THE CONTAINER Part 3

T.S. FESSELN


Disclaimer: This is a work of amatory fantasy. Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental. If you are under the age of 18, please stop reading here. If you are a bit squeamish about graphic depiction of sex and bondage, please stop reading here. The author takes no responsibility for those who wish to reenact anything written below.

Permission is granted for private use. The author wishes any agencies that wish to publish this work, to please contact him at [email protected]. Or visit his weblog at fesselnsfiction.blogspot.com/ . Any comments are gladly accepted and encouraged.


    Greyson Pall glanced once more at his reflection in the black mirrored hallway outside Vernon Truck’s office.  He was dressed in a chartreus suit coat with bronze epaulettes, white slacks and he had his lucky holographic bolo tie on.  The bronzed screen on the tie depicted a Hajoul warrior in traditional armor and armed with a kopek sword.  Right now, the warrior mirrored its wearer’s mood, standing in a defensive posture.  This bolo had never let him down which is why he chose it.

     He smiled at his reflection and his narrow, fox-like face smiled back, van-dyke beard and all.

     Before Greyson was a set of polished black doors that red lighten bolts randomly flashed over.  What was behind those doors Greyson hadn’t a clue.  All his dealings with Truck were through his many intermediaries at public locals.  Being here made him very nervous, especially since he was the bearer of bad news.

    Greyson Pall was the captain of the ‘Bronzed Heretic’ and the cargo bound for Truck was missing.

    The doors swung open silently into Trucks office.  Greyson adjusted his tie and walked in with as much confidence as he could muster.

    Truck’s office was huge on done in mirrored black and heated red.  There were no windows.  All the walls looked like slowly swirling lava.  The ceiling and floors matched, both done in a seamless onyx that reflected everything.  Truck’s desk sat in the middle and it looked like it was melded with the floor in the same black.  Surrounding the desk were four transparent pillars, each with a nude woman dangling by her wrists.  Each of the girls was wearing an isolation helmet.

     Truck himself was seated at the desk.  He was typical Torean male: handsome and well-built.  His blonde hair was close cropped and his dark eyes seemed like bottomless pits.  He was smoking a stub of a cigar.

    “Captain Greyson.  I assume this is about my package,” Truck said as he stood.

    “Yes, sir,” Greyson replied.

     “Please tell,” Truck asked as he walked toward the Captain.

     “It has gone missing.”  Greyson never was one to beat around the bushes and sometimes his bluntness got him in trouble.

     Truck’s eyes narrowed and Greyson could see the stiffness in the man’s jaw, “Missing?”

      “Misplaced is probably a better term.  It is here on Torei, somewhere in customs.”

      Truck walked up to the captain.  Greyson didn’t realize just how big he was.  He towered over the captain by at least a head.

     “Mr. Pall, did you not have a girl in customs that was supposed to take care of all of this?”

     “Yes, I do.  She is very reliable.  I have used her on numerous occasions and she hasn’t failed me. . .

     “What was her name?” Truck interrupted.

     “Pardon?” Greyson stammered.

     “What. . .was. . .her. . .name?” Truck said slowly.

     “Angel.  Lire Angel.  It wasn’t her fault.  The customs watch commander selected her sector at random.  She said that he did that from time to time to ‘keep his girls on their toes’.”

     “And what was his name?” Truck asked.

     “Martin. . .something Martin.”

     Truck smiled and took a long draw on his cigar then gestured towards the women displayed in the columns, “See anything you like?”

     “Pardon?” Greyson was puzzled.

     “Like any of these slaves?  This here is my private reserve, Captain, fresh for my night’s pleasure.”

     Truck walked over to the closest one.  A very pretty blonde hung by her wrists inside.  Her hands gripped the chains holding her off the floor.  A pair of ankle cuffs anchored her to the floor.

     “Got her an hour or so ago by a grateful truant officer.  Got to love those public detention stations, right, Captain.  Better than the auction houses and a hell of a lot cheaper.  Her owner should have kept better track of her, don’t you think.  She should be a squirming pack of female fun.”

