The slave girl stood on the center platform. Her arms were raised over her head, locked in a pair of metal wrist binders. The wrist binders were connected by a short chain to a round, silver orb. An anti-gravity generator in the sphere kept it floating in the air above the girl’s head. Though small, the remote was powerful enough to keep the chain taut, her naked body stretched out. Below, the captive’s feet, perched on her toes, were locked in a second pair of binders, secured to a ring in the base of the platform.

A beam of bright light shone down, from directly above, forming a pillar of light surrounding the girl. Beyond it, the rest of the room was shrouded in shadows. Not that she could have seen anything anyway. A thick, padded blindfold of black leather covered her eyes, keeping her in total darkness. A matching ballgag was clenched between her teeth. Around her throat was an unbroken silver band, about twice the width of her thumb.

The slave girl was an Etai. The species had the humanoid shape of most sentient races. Taller than average, this lovely specimen stood a little over two and half meters tall, with long, thin, graceful arms and legs. She also possessed all of the feminine charms; curvy hips, a thin waist, a pair of full round breasts…the blindfold covered her golden eyes, but her full lips were wrapped around the slick rubber of her ballgag quite nicely.

The Etai female’s skin was an even shade of sky blue. Her hair was a pale, almost translucent silver white, like fine crystal. The hair on her head, cut in a short airy style that seemed to defy gravity, and the smaller, neatly trimmed patch of fur between her legs, just above the naked lips of her womanhood, almost glowed in the bright light.

On the top of the alien’s head, a pair of long, thin antenna, ending in nubs, extended above her. They twitched, feeling the air pressure around her; the subtle changes made as another figure approached and stepped onto the platform.

The newcomer was a Gridix, also a young female. She had the same basic figure, though she was shorter, her eyes about level with the Etai’s large breasts, which jiggled as the captive’s breath quickened, fright bringing a light sheen of sweat to her naked skin. The Gridix had a dark red skin tone. Her hair, a dark black, was straight and worn long, held back by a black head band. Just behind it, a pair of short, pointed horns rose up. The polished black horn caught the light overhead and glinted.

The Gridix’s boots clicked against the metal platform as she stepped forward. They were of black leather, with tall, thin heels and came up about halfway the female’s curvy thighs. Above it, a corset of the same material encircled her waist. Apart from it, she wore no other clothes. Below it, her naked sex, shaved bare, was on full display. Above, the top of the corset cupped and lifted the female’s large, round breasts, making them stand out all the more prominently. Silver rings, tipped with shining red gemstones, glinted at the ends of her perky nipples.

She took a few more, hesitant, steps, towards the captive. The slave girl murmured into her gag. She twisted her body, trying to follow the other woman’s approach. The Gridix stepped behind the Etai. In her hands was a short leather whip, half a meter long. Awkwardly, she raised it up. After a second, she lowered it again. Nervously, she turned, looking back over her shoulder, into the darkness. Her narrow eyes, a rich purple color, looked out with a look of apprehension.

“Yes…” A voice, low and excited, spoke from the gloom. “Do it. Just like I told you.”

Taking a nervous breath, the Gridix once more lifted her whip. The captive tensed, waiting for the blow. It didn’t come. Once more, the Mistress lowered her arm, turning back to the shadow.

“Do it!” The voice insisted, louder this time. “I could take control of you myself, tell your body what to do, but I would prefer not to. It would be ever so much more natural if you did it yourself. That said, I do have other ways of compelling your cooperation.” From the darkness there was a click, like someone pressing a button on a remote. On the Gridix’s collar, identical to the one around the other female’s throat, a red light suddenly lit up in warning, on the otherwise blank metal surface.

Terrified, the Gridix raised her free hand to the collar, grasping the metal in her hand, but nothing happened. After a moment, she let go her grip. “Do it or I will activate it!” The voice threatened her.

With a look of fright, the Mistress turned back to her captive. She raised her whip once more. This time, she mustered up the strength to follow through, bringing it down hard across the back of the other female. The Etai gasped into her gag, more from surprise then pain. The blow hadn’t had much power behind it.

