1 Kimberley
The slimebag punter thrusts a bill into my panties and winks while simultaneously licking his lips. It’s a five-dollar bill – whoopee – last of the big spenders. I continue to gyrate and grind on my podium, the overzealous lights leaving nothing secret. All of my lumps and bumps are on display for all the filthy perverts to ogle and salivate over as they sit around looking up to me. Yes, I’m the caged animal at the zoo and they are the spectators. I fucking hate my life.
I watch one of the punters call Geoff the floor manager over and whisper in his ear. My stomach churns. I know what’s coming, a private dance. I have five minutes until my shift finishes. I want this part of my life to be over. I want to be out of here, on the next bus out of this city, away from my ex-boyfriend and this shitty job. Enough is enough! You can only be screwed over and thrown into the gutter so many times before you stop trying to get up again. I was getting pretty close to that stage. If I didn’t get out of this downward spiral now, I never would.
I look over at Bekka, she’s a shadow of her formal self. I’ve known her since we were put into the same foster home together as kids. I’ve begged her for the last week to come with me and start a new life, but she won’t. She’s scared to leave her alcoholic boyfriend who makes her work this job to fund his drink and drug problems - she’s scared of the consequences.
I finally saw sense and got rid of my lowlife other-half a week ago. I’m sick of always attracting the same deadbeats, who just use and abuse me.
I look at the clock. Yes, in exactly three minutes this life is going to be far behind me. I’m going to get some structure and discipline back in my life – I’m joining the army.
I put all my effort into the last few minutes of dancing, I need as much money as I can muster to put towards my bus ticket and new start.
Dollar bills are thrown at my feet, and when the minute hand finally hits twelve, I kneel down and scoop them up. But when I see their measly offerings I want to scream in their faces. Fucking one-dollar bills, I’m worth more than that you assholes! Of course I don’t. Instead, I blow kisses as they get up and either head for the bar or over to the next girl dancing on a podium.
Geoff grabs my arm as I’m jumping down from the stage and I wince at his unnecessary roughness. “Kim, room three. You have a request for a private dance.”
I use my biggest doe eyes to implore him, “Come on Geoff, my shift is over. That was my last ever gig.”
He squeezes my arm harder and I just know I’ll be left with a couple of bruises tomorrow. “If you want your settlement pay you’ll get your fucking fat ass in there pronto!”
I yank my arm away but keep my lips drawn together in a thin line to stop the torrent of abuse that is desperate to be released from my tongue to verbally attack him. I can’t afford to not get paid. No money would mean kissing my bus ticket and dreams goodbye. I nod with downcast eyes, going into the submissive role I learned for survival too many years ago to remember.
I grab my bag and stash the cash I’ve just collected into the inside zipper, then quickly grab the black mesh dress discarded at the beginning of my dance and pull it down over my matching black underwear.
I know part of the reason I don’t earn as much as the other girls is because I refuse to get naked. Yet although I didn’t have a great start to life I’m grateful that I still have a minuscule of pride and respect left for myself, unlike poor Bekka who bares it all, but whose eyes are as cold and dead as my poor parents in their pauper graves.
Taking a deep breath I head to the back of the club to where the private rooms are located. Room three’s door is slightly ajar so I knock lightly, push it open and enter. My assumptions were correct. The five-dollar tipper is sprawled out on the leather couch, his arms spread out along the length of the backrest with his legs astride and open wide in invitation. His body language screams for me to go over and jump up and down on his cock, but hell would have to freeze over first. I may be an exotic dancer, but I am not that kind of girl at work.
He runs his eyes up and down the length of my body and squeezes his cock as he does so. I shiver. It’s a bad sign. An embedded sixth sense warning that I’ve had since I entered the foster care system nearly two decades ago lets me know that trouble is afoot.
Come on Kimberly, let’s make this fast. It’s the last dance you’ll ever have to do.
He beckons me over and presses a button to his left that starts up the music system. There is also a dimmer switch for the lights but he fails to turn the harsh glow down. I cringe inwardly, I prefer the lighting low. To men, I have the perfect voluptuous figure-eight body – small waist, big hips, big tits and a Kardashian butt. I suppose my Christian name is appropriate for my sizeable behind, but to me, it’s a curse. It’s the figure that no matter how much I cut down on my calorie intake in my teen years to ward off the unwanted attention – my womanly appendages never reduced in size.