     “I don’t know. . .”

     “What about this one over here.  Very pretty little brunette.  One feisty free-womb. . .or was a free-womb.  Just in the wrong place at the right time.”

     “Mr. Truck. . .” Greyson started.

     Truck leaned right into the captain’s face, “Pick one. Fuck one.”

     “Pardon.”

    “I want you to pick one and fuck her.  Do it now.”

    “Respectfully, Mr. Truck, I couldn’t. . .”

    “You better grow some balls a pick one, Captain Pall because as a captain, you sure as hell better perform well under pressure.  You fuck one or I will take your ship.”

    “You can’t,” Greyson said firmly.

    “Try me.  You are just a little piece of shit floating in the grand scheme of things and I am one big, fucking toilet.  I can flush you down into oblivion at any time, Captain.  So you better pick one.”

     Greyson looked around at the women.  His eyes came back to the helpless blonde.

     “The blonde it is.”

                         -o0o-

   
    Tia dreaded what was coming next, whatever it was.  It was stupid for her to even to have tried to get off-world and she could only blame herself.  Every girl heard about the horrors of the Truants facilities and now she was going to experience it for herself.

    The blondes’ wrists and shoulder were sore from hanging by them and her head was enshrouded with an isolation helmet.  All she could do now is contemplate what horrors were in store for her.

    Tia had been well cared for as far as being a slave for Master Mark.  He had issued her a small room, but it was luxurious compared to where she was brought upon the edge of the broken lands.  Her room contained her own bed, entertainment panel and plug, meal execution area and a small desk.  It even had a window looking out of the arcology’s upper level atrium.  When it was her time of the month, Master Mark allowed her to isolate herself from him and the other girls if she chose to.  When she wasn’t with him, she was to relax with the other girls around the steam pool or the lounge next to it.  With Master, Tia believed it was to show others just how wealthy he was.

     But that was all gone now.  

     It was really Master Mark’s fault.  He shouldn’t have regaled her with so many stories of off-world dreams and adventures.  Wilton Mark travelled quite a lot for business, sometimes even bringing one of the girl’s along with him.  Tia scolded herself for being impatient.  She should have just waited for her turn.  But she was impatient and now she was going to pay the price.

     Suddenly the chains started to lower Tia.  Her bare feet touched the warmed floor but the chain still held her wrists above her head.  Then she felt several pairs of hands touching her and grabbing her; holding her in place while the chain slackened.  After unlocking her wrist cuffs, her arms were forced behind her back and a constricting single glove was rolled up over both hands and arms effectively welding them together.

    Her tormentors then picked her up, carried her a short ways and laid her on some sort of rack. Her leg cuffs were unfastened, her legs spread and her ankles forced up under her thighs and fastened into place.  Her sex was open for all to see.

    “She’s all yours, Captain,” she suddenly heard.  The white noise that had filled her ears was gone.

    Tia felt someone between her legs.  She started at his warm touch as he cupped her breasts; his thumbs flicking at her erect nipples.  With each touch came a trickle of pleasure that was pooling inside of her.  Her fear was helping to heat that pool, turning it to steam as his touches became more intense.

    The Captain’s hand trailed down to between her legs where he held her petals open as he eased himself inside her.

    “She feels pretty good, doesn’t she Captain?” the same voice as earlier asked.

    “Yes,” another voice sort of grunted out.

     The man felt good inside her.  A real man and not some torture device that would sear her sex with orange-hot irons she had feared.  He pushed into her deeper and his strokes more violent, slowly building in speed.

    Tia could hear her own gagged moans and the sensuous pool inside her started to roil with molten bliss.  Hissing clouds of steam-heated pleasure continued to build, pressuring her toward her climax.

    “Cum before Captain cums, I will tear your arms off and watch you bleed to death,” the first voice hissed.

    The Captain was thrusting into her more violently.  She could hear him grunting and moaning.  Tia tried to repress her climax, but her pleasure was in control now; her hips thrusting up to meet his.  He thrust himself into her deeply and held himself there.  Tia could feel his seed coating the inside of her.  She shivered and then let the frothy steam engulf her in pure ecstasy.  Her whole body arced against her restraints; her brain filled with white-hot bliss.

