| The Fay and Her Knight
By Aerosol Kid :: firstname.lastname@example.org Visit me at
The people and events in this come from my brain, not the real
world. Regardless of what that tells you about my brain, it means that I'm
not writing about you, your mom, your friends, or your friends' friends.
So you can't sue me. Neener neener.
If you're underage in your territory (and you know what I mean), then
read something else, please. If you're easily offended by sexually
explicit content, may I suggest reading something else? If you're
easily offended by sexual content and are determined to help yourself to a
dash of moral outrage, I put it to you this way: you have too much time on
Note: I promised some kind of epic follow-up to "The Fay At Fremantle."
Months ago. So here's me trying to make good! This is pure romantic,
escapist MC Sci-Fi, so consider yourself warned if you don't like that sort
(c) 2002 by Aerosol Kid. Protected under the Berne Convention. Yes, my
erotica is protected by copyright law.
*"Rom dah, ah vah yoot!"* That's what the guy Dean had just shoved
out of the way was yelling at him. Or something like that. He didn't need
to speak the guy's language to understand he was being called an asshole.
And it *was* an asshole thing to do, shoving him like that, but he didn't
have much choice, running full-bore down a crowded street with a briefcase
full of cash. Somewhere behind him were two disagreeable men, charged with
the task of recovering said briefcase - quickly, according to their boss,
and ideally, hurting Dean a lot afterward.
What had happened was this: he'd entered into a business relationship
with some shifty organized criminals. Pasharu was lousy with them. He had
procured things for a mob boss who fancied himself a collector. Old, hard
to find things in remote systems. It was his specialty. The hazard in
this kind of work was that the objects he delivered didn't always live up
to the expectations of the buyer. Things had gotten ugly, barely ten
minutes earlier, when the mobster had wondered aloud about not paying him,
and possibly breaking some of his bones, so he'd opted for a sudden,
explosive exit. That is to say, the lavish conference room where this
meeting took place was probably still on fire, as the sirens from the fire
control drones whizzing past him on the street could attest. The trick now
was to get off Pasharu without letting these catch him.
He wished he could just call Molly and have her pick him up. But
surface-to-orbit ships in the city limits were about as welcome as his
starship would be on the lawn of the capital building. Pasharu, and the
revenue opportunities provided here, would be blacked off on his passport.
It was late, so he legged it into an area of town known for its
nightlife, hoping to blend in with the crowd or get off the street. There
was one club on the block that didn't have a mile-long queue. He'd been up
and down this street as many times as he'd been to Mezza City, but he'd
never noticed this black, windowless building front before. The crowd on
the sidewalk was so that he was forced to slow to a walk and pick his
way through. He risked a glance over his shoulder as he caught his breath.
No goons, but rapid footfalls clip-clopped from the cross street. They'd
be right on top of him any second. He wasn't necessarily afraid to take
them on, in fact he was pretty sure he could deal with them, but he didn't
want to find out. Resolved, he slipped between some pretty, iridescent
Golean twins, over to the black metal club façade, and grabbed the door
"Lovely," Dean muttered, taking a step back. The goons were just around
the corner, yelling at people to get out of the way. He turned to duck
back into the crowd, but a buzzer sounded and the latch snicked open.
"I will remember none of this..." Inana heard herself intone quietly.
And she was right. She blinked her way awake and wondered for the
hundredth time how she'd ended up in the candle room. That's what she
called it, anyway. It reminded her of a room that her aunt used to
meditate in, but that room made her feel good. This one didn't. Nikki was
there as always, ostensibly waiting for her to wake up. She rubbed her
eyes, and the pressure from her fingertips caused the mandala to appear
behind her eyelids again, electric blue and red. Swirling and pulsing.
She started to drift back off.
"Really, Inana..." Nikki's firm hands pulled Inana's fingers away from
her face. "Why do you have to be such a handful?"