Throwing my bag down into the corner I inhale deeply and will my limbs to begin to move.
Last time Kim…Last time…
I flick my hair back and glide towards him catwalk style, sashaying my hips for all they are worth. I halt immediately in front of him, turn my back to him and bend one-eighty so that my hands are wrapped around my ankles and my head is upside down. I have enough junk in the trunk to twerk from this position, it’s my signature move. I hear him gasp and then hear the zip to his flies open.
Oh no – not good! My senses warned me correctly.
As I straighten he pushes my dress up over my ass, grabs my hips and then pulls me down onto his crotch. I feel his exposed engorged cock nuzzle between the cheeks of my ass. He releases my hips to manhandle my breasts. I think I’m in shock because I do nothing for a second or two – but only a second or two, because after that I throw my head back, giving him a backward head butt.
He hollers out and I leap off his lap as he jumps to his feet clutching his nose - his cock now flaccid and wiggling about out of his flies like an ugly fat slug.
He pulls his hands away from his face and examines them. His hands and his nose are a bloody mess.
“You little bitch!”
Before I can react he backhands me, catching my cheekbone with his ring. I feel the heat of my own blood trickling down my cheek.
Fuck! That will not look good at recruitment.
All the years of pent up frustration unleash in my fury.
Without thinking of the consequences, I drawback my right hook and then give it to him hard, back on the nose again. Yet more blood explodes in a rainbow of red. Some of it splatters on me and I grimace, he could be riddled with disease for all I know.
His eyes open to an alarming width and then his legs buckle beneath him. He crumples to the floor with a sickening thud.
Fuck! Have I killed him?
I kneel, and with shaky hands feel for a pulse. It’s there. I sigh in relief and stand to take in the carnage. His blood is sprayed on the couch and all over the off white walls.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I have two choices.
1: Go fetch Geoff and try to explain this little shit storm. However, to avoid being sued I know who he’s going to side with.
2: Get the hell out of there. Say goodbye to my week’s paycheck and just hope I have enough money for the bus.
I go with option two. I may starve, but at least I won’t be in metal bracelets.
Urgency helps me pull off the mesh dress in one swift motion and I wipe the man’s blood splatters off me with it. I pull out my jeans, boots, vest top and hoodie from my bag and swiftly put them on. But turning to leave I stop abruptly and look down at the man. I go over to him and check his pockets. His wallet is just inside his jacket pocket and I rifle through its contents. He has a paltry twenty-seven dollars in ones and fives. I pocket it all and put his wallet back in his pocket. Geoff doesn’t have my real name or social security number, this dancing gig was cash in the hand job – thank goodness I’m untraceable.
That’s for the dance motherfucker!
I peek out the door and wait for my chance to sneak out of there. Geoff is nowhere in sight but Buddy the bouncer is lingering a couple of feet away.
Come on…
And then as if Lady Luck herself is watching over me, a bit of luck finally comes my way and a distraction materialises - only I would have preferred it to be a different distraction. A punter tries to pull Bekka off the stage. But to my amazement, Bekka fights back. She kicks the guy in the shoulder and he falls back arms flaying, taking several drinks and other punters down with him.
Bekka grabs her clothes and stands up, “That’s it. I quit!”
I grin wildly and slip out of room three and head to an emergency exit that leads to the back of the club.
Outside, I text Bekka.
Well done Bekks, I watched you in action. Meet me outback. Tell no-one!
Send
I smile. Maybe she’ll come with me after all.
Ping
She replies.
How cool was I? 2 mins
I close my eyes and sigh with relief. I’m free…We’re free. Now we can leave all this shit behind us and get on with the next part of our lives. The good part I hope.
My closed eyelids turn red. Someone is shining a light into my face. My heart hammers at full speed. Did they find the punter already and call the cops?
My hand naturally rises to shield my eyes and I see outlines of people – but they are not cops. Their outlines indicate that they are short, very stocky children.
I keep my voice low. “Hello, are you lost?”
Then everything goes black.
Taran
I knock on the door and wait for a reply.
“Come!”
There are three captains sitting around an oval table. I stand erect in front of them and salute.