    Then it the heat began to dissipate.  The Captain had withdrawn himself, leaving her quim wanting for its warmth.

    “Good, Captain, very good.  Now that you have shown me you CAN perform under pressure, I want you to find my fucking container or I will feed your balls to a meat grinder.”

    “Yes, Mr. Truck,” the other man replied.

    ‘Truck.’  Tia had heard that name before but she couldn’t place it.

   Tia could hear the Captain’s footsteps leading off.

   “I hate the sight of this filthy blonde,” the first man said.

   “Yes, sir,” four or five women replied.  Tia was still trying to place the man’s name.

   “Take her to down to the Kitchen.  See if any of our high-ballers want her on their menu tonight.”

   “Yes, sir,” the four replied.

   “And find me another fucking blonde.  This one has been used one too many times.  And bring me that bitch PAC agent Lire Angel.”

                             -o0o-
 
    The Arboretum on the top of the second tower of the Hub arcology was one of Aelea’s favorite places.  Dross figured that it probably reminded her of her birth planet.  The Arb was a gift to the residents of the Hub and only residents could use it.  The Hub regents didn’t want to spoil it as a tourist attraction.

    The elevator stopped and it doors opened to the opulent white marble lobby of the Arb.  Fountains bubbled playfully arcing streams of water that gleamed molten gold.  Thick columns of clear glass held suspended inside gracefully floating flower petals.  Potted palms and ferns graced nooks along the walls.  Guests were encouraged to dress but it was not strictly enforced.

    Aelea smiled at Dross; a contented smile, “Meet you in the tea room and don’t be in that nasty PAC uniform.

    ‘Fucking drake,’ Dross thought to himself as he made his way over to the small men’s dressing room.  Of course small was a relative term.  It was twenty times larger than his apartment and it was paneled in rich cherrywood and dark green glass that glowed like an off-world sunset.  Again, there were potted palms and ferns everywhere; natives of other planets more suited to them.  There was a long counter with several elegantly clothed hostesses, all awaiting to help him pick-out a suitable outfit.

   “Good turn.  How may I assist you today?” an elfish looking woman with dark green hair and liquid-blue eyes smiled a greeting.

   “I need a suit,” Dross said, unsmiling.

   “Did you have a color or style in mind, sir?” the hostess asked.

   “Just something to make me look good,” Dross grumped.

   The PAC agent knew that they had measured him as soon as he stepped through the door.  He could imagine taking the red-headed crate woman to this place.  She looked like she belonged here, dressed to make him hard all night long, the slits in her dress revealing. . .

   “Here you go sir,” she smiled.

   It was about as perfect as Dross could imagine.  Dark red with black and gold trim with a glowing emerald fastening its collar.  She also held a pair of black wedge-toed shoes, one slightly larger than the other to accommodate is bionic leg.  

   “Nice.  Thank you.”

   Dross made his way to the dressing rooms, the green-haired woman followed.  In the booth, she helped him out of his uniform and into the suit.  It fit perfectly as Dross knew it would.

   The woman grinned in agreement.

   Past the lobby was a bank of glass doors that whished open when Dross approached.  The smell of earth, grass and flowers enveloped him as he stepped out into the arboretum proper.  Before him the formal gardens, neatly trimmed bushes and grass and flowerbeds.  A few nude slave women were anchored onto posts here, colored lights trained on their forms as they swayed slowly on their poles.  The tea house was on the opposite side.

   To his left, a mixed forest of pines and deciduous trees edged the broad formal garden.  To his right, palm trees and ferns made a tropical forest that ended on the other side a white sand beach.  Dross could hear birds singing from both sides.

   A broad walkway took Dross through the formal garden towards the tea house itself.  He took his time, enjoying the flowers and the writhing living statuary.  

    Then he stopped.