“Again!” The voice commanded. The Gridix raised her whip again. Without hesitating this time, she swung another weak blow that made her captive gasp. “Again! Harder!” The voice kept ordering the Mistress to swing, occasionally giving advice or instruction. “Move your foot forward as you swing! Twist your shoulder, put some power into it! Now whip her lovely bottom! Make her jump!”

Slowly, the Mistress transformed. Where before, she had been awkward, frightened, now she began to get into her role. Her swings became more natural, as if she’d been handling a whip all her life. Her face assumed an angry expression, determined to make her captive suffer. The Etai slave girl danced around, the chains on her hands and feet ensuring she couldn’t escape the stringing whip. She was sobbing through her gag now, interspersed  with loud yelps of pain each time the whip struck. Each blow decorated her naked skin with a dark purple line, marking where it had caressed her body.

From the shadows, the observer watched, waiting for the right moment. “Now!” He said sharply, and pushed a button. Below their feet, the platform under the women suddenly lit up. A loud whir of power filled the room. An instant later, a tube of energy, the same diameter as the beam of light, shot up, enveloping the two. Neither had a chance to react. In an instant, both Mistress and slave were frozen behind the wall of energy.

From his seat in the shadows, the figure rose and walked up to the platform. He studied the two on it. The Mistress had an angry snarl on her face, her black hair trailed behind her as she stepped forward into the stroke. The whip curled around her head as she swung her past the slave girl. The captive was frozen in the act of reacting to the blow. She had jerked her body forward, straining against the chains holding her in place. Her lips were pulled back, screaming through the heavy gag in her mouth. Her breasts heaved, hanging up in a moment of frozen time.

Raising his remove, the observer pressed a button. In the field, the two figures shimmered. In the blink, the Mistress was where she had been before, raising her whip to strike. The slave hung in her chains, body trembling as she awaited the coming blow. Then, they started to move again; the Mistress swung, the whip met flesh and the slave screamed. Then they froze once more, in the instant the machine had activated.

The observer pressed the button again, running through the action again and again, a brief moment of time, captured in the chrono-matrix field and replayed over and over again. He studied the two, looking for flaws. Did the Mistress look a little awkward as she stepped forward to swing? He didn’t care much how the slave twisted away from the whip as it hit. He was briefly enthralled by the drops of sweat which sprang from the naked breasts of the slave as she jerked in pain, they hung frozen in the air, shimmering like jewels in the light.

For a brief moment, the observer’s finger hovered over the button which would deactivate the chrono-matrix field. Time would resume for the two women inside, indeed they wouldn’t even be aware it had ever stopped for them. They could resume the session and he would await a more suitable moment to capture forever.

“No…” He said, finally, lowering the remote. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. He bent over a panel on the base of the platform. A small screen glowed, displaying the name he’d chosen for this piece: “Mistress Punishing Slave #14.” Taking up a stylus, he drew the characters of his signature: “Zyqutab the Artist”.

Stepping back, he pressed a couple more buttons on his remote. One turned the lights of the workshop on and switched the spotlight pointed down at the platform off. Another activated a pair of large robots. They rumbled forward to the platform and went to work, setting up the equipment to keep the Chrono-Matrix field stable, as it was removed from the generator for transport to his gallery. Inside, the two subjects remained frozen in their moment of time, unaware, until the machine was activated to replay their scene once more.

Chrono-Matrix time trapping was an old technology, common throughout the galaxy. Medics used it to keep patients stable and active until they could be treated. Museums used it to keep their artifacts perfectly preserved. The most expensive and fragile commodities traveled the starts, safe inside the field, protected from the ravages of time itself.

Its use in art was also nothing new. One could capture a spring day on Tura IV, the scene overlooking the cliffs of Vera II… Few artists would consider actually trapping their subjects in the field, though. Zyqutab was one notable exception. He was well known, at least in certain, discrete circles, as the vanguard of the avant-garde in this field.

