Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 68525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
He spoke as if he meant his words for someone else. Their effect on me—or, I told myself with the kind of urgency a person only uses when they want something to be true that simply isn’t, their effect on the other girl, the not-me girl—threatened to drive me to my knees. I tried to keep my mind from understanding the terms the agent used: service name… quim. But service name seemed completely obvious, and he had already used quim to refer to the part of me where his hand kept caressing, toying, playing.
Agent Delvik had just casually renamed me.
“Wetquim is a naughty young Kamnian female,” he continued. “Refer to her data stream for details, but she required several interventions from the punisher when her pre-training began, and actually wet herself in her effort to disobey the instructions of the preparing agent.”
My face had twisted into a mask of woeful denial, and I found that I had begun to shake my head slowly. “No,” I whispered. “No… I…”
“Pause record,” Agent Delvik said, his voice impatient. “Wetquim, you’ll be silent while I make this inspection record, or I’ll paddle your naughty bottom until you are, and it still won’t count towards your punishment for your first disobedience. Do you understand, Wetquim?”
His hand moved again, even further back, so that he could take hold of my bottom cheeks and squeeze until I cried out.
“Do… you… understand… Wetquim?”
A pitiful moan came from somewhere. From me. I could feel it, to my horror. I could feel the truth of the terrible name he had given me. My need—for I understood that, now, from the brutal lessons Agent Delvik had given me in the last few minutes—flowed into his strong, grasping hand.
“Yes, sir,” I sobbed. He pulled the tormenting hand away, and I had to fight with all my will not to let out a pitiful beseeching noise, out of frustration and the sheer animal yearning for the return of the caressing fingers.
“Resume record,” his voice intoned from outside my field of vision, where he could examine my naked body just as he pleased while I gazed down at those horrid, shiny boots. “Wetquim is a naughty Kamnian girl of average height and superior skin tone. As the images from her preparation will show, her backside displays the marks of discipline superbly. Her eyes are a rare, very attractive hazel hue and her hair, naturally very curly, is of a darker blue that sets off her face rather bewitchingly.”
I took a quick breath through my nose, once again in search of a way to keep from crying. All of these words—these compliments, really—that might have seemed so welcome from a different voice, in a different tone, took on in Agent Delvik’s cool assessment an air of obscenity. He didn’t mean them for my ears, but for the ears of the Vionians to whom the company intended to sell me.
“More importantly Wetquim’s sexual potential is very high, at least for a buyer who enjoys mastering an innocent but wayward young concubine.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I didn’t know what it meant, and so I felt certain it must have to do with the invasive, much-too-intimate things he had done to me—and implied, in his cryptic words, that I must expect to constitute an important part of my new life. I did know what sex meant in one sense—the difference between men and women, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters. And I knew that must represent an important part of what husbands and wives did in bed at night.
But though I knew about the fact of the difference, I didn’t know what the difference was. The company’s shaping of traditional Kamnian culture into the regulated lives we lived on Kamnos had seen to that.
“Breasts are of medium size or slightly smaller. Buttocks are small and quite shapely. Pubic hair matches head hair and is quite woolly. Buyer will probably want to trim or remove it, so as to see the vulva more clearly.”
More words I didn’t know, but which somehow carried so much shame, even when delivered as blandly as Agent Delvik did. I felt tears well up, and I had to weave my fingers together in the tight curls of my hair to keep from wiping them away.
“Even with the pubic hair present, though, a pretty, really a positively dainty set of outer labia is relatively visible. Inner labia, in a rather adorable shade of coral-pink, peep out of the cleft of the vulva just a bit, suggesting the girl’s fundamentally lascivious nature, despite her complete ignorance of sexual congress. Needless to say, her hymen is intact and her vagina quite tight. Wetquim will probably experience a good deal of discomfort despite the abundance with which she lubricates, when her master deflowers her.”
I tried to send myself even further away: into another galaxy, another universe. The detachment and the sense of this utter degradation happening to someone else couldn’t seem to take away as much of the impact of these mystifying but mortifying words, and the feeling of utter exposure from having my hands atop my head and my feet spread wide.