“Lieutenant Tinichy, good to see you. At ease!” I relax my stance. “You have come highly recommended from Commander Rhealmor, he cannot speak highly enough about you.” I dip my head in acknowledgment. “The job you are recommended for requires you to go undercover. It might be for doons or even wids, however it could even be as long as a cyc. We have looked at your personal files and it appears you have no family this mission might interfere with which makes you the perfect candidate for the job. Before I continue, can you can confirm that the notes about your personal life are correct and up to date?”
I clear my throat. “Yes sir, that is correct. I was orphaned as a nip and then went into the nip home support system. I stayed there until I was old enough to join the Federation cadets sir.”
He nods and turns his head to look at the other captains. They also nod. He returns his attention back to me. “Very good. I can confirm this mission will go to you. We need you to go to Planet Desra. Once there you will go to the Zolarian sector and locate a club called Femme Fatale. We need you to acquire a working position in the establishment. It does not matter what job you acquire but you need to be able to monitor all the clients and all the on-goings of the club. When you have acquired a position, contact us and we will divulge more information as to why you are there and what your mission requires of you.” My mind is racing as I wonder what this could be about. “We will upload credos to your wrist clasp so all expenses are met, although you might want to take mainly physical credos with you because we’re not sure whether virtual credos will go down well on that side of the planet. Your job for now is just to blend in… Is that understood lieutenant?”
I salute, “Yes sir.”
“Very good. You are dismissed.”
I bow my head and leave the room, my back straight and proud. I’m glowing inside. Finally, after all these years serving the Federation – some recognition.
***
The shuttle I board is almost empty. I guess not many people want to visit Desra. Being a planet occupied mainly by ex-convicts it’s certainly not high on the list of places I’ve wanted to visit, that’s for sure.
I’d logged into the Federation’s database to get an idea of the climate and terrain before I did my packing and discovered that the side of the planet I was destined to go to was half-covered in sand and mountains so there wasn’t much for me to pack. Now looking out of the window as we descend from the planet’s atmosphere, I can see I wasn’t wrong to pack my strong hiking boots. This side of the planet is barren; the landscape is almost colourless, just the odd few milics of foliage break up the monotony of the landscape that consists of milics and milics of white sand and orange mountain ranges.
As soon as I check in with customs, I walk from the launch centre straight into the hustle and bustle of a large trading post township. Many different species inhabitant Planet Desra, too many for me to count as I wander from trade stall to trade stall, but I see many Huwandis, Cagodians, Owanas, Brizzoks, Occolli, Quislets, Grimwoks and Bissitorians to name but a few. I do not see any of my species, but we are rare, and being a half-breed, I’m even rarer.
There’s no way I’m walking in this heat, I need transport. I spot a building with huge doors open wide. Inside are a multitude of glider transporters. Perfect.
After ten mids of haggling with a Bissitorian, I get a half decent Kevlar and carbon two-seater glider. The handlebars are low and it has a high screen. Being as big as I am I need a large screen to be able to shield the whole of my bulk from the sand, especially from my face as I ride because I won’t be riding slowly.
I hold up my wrist clasp to see if he will accept a virtual payment. “Four-hundred and seventy thousand credos right?” I confirm before I commit.
He nods his head and growls as he also lifts his wrist clasp, unhappy that I was on the better half of the haggling deal. “Agreed.”
My clasp turns red and buzzes and his turns green and pings. He checks the data on his clasp to make sure I haven’t tried to short change him, then nods when he’s satisfied.
I tie my bag onto the seat behind me as the engine idles and hums like a flying wazo and then swing my leg over and climb on. It fits me like a second skin and a lob-sided smile spreads on my lips. It takes me back to my rebellious nipseak years when the other nips in the home dared me to sneak a ride on a visiting Federation officer’s glider.
I had ridden it around our home grounds with ease, but as soon as my misdemeanour had been detected by the home staff, the officer hadn’t tried to stop me; instead, he’d stood watching me with his arms crossed. When I finally stopped, to my surprise the berating I was expecting never came. In its place was encouragement. That doon he inspired me to join the Federation cadets and I hadn’t looked back since.
Without haste, I type the club’s co-ordinates into the on-board scanner and then crack open the accelerator. Even with the breeze from the speed I’m building up, the heat never cools and the humidity of it builds a thin layer of perspiration in my hottest areas, leaving damp patches on my skin-hugging clothing.