Zyqutab was a tall figure, taller even then the Etai now forever part of his latest masterpiece, at three and a half meters tall and rail thin. Much of his long figure was covered by a black body suit, unadorned, save for a silver belt and bracers on his wrists, all covered in buttons for controlling various functions around his studio and gallery. His long, narrow grey face was plain, with a flat nose and small, round black eyes and no trace of hair. A flat, black cap covered his smooth, hairless scalp.

Turning, the Artist walked across his studio workshop. On one side with several more Chrono-Matrix fields, in various sizes and shapes, were being assembled. Some of them already had scenery and equipment set up, for future works of art he had planned in his head. On the other side were the materials for equipping his subjects to be immortalized; racks of outfits; bodysuits of leather and latex to fit any sentient, costumes ranging from a Targa V Justicar’s uniform to a Dara III junior academic’s outfit. And, of course, restraints of every kind: ropes and chains, several kinds of stick bands, hoods, gags, whips, crops, pleasure devices.

Zyqutab’s muse was the lovely female form, his favorite subject to show it in restraint, held captive, in pain or pleasure. Though many in civilized space considered him a criminal, or mad, he was famous for his work in capturing the essence of a woman, displayed in strict bondage, caught at the height of her experience. His works were highly prized by certain discerning…gentlemen, for private display in their palaces or space yachts.

Zyqutab passed through a doorway into his private gallery. Along both walls were a dozen Chrono-Matrix fields, his favorite works, his masterpieces. As he passed, they activated, playing their snippets of time for his pleasure. At a few, he paused, enjoying the sight of the subjects in their bondage, remembering how he’d captured them.

There, close by the door, ‘Lovers Liaison’ depicted two slave girls, having snuck away from their Mistress, to a closet, enjoying a brief moment of shared intimacy, before they were discovered and punished for their disobedience. The first, a tall, green-skinned Okamni girl sat with her back against the wall, her legs spread wide, arms crossed over her head. Her lover, a slender elfin Airean fairy knelt, her head lowered between the other slave’s legs. Zyqutab had managed to capture the moment at the instant the slave was at her climax, her face an expression of joy.

And over there, across from it was “Escapee Recaptured.” On the platform, a Korath feline was surrounded by half a dozen Mark III security bots. The small, spiderlike drones skittered around the slave. She struggled  defiantly as they sprayed her with webbing. One arm was trapped to her side, the other strained against two or three strands that sought to bring it down it as well. Meanwhile, two of the bots circled around, swiftly cocooning her legs together.

And there, there was “Auction’s End.” Zyqutab remembered that one. It had been a headache, constructing the auction room, building the stage around the Chrono-Matrix field generator, bringing in the actors, setting the scene, but it had been worth it to capture the moment the Zelonian pleasure slave, perched on the auction lock, stretched out on the viewing rack, heard the auctioneer’s “Sold!” and she realized she’d been bought by a Gargoloth Crime Lord…

“Fly in the Web” was one of his best pieces. He’d strained the limits of the field technology, but Zyqutab had managed to capture the whole process of the Sidarin Shibari Mistress binding the Aesrie Fairy Girl, her four long, segmented arms quickly wrapping the fey captive in a decorative cocoon of her own, natural silk rope.

Of course, this Mistress hadn’t known she was going to be part of one of the Artist’s works. Indeed, inside the Chrono-Field, her lips moved as she chatted, explaining her process to where Zyqutab had been standing when he’d pushed the button. She’d come to demonstrate her people’s techniques and collaborate on some works, not end up as one. In fact, the Artist hadn’t expected to make her into one either. It was just, as he watched her work, he couldn’t help but capture that moment forever. Unfortunately, this would remain his only Sidarin Shibari work. After what happened to their sister, none of the other Shibari Mistresses had felt like paying him a visit.