Inana looked up at her, from the floor where she knelt. The woman
was tall, dark-skinned, zaftig. Even if Inana were standing, she still
would've had to look up to meet her eyes. She had no idea what Nikki was
going on about, which made her feel embarrassed. It seemed like this was
how it always went with Nikki.
"I'm going to tell you this once," she was saying. "This is your first
night on the floor. Every that you'll see is rich and important, and
they'll all be interested in you. Remember to be charming and don't fuck
up. Remember that you're for sale. If Mister Gund hears that you're being
a problem again..."
Inana shivered, nodded, and hoped Nikki wouldn't elaborate.
She didn't. "Good. Now finish getting ready."
The lobby was small, tastefully appointed, and empty. Noiseless except
for his ragged breathing. He set the briefcase down and ran his fingers
through his hair as his heartbeat slowed, grateful for the locked door
between himself and the street. It was air-conditioned in here, which was
nice after sprinting in the hot Pasharu night air. The walls, floor and
ceiling were composed of veiny marble. A trio of accent lights converged
on an exotic, vaguely carnivorous looking plant in a glass case. It had
translucent tentacles and a head-sized, violet pod in its center. He'd
read about it somewhere. Very rare, and somewhat dangerous, if he
recalled. The drinks here were going to be expensive.
Good thing he had a briefcase full of money.
His curiosity prodded him to go on inside, but he found the inner
entrance was locked, too. So did that mean he was stuck in the lobby?
Maybe this wasn't a club after all. Tentatively, he picked up the case and
started toward the exit.
"Good evening, sir," a dusky, slightly breathless voice called after
him. A voluptuous olive-skinned woman was now holding the previously locked
door open. Long ago, one would've said she was Mediterranean. These days,
with humanity all over this galactic spiral arm, she could've been from
just about anywhere. Her stylish gown drew Dean's attention to the
highlights of her very rounded figure. She was elegant, but something
about her said 'Madam.' Suddenly the windowless building front and the
locked doors made perfect sense.
"Evening," he smiled.
She scrutinized the cut of his suit, the briefcase, and other aspects of
Dean that she appeared to approve of. "Do come inside," she pronounced
finally, with a smile to show that her evaluation was finished. She
stepped aside and beckoned theatrically, and he figured there were worse
places to hide than an upscale bordello, so he let her take his arm.
Inside, it was pretty dark, except for the dance floor, bright with all
manner of undulating colored lights. A dozen stunning girls, who smiled
and waved to Dean in turn, populated it. The music - hand drum and
zither stuff, back in vogue - was boisterous, but not too loud to talk
over. Tables lined the walls discretely, barely visible in the dim light,
at which the gentlemen sat. Some were alone, but most had been joined by
at least two girls.
The were breathtaking. Some looked younger than Dean was
comfortable with, but they all wore the same dress: ankle-length skirts,
slit up both sides, all the way past the hip. Backless, tied behind the
neck, and made of gossamer fabric one could see right through. They wore
different colors, and different combinations of armbands, bracelets, and
anklets, but none of them were in possession of lingerie. Each was
elegantly made up and styled, no doubt by a highly paid in-house
professional. And they were poised, graceful, like a collection of
princesses, not prostitutes - well, except for the underwear thing - and
the effect was startling.
Dean had been in space by himself a little too long.
The curvy Madam handed him off to a waitress, who put him at a table in
the corner and secured him a whisky. When asked if he needed anything
else, he said, "When will I..." and trailed off when he couldn't tactfully
phrase the question.
She blinked coyly. "Someone will be with you to discuss our inventory
in just a moment."
"So this is how it's going to be tonight," accused Nikki. She seemed
Inana knelt on the floor in front of her, blushing hotly. She was
wearing her dress, like all the other girls. Hers was black.
"Do you know why you're kneeling in front of me like a whipped dog?"
Inana took a breath, and the words tumbled out, unbidden. "I tried to
leave again. I've been trained to come to you whenever I do something
Nikki nodded. "And didn't I warn you not to misbehave tonight?"
Inana blinked. "I don't remember." Which was true. It was hard to
remember much of anything these days.