    The walkway parted around a glowing fountain and cuffed to the center pole was the redhead; the woman in the container.  Her hands were locked above her head and a glowing white rod was penetrating her from below.  Dross heard of muffled moan escape her taped lips as she thrust herself down onto the pole.  Dross stepped closer, watching her gyrate slowly, her skin painted like marble.  He approached her until the edge of the fountain bowl stopped him.  He noticed every step he took, the rod penetrating the redhead glowed brighter and made her moans louder.

    Dross blinked and his heart began beating again.  It wasn’t the container woman at all.  It was just another slave earning a little free time from her owner.

    “Good thing you don’t look at me like that,” Aelea said from behind.

   The PAC agent turned around and saw a goddess.  Aelea was dressed in a tight-fitting dress that shimmered sapphire blue.  It had a slit up to her thigh and a neckline that ended at her navel.  She clutched a small matching bag.

    “You don’t look too bad,” Aelea smiled, her eyes running up and down Dross’ suit.

    “Neither do you,” he said, holding out his arm, “care to join me for some tea?”

    Aelea laughed but let him escort her to the tea house.  It looked like a great chrome and glass palace of a bygone era, with chairs and tables and miniature orange trees sprinkled all around it.  Dross led Aelea over to one of the tables and sat her down before seating himself.  

    “So, talk to me.   What have you done?” Aelea asked.

    “Nothing that I can’t repair with a few pokes of a stylus,” he replied.

    “But that’s not what you are going to do, is it.”

    Dross shrugged, “You don’t want any part of this.  It would be your worst career move yet.”

    “That is for me to decide.  Let me think on it tonight.  But will tell you I’m not going to turn you in for this violation.  Finding men on this planet that can actual hold a decent conversation is to rare a thing to have waste in some dank cell.”

    Dross felt relieved.  At least now he knew he could talk to someone about the container woman.

    “So what are you planning on doing?” she asked.

    “I have an idea how to get her out, but hiding her may be a problem.”

    “I can see that,” Aelea said, “Your apartment isn’t exactly spacious.”  

    “I think we both need to think on it before breaking dozens of Customs codes and Hub laws.”  

  Dross nodded in agreement just as one of the green-haired female servers strolled up to the table.  Her uniform was a tight-fitting forest green silk dress with tiny embroidered roses shimmering over it.    

   “Good turn to you.  How may I be of service?” the woman asked, smiling at Dross.

   “Our usual tea?” Dross asked Aelea.

   “Yes,” Aelea replied curtly.

   “Two cups of our usual tea and a plate of shrimp crackers,” Dross told the server and she quietly went away.

   “So how are you going to. . .” Aelea started but was interrupted by a sharp ping in her ear from her security comm, “hold on.”

   Aelea fished out her pane from her clutch and scanned the urgent message.  It was from Wilton Mark wanting to know where his Slave Tia was.  The truant officer said she was not at the detention kiosk that Aelea had placed Tia at.

   Aelea hissed under her breath as she scanned her records.  Tia 13Mark was placed in custody at the detention kiosk that Aelea had indicated.  Her record showed time of lock down and confirmation of receipt of Tia 13Mark.  She looked at the truant officer’s number and didn’t recognize it.

   She scrolled through screen after screen.  The TO’s number was not assigned to any TO on record.  The security footage at the kiosk was scrammed completely.  This had happened once before to Aelea and throughout the Hub, it was happening more often.  Someone had taken Tia 13Mark.

   Dross watched as his friend quietly fumed, knowing better to interrupt her thoughts.  Finally, she looked up.

    “They got another one, Dross, that runaway we had just put into custody at the kiosk.”

    “Drake,” Dross said, “What happened?”

    “I don’t know but I am going to find out.”


              It is usually a long time between postings for my stories.  In the past, I have tried to compile a mailing list, but it has become unmanageable as of late. However, you can check my weblog at fesselnsfiction.blogspot.com/ for news of my latest works and to read some new ones. Or, you can catch me on Twitter or Facebook for up to the minute progress or a pleasant chat. Any and all comments are welcome and appreciated.  Please e-mail me a [email protected] or post them on my blog