The last one was easy to overlook. In contrast to the other moments, this one’s title was just a name “Ayavie”. A single girl knelt, wrists bound with rope, a cloth gag between her lips. She looked up, a gleeful expression on her face. She’d been looking at him as he pushed the button to activate the machine. She’d been an admirer of his work for years, had dreamed of becoming the subject of one of his masterpieces. She was the first, and thus far only, one of his subjects who had come to him and volunteered to be immortalized in his art.

Zyqutab was still browsing the works when his comm chimed. He pushed a button. “Dariam here.” A female voice said. “I’m back from the market. The new subjects are in the holding pens, if you’d like to inspect them.”

“On my way.” He replied, eagerly. He turned away from Ayavie and walked through the door. Unfortunately, there were few other females who appreciated the genius of his art, so most of his subjects were quite unwilling at first. Most were sourced from a black market slaver trading post on a nearby Rimworld.

Dariam was waiting outside the lift to the holding pens when Zyqutab arrived. The Togura female was his assistant. She handled the humdrum aspects the great Artist found too boring to care for; curating his gallery, arranging the shows for the discrete clientele who bought his works, managing the upkeep of the facility and the robots who kept it clean and maintained. And of course, purchasing the slaves who would become his next masterpieces and looking after them until it was time for them to be immortalized.

“This way, Sir.” Dariam said. Zyqutab followed her, with his eyes as well as his feet, enjoying the way her white and blue skin-suit showed off her figure.

“She will make a fine piece one of these days.” Zyqutab was careful to keep that thought to himself. Whether she knew it or not, Dariam would one day find herself on the platform, but it wouldn’t be today. She was too valuable keeping the place running, at least till he could find someone to replace her. In the meantime, there were plenty of other females to see to first…

“I’ve grouped them in the cells by species.” Dariam said, unaware her employer was currently thinking over a dozen different positions, each tighter and sexier than the previous, to immortalize her in. “I didn’t know if you had a particular plan in mind, so I purchased the usual mix.”

The two walked down a long hallway. Spaced along it were one-way viewing portals into the holding cells. Out of each stared a number of glum, female faces of a variety of races. They were all naked, but currently had no restraints, apart from the usual slave control collar.

Zyqutab walked down the cellblock, studying the captive’s with interest. For each, he tried to imagine how best she would look in this pose or that scene or as a tableau. Those four-armed Shivettes, good for very elaborate ties. That devinne, a sinister Mistress training her slaves, like the Gridix currently frozen in his gallery now.

Mind buzzing with countless possibilities, Zyqutab reached the end of the cellblock. He stopped. In the final cell were three young females of a race the Artist had never seen before. They were humanoid, about two meters tall. Two had skin of a light, pinkish color, while the third had a dark brown skin. She had dark, curly hair, while the others had long, straight hair, one a light hold, the other a gorgeous auburn.

The specimens were fairly young. At his best guess, Zyqutab placed them biologically in late adolescence. Despite the female’s efforts to concert their naked bodies, knowing they were being observed, even if they didn’t know where from, he could see their womanly charms were quite well developed.

The artist studied the three for several minutes more. The two pale skinned females had expressions of fright and disbelief. The darker one, thought, maintained an expression of defiance that he would most intriguing. Half a dozen possible uses for her, in any number of scenarios danced through Zyqutab’s mind.

He turned to Dariam. “Where did you find these three? I’ve never seen specimen’s quite like them!”

His assistant briefly studied the captive females on the other side of the forcefield with an indifferent stare. “Oh, those three. I came across them after picking out your usual selection. They are…’humans’ I believe the slaver called them. They’re from a primitive world called…Ee-arth, in the ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha Sector. It’s in a protected zone, but the Star Rangers don’t patrol very often. This group of slavers dropped by, picked up a number of females from an isolated community and were selling them. Shall I contact them about purchasing more?”

“No…” Zyqutab said, his mind swelling at the possibilities. A whole race, untouched by his art… “For what I have in mind, I’ll want to select the subjects personally. Get the ship ready, we’re taking a vacation!”