Nikki's smile was humorless. "Fine. Honestly, Inana. I don't have
time for this. Not tonight. One way or another, you're going out on that
floor. I'll just have to dose you."
Like her admission of guilt, the gasp escaped her lips before she could
suppress it. "But..."
Nikki was already rummaging through her desk for the vial. "But what?"
"T-t-the doctor said that I shouldn't have any more," she pleaded. "He
said it would start to me."
Nikki didn't look up. Things continued to rattle around in her desk as
she searched. "Inana, if you don't straighten up, I'll show you 'hurt.'
Would you like another date with the dream plant?"
Somehow, Inana was able to keep herself from crying in front of
horrible, horrible Nikki. Part of it was the thought of the dream plant,
its tentacles holding her down while it...
"No, Nikki," she whispered, and held out her arm.
*Inventory?* he wondered, as he sipped his drink and tried to make sense
of this place. In the obvious ways, it was definitely like a brothel.
Every few minutes, one of the matched up with a handful of and
was enthusiastically led through a set of doors. But the vibe wasn't
quite right. Earlier, he'd taken notice of a redheaded sylph on the dance
floor. She seemed completely in her own world, until a stepped up and
asked her to join him. There was something off about the way she stared so
deeply into his eyes as he spoke. Halfway through his whisky, he noticed
that all the were acting like that. Dean had been on Pasharu enough
times to hear about all the weird things you could spend your money on in
Mezza City, but since he wasn't in the habit of frequenting places like
this, he had no real point of reference. He wondered how much this night
would end up costing him, and resolved to learn more after a trip to the
He was barely out of his seat when someone collided with him. Someone
not very tall, with warm, glossy skin. Someone who smelled of citrus.
Someone with tight curves and lovely straw-blond hair.
Someone who'd tripped over his leg, spilled out of her shoes, and was
pitching toward the floor.
The music didn't stop, but it may as well have. Every pair of eyes in
the room was on Dean, standing over the sprawled on the floor, his
mouth open in shocked embarrassment. It took a beat for his wits to
return. When they did, he knelt to help her up. He gripped her elbows, but
something surged out of her feverish, unblemished skin and lit him up like
Touching her was better than the best sex he'd ever had.
Something else was mixed in with that nerve-singeing pleasure. It was
raw panic; so fierce Dean could taste it. All this sensory input made it
very challenging to get her to her feet, but he managed, and checked to
make sure she wasn't hurt. As she looked up at him for the first time, he
realized that the fear was *hers*, not his. Somehow, he was feeling her
feelings, and for whatever reason, she was spooked.
Spooked and adorable. Her eyes were like the electric blue Pasharu sun,
if that sun were as luminous as her eyes, which it wasn't. Her hair angled
down from the nape of her neck, to curl under her chin. Her lips were
improbably full. Up close, her dress was boldly revealing, the moiré
patterns in the fabric beguiling. And it was wrapped tightly over her
generous curves. He forgot about every other in the room.
"Is there a problem?" someone asked. Dean gave the a break from
his intense stare to take in the compact, muscular gentleman in a black
suit. A bouncer, no doubt. He didn't know if the question was addressed
to him or the girl, whose fear suddenly tripled. His eyes widened with it,
and he wished he could switch off whatever the hell was connecting them.
The regarded them impassively. He wasn't leaving until one of them
said something, and Dean was at a loss for words. To his surprise, she
gently pushed him into his seat and perched on his lap. She shook her hair
at the bouncer and gave him a dazzling smile. "Sorry, I fell and this nice
man helped me up." She pointed to her shoes, strewn on the floor. "I think
I broke a heel." She frowned and nodded sympathetically at them. Poor
The bouncer gave Dean one more look, just to be thorough. Then he
relaxed. "Apologies. Just making sure the lady was okay," he said,
leaving Dean with the most beautiful he'd ever seen sitting on his
He steadied her, his hand on the small of her bare back. That was even
better than clutching her elbows. But once the bouncer was out of view,
her smile faded, and the fear returned. She seemed to be looking somewhere
roughly ten thousand miles behind his head. He brushed his fingers along
her cheek, mussing her hair a little. "Are you alright? Why so scared?"