Soon, the basic buildings built up around the launch area begin to thin, until I’m only seeing one or two every few milics. Observing the landscape as I speed past and up close and personal it’s just as it was as I viewed it from the shuttle. White sand, an orange mountain range and flurries of coloured foliage patches. I realise I haven’t checked what predators the planet might have, but I have my laser packed in a secret pocket on my bag and my inner-core ability, so I’m not too worried.
A huge dome structure comes into view to my right. I’d read about those on the inbound advertisement screen inside the shuttle. Apparently, domes housed one of the planet’s main sources of entertainment. It’s where one on one combat fights are held, with both men and women competing. Some fight for credos and others are purchased prisoners, fighting to try and gain their freedom, earning the dome owner a tidy sum in their undertaking. Personally, I disagreed with females fighting but my opinion was in the minority, so around my fellow workers, I always kept my opinions to myself.
After another hinc of riding, the dome is hundreds of milics behind me. I begin to see a few more dwellings begin to appear, but then they are gone again and there’s nothing but sand for another few kilocs. Then as if from nowhere, an enormous black building rises from the horizon. I know it’s the club before I read the mammoth sign emblazoning its name jutting up from the roof. Femme Fatale.
I pull up in a cloud of dust next to a row of other gliders, disembark, and untie my bag. I have no idea as to how I was going to try and secure a position in the club; I just hope an opportunity arises. Dismounting my glider I march up to the door. A sign written in at least thirty languages greets me.
CLUB RULES: No abilities or body weapons to be used. Breaking this rule may result in death!
I frown and enter.
The place is as dark on the inside as the shell on the outer facade. I hang back in the shadows and assess the room and especially its occupants. The smell of stale meg hangs heavy in the air mixed in with the putrid sweat of the club’s inhabitants. From a quick scan left to right, I can see they aren’t pillars of the planet’s community – a collection of different species that appear to be keeping to their own. A huddle of Kuwatas linger up the far right corner, half a dozen Lipzie’s line along the bar also located on the right, and a group of Taraquets sit ahead to my left. There are also one or two other species dotted about drinking alone, seated at one of the many tables that cover the club’s floor.
I’m surprised at how busy it is for this time of the day and if this was anything to go by, the evenings would be heaving.
Gaming kiosks line the perimerik of the room and elevated plinths are everywhere, in between the tables, up the corners of the room, either side of the bar. But the dominating feature of the club is a large circular stage located right in the centre.
Music begins to play and suddenly a large group of females is herded onto the stage. They are also a mix of species, and all of them are upset and despairing - all but one.
Her wide wary eyes show a mix of emotions - fear, anger, determination. She has a small mouth lined with plump pink lips, her nose is delicate, her hair is long and golden and her skin is creamy white like the sand that covers the planet. She is smaller in height than the other females but has a body sculpted from my dreams. I’ve not seen her species before, not on any of the planets governed by the Federation and I’m curious to find out more about them.
I frown, wondering why they are here. Are they here against their will? Is this my mission, to stop the illegal trafficking of females?
A Quislet walks onto the stage with a long stick. I suddenly realise what the stick is. It’s a zappler, used by prison guards in the prison located on Planet Prismn to keep the inmates in check. I’d done a yana in the male section there as part of my training back in the day and I’d recognise that weapon anywhere. My stomach tightens. Surely it’s not for the females.
The Quislet barks orders at the females, but I’m too far away to hear what he’s saying. They look at him stunned but remain still. He zaps an Occolli and she crumples to the floor. A few of the club’s occupants laugh and I feel the veins in my neck and temples throb. All of my muscles tense as I try to refrain from intervening. It goes against every sinew in my body not to help but I cannot risk failing my mission before it’s even begun.
The Quislet barks at the females again and this time they begin to move, dancing to the music, some more freely than others. My eyes are drawn to the small un-known female. She watches the other females for a couple of nodes before joining in. Her body was made to move to music and I can’t stop the hardening of my taja as I watch her gyrate. She draws me in – hypnotising me with her hips and mambas.
