have its own entrance to the shared shower room, though, which was just beyond the bulkhead that separated them.

He stripped out of now soiled work clothes, tossing them into a corner that acted as his laundry basket. Gathering his bath bag and a clean set of overalls, he pulled open the door to the SHF and stopped short as his eyes grew three sizes, his mouth fell open, and his cock began instinctively swelling: standing before him and making no effort to hide her naked body was a true Goddess of a woman.

"I, um, I'm, I'm ... sorry," Harmon stumbled as his eyes continued their up and down survey of the most beautiful example of womanhood he'd ever witnessed. He knew he should have pulled his eyes up from her naked body or -- more appropriately still -- turned away and even shut the door again. But he was simply unable to pull his eyes from the woman, only adding, "I, I ... I didn't ... I mean, I wasn't expecting ... I'm sorry, who are you?"

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Although the man standing in the doorway might have thought she was unconcerned about him ogling her, the naked woman had simply frozen at his unexpected appearance. After he'd fumbled to apologize and then asked her who she was, she responded softly, "I'm Margaret ... Miss Engles' Lady's Maid."

The man's eyes continued to scan her full length, stopping occasionally at the obvious places. Maggie finally reached to a hook to remove a long, thick, white robe, holding it before her to hide her womanly features, as opposed to actually donning it. She said in that same, soft tone, "You must be Captain Davis. I ... I wasn't expecting you, any more than you seem to have been expecting me."

She hesitated for some sort of verbal response from Harmon, but the next words to be spoken came from the door Maggie had used to enter the bathroom: "Margaret..."

The girl flinched conspicuously, then turning to see her boss in the now open doorway pulled the gown tighter to her body, lowered her eyes in a combination of respect and embarrassment. She quickly launched into an unsolicited explanation as her gaze darted between the floor and Emily: "I'm sorry, Miss. I was going to bath while you slept, but when I got here, I found there was no water, and apparently I forgot to lock the doors -- both doors -- and the Captain--"

"Maggie!" Emily cut in sharply, causing the slightly younger woman to go quickly silent, her eyes set on the deck once again. After looking to Harmon to see whether or not his eyes were still glued to her servant's naked form, Emily stepped out of the doorway as she told Maggie in a firm but calm tone, "You may use the facilities in my stateroom."

Without delay, Maggie started for the door, resulting in Emily snapping, "Maggie...!"

The servant stopped short, and Emily finished more calmly, "Put your robe on, girl."

Maggie glanced Harmon's way, finding him still looking at her. She turned her back to him, flashing her tight, peach shaped ass before flinging the robe around her and tying it. She looked to Emily for a nod, then without looking to the captain again was gone.

Emily looked to Harmon, a smirk on her face as she gently shook her head in disbelief of what had just happened. Then, looking to the unused and noticeable dust-covered bathtub asked, "Can I assume you will have that functional in the next day or two? I will be wishing to use it myself."

 

[KingOfNowhere]

"You must be Captain Davis," the naked Goddess said after introducing herself.

Harmon began to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He cleared it and said meekly, "I am."

"I ... I wasn't expecting you, any more than you seem to have been expecting me."

The man's brain was still reeling from a sight he would never have expected to see out here in the void. Seeing Emily for the first time eight days ago had been somewhat of a surprise, but this couldn't be described as anything less than an absolute shock!

Just as had Maggie, Harmon found himself flinching at Emily's chastising tone from the door: "Margaret..."

The women conducted their exchange, during which Harmon's eyes moved from Emily to Maggie and back repeatedly. The woman who was currently boss to both of them told the naked woman, "You may use the facilities in my stateroom."

Harmon got his first look -- unfortunately brief -- at Maggie's firm ass as she hurriedly donned the robe before disappearing out the door.

"Can I assume you will have that functional in the next day or two?" Emily asked about the bathtub. "I will be wishing to use it myself."

Harmon's mind was still spinning, not only with what had happened but with what hadn't: he'd expected Emily to chastise him for ... for whatever, whether it be not turning away when he accidentally walked in on Maggie or walking in on her intentionally with some lewd thoughts of fucking her over the bathroom counter.

"I, um ... I think I have the parts to get it working, yes," he finally responded after realizing Emily was staring at him, waiting for a reply. "Gimme the day to finish the post-light speed checks and it'll be my first task."

He thought about what had happened again, this time contemplating the things Maggie had said upon their meeting. He asked with an inquiring tone, "Lady's Maid...? Kinda sounds ... old ... you know, like in those period pieces from Europe ... England maybe .... the ones you see on the RecVid ... 20th century ... earlier maybe?"

Harmon wanted to ask if Maggie was a freeman, an indentured servant, or a slave, but he resisted as he doubted that Emily would find it any of his business.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Regarding Harmon's vow to make the bathing facilities whole, Emily only nodded her head slightly. In response to the man's inquiry about the other woman and her title, Emily informed Harmon firmly, "Maggie is my personal servant. She is no concern of yours. I would very much appreciate if you did not address or interact with her any more than necessary, Captain. She is young and impressionable and naive about many things ... including men."

Emily gave Harmon a quick up and down look, noticing -- as she did when she first found him ogling her naked servant -- that he was still obviously excited in his crotch. She shook her head lightly again before turning to leave.

"I'll be in my quarters, Captain," she called over her shoulder. "Please ... I would prefer not to be disturbed."