Maybe she was on something. Man, this place was weird.
She didn't seem to hear him at first. Then he felt her mood shift. She
became aware of his presence in her feelings. Became aware of his
feelings, too. She grabbed his wrist, jerked his hand away from her face
and glared at him, accusing. With effort, she shifted all her attention to
him. Her gaze bored into him, and then all he could see was azure light as
he plunged into her eyes.
She wasn't sure about this guy. Obviously she hadn't meant to trip over
him; she was barely able to walk after Nikki had double-dosed her. It
wasn't her fault Nikki wanted her out here so bad.
But this guy... He was cute. He had curly brown hair, gray eyes. He
wasn't beefy, but thin. Compact. Her type...
There was something different about him. To date, every male she'd met
had turned out to be a creep, an asshole, or both, with two exceptions.
There wasn't much to say about those two brief encounters, but when this
guy helped her up and started to fuss over her, it made her feel the same
way. And just before she slapped him for touching her face, she realized
that she could link with him.
Inana was quasi-telepathic. She couldn't do it with just anybody. She
didn't know why, but if she could read someone, they generally turned out
to be okay.
And this guy could read her *back.*
It was enough to jolt her out of her narcotic haze and remember how bad
she wanted out of here, so she focused, tried to suss him out. She reached
out with her thoughts...
*It was easy. Sure, he had his secrets, but he instinctively made
himself accessible to her. So she could see that he wasn't psychotic or
evil. That he hadn't killed anyone. Well, anyone who hadn't deserved it.
He was some kind of loner, traversing space all by himself, doing this
and that to make ends meet. Once he was some kind of Central Government
spook, but something bad happened, something he wouldn't let her see.
The important thing was that he didn't want to tie her up, or hypnotize
her. Sure, he was hot for her, but she was used to that. He didn't even
know what a Xhian was! Hell, he didn't even want to buy her. He was only
in here to hide from some who wanted to rough him up. He was in
trouble, just like her.
She decided to make her appeal...*
*She probed around in his head for a bit, finding out what his deal was,
which was okay. But she made her own feelings opaque to him, so he
couldn't tell what she thought of him so far.
Then she showed him dreams of things that had happened to her. Not very
nice things. He could tell by dream logic that some of this had happened
for days at a time. It was hard to make sense of it all, because she was
having trouble focusing. Something began seeping into each thought as she
sent it to him, and before she could finish, the thought became saturated,
unreadable. But he pieced together a few details.
She was pretty young, and her name was Inana. She was some kind of
runaway from Xhia Prime, a planet he'd never heard of. Apparently, it was
home to a race of mostly women with super-heightened sexual abilities.
Sounded like a nice place to visit. A planet of sirens, products of the
old genetic revolution; a mostly dark stain on the pages of human history.
All that shit was illegal now.
Apparently, there were lots of undesirables bent on making money off of
her. On several occasions, she'd been abducted, and her captors had
indulged in weird submission games with her. Her latest tormentor was a
fat crime lord who'd put her up for sale. So this place wasn't a
whorehouse, after all.
It was a slave market.
Inana was in the deepest of shit, the worst predicament of her life, and
she was too tranced out to do anything about it.*
Except ask him for help...
When he came back to himself, he found she was still staring into his
eyes, but now she was miles away. It was like she was hypnotized.
Actually, she was: she'd inadvertently tranced herself. She'd been put
under very deep, over and over for days now. They gave her some sort of
drug that kept her from being able to think straight. She was on it right
now. That's why she'd collided with him.
He shook her gently. "Inana..." Her name sounded nice out loud.
That seemed to snap her out of it. She frowned, touched her forehead to
his, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Apparently, she'd resolved any
reservations about him during their telepathic exchange. She stayed like
that for a while as she calmed herself down. Finally, she took a long,
slow breath and met his eyes again. "Will you..." she attempted.