A commotion to the far left of the stage draws my eye. A Bissitorian is trying to drag a Huwandi off the stage. The Quislet strides over and aims his zappler at the Bissitorian, but he’s too quick and grabs the end of it before the Quislet has a chance to zap him. They begin a power struggle but the Quislet is beginning to lose. The club’s occupants look on amused. No one is going to intervene. This is my open invitation.
I sprint towards the stage, dodging tables as I do so. I wrestle internally whether or not to pull out my laser, but it’s Federation issue and it would be a dead giveaway. I also know that now is not the right time to use my inner-core ability, so instead I choose to use brawn.
I throw down my bag as I reach the Bissitorian, lunging my whole body weight at him. We crash to the ground, and I land on top of him. The air expels from his lungs and before he can draw breath I pull back a fist and hit him square on the jaw. He’s out cold.
As I scramble to my feet the Quislet jumps down from the stage. Picking up the zappler I hand it to him. He narrows his eyes, untrusting.
“Why did you do that? Why did you help me?”
“You looked like you were in trouble and I thought if I helped you, you might help me… I need a job.”
He frowns and a hint of a smile reaches the edge of his mouth. “Follow me and we’ll talk.” He looks up to the females on the stage. “Keep dancing until you are told to stop!”
I grab my bag and follow the Quislet, but turn to see the small female’s eyes following me. The insides of my stomach flutter.
We go into a room I guess is his office and he sits behind an oval desk, gesturing for me to sit.
He clears his throat, “My name is Fleetris and I’m the owner of this establishment. You’re in luck; I have a position that’s just opened up. My bouncer and general odds body was killed by one of the regulars.” He watches my reaction. “The job is yours if you want it. You proved you can handle yourself out there.”
My pulse quickens at his blasé mention of his former employee's demise. I nod and keep my expression blank. “What do you pay?”
He smirks, “Blunt and upfront with the important questions – I like that. How about four-hundred credos a day and accommodation thrown in?”
I frown, “How about five-hundred credos a day with the accommodation? For all I know it could be a shit-filled cesspit!”
He leans back and intertwines his fingers with a smirk. “Brains as well as brawn, I’d better keep an eye on you.” He leans forward and offers the lower hand of the two on his right-hand side. “Agreed. Let me deal with my new shipment of females and then I’ll show you your new dwelling.” I grab his hand and shake. “It’s rare to get a Deviad on this planet; I haven’t seen one in twenty yanas.” I remain silent.
Back in the club, I stand behind him at the stage as he hollers up to the females. “Stop! Sit down and wait until you’re shown where you’ll be staying.”
Another Quislet dressed in a Desra Federation uniform suddenly appears to our right. He says nothing but hovers back in the shadows looking in Fleetris’s direction. Fleetris nods at him and holds up a hand splaying his eight fingers, indicating to the officer how long he will be. The Federation guy sinks back further into the shadows and eyeballs the females on the stage. There’s something about him - he looks shifty.
Maybe the mission involves him?
Fleetris looks back at me. “Follow me!”
He leads the way to the back of the club and up some stairs. There is a long corridor that spans the length of the building and doors line it on both sides. He gestures to the first door on the left. “That is your room,” then motions to the other doors. “Those rooms are where the females will stay.” He hands me a small fob, it has numerous small numbered buttons on it. “That opens and locks the doors to the rooms. Go fetch the females and allocate them rooms, one room each. After you’ve settled them all in, I’ll give you some time to yourself before I come back to explain your job role. But now I must go, I have a business meeting.” I nod and watch him leave. Then I turn and enter my room.
I’m pleasantly shocked. Its former owner’s belongings are still in here, but the place is clean and habitable. A change of bedding is all it needs to suffice. Looking down at the key-fob in my hand I decide to check out the females’ quarters.
Their rooms are barren in comparison and my gut wrenches. Everything about the females’ situation screams trafficking. If freeing them is not my mission then it’s going to make being here doubly hard. If it’s not, I make a silent promise to pass on the details to the appropriate department in the Federation as soon as I can.
Leaving the room meant for one of the females, I sigh. But before I leave to fetch them I turn back to the half-closed door. The room is the one next to mine; I know exactly which female I’m going to allocate it to. I straighten my back, push my shoulders back and set my face into a grimace - I need to get into character, then I head back downstairs and into the club to fetch them.
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