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Extasis, Part Four

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Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list February 11, 2001

Extasis 4/?
See earlier parts for disclaimers.
Feedback: Oh, definitely.
Notes: Yes, Melissa, smut is on the way.

Kill then, and bliss me,
But first come kiss me.

Anonymous 16th century


Madame Topolski had seen much in her admitted-to twenty-some years, but the pair moving unhurriedly across the floor to take the chairs across the table from her were certainly the most unique that she'd laid eyes on in a long while. As they reached her place, she briefly contemplated moving to another seat, but banished that thought as a long-fingered hand was splayed on the tabletop before her. Cautiously, her gaze traveled up the length of the wrist, noting tendons corded under the pale skin and the scars winding the forearm circled with a tattoo whose design was obviously of bandit origin. She blandly noted the fine stitching of a leather vest, and then reached the man's face.

Intensity radiated from those gold-flecked eyes, and her affected disinterest fell away before such a clear authority. A full lower lip hinted at generous sensuality, but its present straightness led her to believe that such kindness was only bestowed upon those few partners he deemed worthy of such attention. His earthen -toned hair stood up in tufts, cut short around the ears, but rose up like some rebellious crop of wild grass on top, tinged a brilliant red. This man, whatever he was, plainly expected people to cease their meaningless lives and freeze for his pleasure.

And the rapidly widening abyss in the region of Topolski's stomach seemed to think that complying with his wishes was a very wise course of action. She agreed; her life span might have the potential to increase if she buckled under his regard. So when one lean hand gestured for her to move her chair closer to his, she complied without protest. He drew back, not even considering that she might consider fleeing. In truth, her instincts were serving her well; every cell in her small frame shrieked to obey, or be struck down as she ran. But the damnable inquisitive nature that got her into all kinds of fixes was more interested in learning the story behind her tablemates, so she quickly donned her most engaging manner and smiled at the heretofore silent couple.

"I take it that you aren't bowled over by my charms, so I'll assume that you wanted the table with the best view of the door."

Blondie smiled back at Topolski in a way that made the older woman feel that she had avoided some unpleasant confrontation, and more or less curled up on her seat, surveying the room with all the finesse of a practiced shopper. . Her companion inclined his head as if he were very generously allowing her to continue living. His heavy-lidded stare gave an observer the impression that he was less than completely awake, but Topolski got the distinct impression that somewhere on his person was an emphatic statement to the contrary.

Just then, Topolski's second-in-command stepped up to the much abused counter that passed for a bar and whispered something to the man behind the counter. A moment later, a string of individuals secured with lengths of chain were led up to his side, and more conversation ensued. At last, the items for sale were hustled up onto the makeshift display block, getting attention from various patrons with their wailing and generally useless pleading.


They weren't of good breeding, I could see that; all sunken bones and too many of them had no more space between their eyes than the sliver of nose that plunged down their faces like a knife wound. But I watched their sale; there wasn't going to be any sort of entertainment, so this was the only option besides taking Tess back to our ship and spending some time relearning her body. Not that such an activity was a trial, I just didn't feel like having her stare silently at me; refusing to actually verbalize her boredom, just refusing to respond unless threatened with violence. And that didn't sound too arousing tonight- I wanted a break, maybe something new.

Old Testament precedent, it was somewhat common to marry your brother's widow. Of course, later on, there's a rather unappealing curse. A man who marries his brother's widow will be childless. Yeah, so Zan didn't die suddenly and leave me to take care of his 'loving wife', but to her, he's as good as rotted in the ground, so I consider her to be my property. After all, there is no market for used Queens.

A ripple of emotion went through the crowd suddenly, and the pheromone level in the bar went up to astronomical levels. Since there had been no sudden announcement of prostitutes serving for free, I glanced up to see whatSHoly shit, if variety is the spice of life, then I just found the friggen' motherload. Cinnamon and sugar, all bound up in ordinary sackcloth. Her innocence hit my senses like a freight train, and I inhaled rose petals.