"Will I?" he offered helpfully.
She looked around the room nervously. "Help me?" she whispered, eyeing
Dean thought about that for a second. She seemed like a sweet kid; it
was a shame she was mixed up in all this. He could definitely see why
trouble would follow her around. But on that particular night he was
certain that he had enough trouble in his life. "Well..." he began.
"The gentleman has excellent taste," purred the Madam as she strolled up
to their table, causing Inana's hard-won calm to evaporate. Dean had no
idea how long she'd been watching them. He and Inana probably looked like
moon-eyed lovers to everyone else.
He remembered that there were people out looking for him. The reason he
remembered was because at that moment, those people walked into the room.
He swallowed, and eyed the Madam. She wanted to know if Dean was here to
do business. He gave Inana a gentle squeeze. "She seems to have taken a
shine to me," he said, sounding casual as he stroked her hair.
"I'll let you in on a little secret," the Madam said, leaning down in
such a way as to show Dean a remarkable landscape of cleavage. "This is
Inana's first night at market, and you're the first to see her."
Dean blinked. Market? After Inana's story, it wasn't hard for him to
make the conceptual leap from bordello to slave ring, but it sounded weird
spoken out loud. Slavery was illegal in most human cultures, and it was
illegal here on Pasharu, but the truth was that the government on this
world was for looking the other way. As Dean could well attest, it
was easy to do business under the table here. Still, slaves were rare, and
very expensive. All the in this room had to be fabulously wealthy.
Except for the two who were looking for him. And the bouncer, who
they were waving over.
"This one is very special," the Madam said, running her finger down
Inana's back. Inana shuddered slightly and closed her eyes. "Very rare.
Dean got the message loud and clear: *don't paw the merch if you aren't
serious.* He had no desire to buy Inana, and probably couldn't afford her
even with all the money in his briefcase. He was here, he reminded
himself, to elude his pursuers, who were busy describing him to the
bouncer. Each second it became more obvious that they were colleagues.
Which made it likely that the same shady characters whose offices he'd just
wrecked were, in fact, also the owners of the secret slave market he was
hiding in. He'd backed himself literally into a corner, he realized with a
sigh, and the only way out was through. So he smiled at the Madam. "She
*is* something special, isn't she? I've been trying to acquire one of her
kind for some time," he lied. "I wonder if I might be alone with her for a
while?" Inana slipped her hands into his, gave him a puzzled, hopeful
The Madam's eyes flicked briefly over his briefcase. "Of course," she
smiled. "This way, please."
She was glad for Dean that those didn't see them leave. Evil Nikki
led them up the spiral staircase to the private suites, where most of the
sex happened. She was a little exhilarated. She'd get to be alone with
Dean, and if he was smart, he'd listen to her.
Nikki made a show of picking out a room, before opening the door with a
flourish. Before she left, she gave Inana a look, a prolonged, wordless
warning not to fuck with her again. She didn't want to get her hopes up by
imagining that she'd never see Nikki again.
Once they were inside, and Dean had locked the door, she was so relieved
that she didn't wait for him to deliver the line he'd been rehearsing along
the way; the one about how she was a sweet girl, but he needed to leave,
and would he show her a discreet way out? As he opened his mouth to speak,
she lay a finger on his lips, flicked her eyes to the surveillance gear on
the ceiling. Since he wasn't an idiot, he nodded imperceptibly to her.
*Good boy,* she thought to him, which made him smile.
The drug was wearing off, and she was in her element now, so she
brazenly led him to the small bed and pushed him down. She dialed up some
soft music, so that if they did have to talk out loud, they could do so
without being heard. She slithered quickly out of her dress and let it
drop unceremoniously to the floor. Of course she was used to every who
laid eyes on her drooling, just the same she was a little thrilled at
Dean's wide-eyed reaction. She almost laughed at his reddening cheeks when
she sat down beside him.
He was going to make a last-ditch effort to turn her down again, so she
leaned toward his ear and breathed on it. His eyelids fluttered, his
protest forgotten. Her lips never touched him, and they didn't need to.
The millimeters of air between them were charged with her powerful
pheromones. Her jaw worked as she pantomimed licking his ear.
*Can you?* she thought to him. *Can you get me out of here?* She tried
not to sound too desperate.
*I don't know,* he stammered back, as she began to unbutton his shirt.
*I'm in a bit of a jam myself.*
*Those men. I know.* She was on eggshells, trying to keep him from
bolting. *Can't you take me with you?*
*It's likely to get dangerous,* he protested, as he kicked off his
shoes. *And I work best alone. I've got to get out of here quick.*
*Then why are you letting me take your pants off,* she thought coyly.
*If you don't fuck me now, they'll get suspicious.* She slithered behind
him on the bed, getting into position, and steepled her feet beneath her
ass. *Come on. You know you want to...*
Suddenly, Dean was between her thighs, sliding inside her. And once
that happened, there was no *way* he was leaving.
But her smile faded when she realized he was about to blow it already.
She'd forgotten that it had been a while for him, and she was a little too
much woman for him at that moment. Ordinarily, she could calm any and
ride him as long as she wanted, but this guy was pent up, and he'd never
been with a Xhian before. *Stop,* she admonished, summoning her wiles.
Dean seemed distracted. He obviously wanted her, but he also couldn't
stop thinking about those busting in any second. He wanted to make
tracks. That wasn't really helping him to keep from bursting inside her,
but she managed to squeeze him off just in time. When he noticed her
watching him, he smiled down at her. *Sorry.*
She locked her fingers around his neck and started fucking him again.
*It's okay,* she smiled. *I just want you to make me come.*
It was a given in Inana's world that no mortal could refuse that
request of her. When Dean began to thrust into her again, she purred,
content that the given was a universal constant. Plus, now he was showing
her something she hadn't had in ages.
He was actually paying attention to her, trying to learn what got her
off. Even though he hadn't figured it out yet (they were virtually
strangers, after all), the attention made her moan. This encouraged him,
and when he gripped the back of her neck, it almost sent her over the top.
Surprised, she writhed in his hands and looked away, suddenly too shy for
eye contact. She wanted things to go on a while, but when he gently kissed
her collarbone, it was too much. She screamed as he unloaded savagely.
"What about buying me?" Inana suggested quietly. It seemed too intimate
to keep sharing thoughts after what had transpired between them, not
knowing what the future held.
They were lingering on the bed, enjoying the heavenly post-coital vibe.
Once Dean had confirmed that his unit hadn't exploded from his painfully
violent ejaculation, he decided that his pursuers were watching them in the
surveillance room, enjoying the show, waiting for the most embarrassing
moment to bust him.
"That's a lot of money," he murmured. And it was. Even though the
money in the briefcase could fund his lavish lifestyle for a few years, it
wasn't quite enough to buy a Xhian sex slave - the rarest of endangered
human races in the galaxy, according to her. "And besides, they feel it's
*their* money, Inana. They'd only take it back, and we'd both be fucked."
She sighed next to him. "What if I told you I knew another way out of
Dean was torn. She was amazing. But the last time he really trusted
someone... It didn't work out. "Inana, I'm sorry. I don't think I'm the
guy to help you."
She went still. Then she pulled him on top of her, blocking the
camera's view of her face. She gazed at him calmly. Then, just for him,
she let that calm go, and she let him see a scared, runaway street urchin,
an unimaginable distance from home, with no hope in this world or any
other. She sobbed once, twice, then willed her inscrutable mask back in
place. She was resigned, her fate in his hands.
At that moment, Dean fell the last few steps down a long staircase that
led to a deep infatuation, and his life got a lot more complicated. "Hey,
hey," he soothed, brushing her cheek, and this time she let him. "Sorry.
I'm being an asshole. All right. Let's get out of here."
*End Part One*
By Aerosol Kid
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