Small, she was, and even under her camouflage, her delicacy was evident. She kept her head down in an attempt to shut out the crudely appreciative voices of the crowd around her. If her hands had not been secured so effectively in front of her, I believe that she would have put them over her ears. Truly, an innocent among filth, a morsel that would be despoiled and then tossed aside if not treated properly. I spoke, gaining the trader's attention. I knew of her; she was an expert at her profession, and knowledgeable about the reaction her prize would garner from the audience. I would have to word things carefully.

"From Ptero?" I could see her start at the sound of my voice; most were surprised, I never was one for casual questions, only intimidation and more often then not, brutally frank expressions of my desires. Some might consider me to be rude, I just cut through the posturing and make my wants clear. Sure, I can be tolerant, I'll just take a step back, see if it works, if not, a fist'll settle matters pretty quick too.

"Yes, the latest crop are going faster than I can ship them out," Topolski confessed, moving closer to me. Tess was watching the stage, and paid only cursory attention to our conversation; she knew what I was after. Part of the reason we've gotten along so well for so long.

Topolski continued, pointing at the female I had noticed, shit, everyone else breathing had seen her. "All except that one, she's a special piece. Bought her off a desperate human captain- couldn't afford to pay his debts, and about to be killed for it, so he sells his own flesh and blood." She shook her head. "Disgusting man. If she's lucky, some bordello marm will buy her, and at least she'll be warm and dry. It's better than what some of these miscreants have planned for the poor thing."

The businesswoman had a heart, who knew? And who the fuck cared? Didn't mean she wouldn't hand that sweet thing off to the most lecherous old man in the room if he passed over enough credits to her liking. I understood her way of thinking; I myself usually had just enough money to live the way I did, do what I wanted, but not enough to be truly uncomfortably rich. But this young fawn looked entirely too inviting to be allowed to escape. Tess leaned against my arm, letting her breasts pillow along my bicep.

"Definitely fresh," she purred, the scent of lilacs flooding my nostrils, Tess was always her own little hothouse when aroused. "Just ready to collapse from tension and fall irrevocably in devotion with whoever gets her out of this mess." Her smile was eager.

I answered her with a smile of my own, and she squealed eagerly. Around us, the bidding was reaching mindbending proportions, and I put thoughts of a vacation out of my mind. This little slut had better earn her keep or I'd throw her out faster'n light speed. Cutting off an obese merchant with rings encrusting every fleshy digit, I held up a hand, catching the attention of the auctioneer.

"Enough. She's mine." I gestured for Tess to pull out our funds, and she did so with enough glee that I knew she'd add her own contributions to the pile, and expect at turn at our acquisition. I wasn't about to object. Nothing put her in a better mood than untouched meat, and this looked to be some of the tastiest we'd ever sampled. Topolski raised an eyebrow in surprise but motioned for her servant to complete the transaction. Some of the other bidders seemed resentful enough to force the issue of ownership, and as the girl was led to our table, I saw one or two moving together to possibly prevent our exit.

"She'll serve you well," Topolski, intoned the traditional promise of such a deal, and I made noises at the proper moments, as Tess slid an arm around the girl, both for comfort, and as a preventative measure.

"Yes," I murmured, catching a glimpse of wide blue eyes peeking up at me from beneath matted cornflower hair. "She sure will."

We made our way towards the door, and the first would-be thief met Tess' knife. The next found himself dancing on the muzzle of a large gun, and then nursing a hole in his sternum. We made a point to not use our powers in a situation where there might be any survivors might carry word back to the Bitch-Queen that her 'family' was alive. Anonymity was freedom and I had no wish to surrender my liberty to a religious freak- especially if she got it into her head that I should marry her. But any further trespasses would be met more harshly; two was our warning limit, then we got creative.

All through it, our newest pet made no sound, it was only when we reached the ship and she found herself thrust into the room Tess and I shared that she began keening with fear; covering her head with her arms.

Yup, things had sudden become too real, and the only way to cope was to face the truth. There was only one real nasty problem when dealing with reality, and most people made it a rule to avoid it altogether because of this. I can sum up the dilemma in a single sentence:

The thing many dislike most about reality is its realism.


Continue to Part Five

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