Miranda's Picle

Author's note: quiz time! If this seems better for the Sci-fi/Fantasy section than BDSM, let me know in the comments. Happy reading!

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All's fair in love and war, Miranda reflected, even on a space station.

Well, this was both. Her new boy crush had baited her into breaking into his apartment where, through no fault of anything aside from her insatiable curiosity, she had gotten caught in a devious trap. Once he'd come home, he'd played her emotions to the point she'd let him ravish her while helplessly bound to a chair, even though he'd given her an escape phrase. Her libido and shame had taken turns refusing to let her use it, and now here she was, obsessing over this man who, to add endearing insult to the delicious spanking injury he'd given her, had mailed her a video of the whole ordeal - the only copy, so he claimed, which was tightly clenched in her fist right now as she considered her next move. She'd called him back and left him a voice mail saying she wanted to see him again, perhaps some time next week, as she wanted some time to think.

This was her story as far as anyone else was concerned, anyway. It was half a lie - she wanted to think, but not for the reason she implied, which was that she had to wrap her head around what had happened and make sure she was still OK with it. More accurately, she wanted the time to plan. She'd decided she was fantastically OK with that evening, considering she'd had wet dreams about it and woken up to watch the video many times. She'd made her own copy of it, even. Shame didn't even really apply; she'd actually been more concerned that she would be judged prematurely before the man got to know her for her best qualities.

Miranda was many things, but a pushover was not one of them. OK, she'd been talked into some pretty regrettable things at times... by her own outrageous spontaneity, if she was being honest with herself, but introspection would have to wait. This was the time to be finding his weakness, and giving him as much torment as he'd given her. She'd improvise herself right into another bondage chair if she wasn't careful, so she'd have to prepare as best she could, and then trust her instincts not to lead her astray. Some of her friends were most dangerous when they were angry, others when depressed. Miranda was most dangerous when she was bored. Today, she was bored AND intensely curious, which was even worse.

Her attention returned to this mysterious man who couldn't stray far from her thoughts today. Where had he come from? He'd covered his tracks well. She was not as adept at digital trickery as he was, but while she often managed to end up on the wrong side of the rules, she also made friends with people in useful places along the way.

"He's completely clean," her friend in Customs and Immigration said. "I've got nothing on him other than logs of disembarking and some normal shipment orders. No flags on his history, no watch lists, nothing. You don't think he's smuggling, do you?"

"If he's trouble, I doubt it's any for you," Miranda replied. "Thanks, Cassie."

"Remember, if they ask, you didn't hear it from me. I haven't told you anything confidential, but they frown on us looking at private records for no reason."

"No problem, chika. This conversation never happened. We're just two girls sharing a bar on our lunch breaks."

"So- think he's worth it? He's cute, but he needs a better photographer. And a stylist."

"I doubt he'd agree, he's very much a do-it-yourself kind of guy. Although I think I might convince him to come around."

"But how did the date go? You're not getting any more free background checks until Mama Cassie gets the juicy details on these hunks you keep making her size up. The suspense is killing me."

"Oh, god, the things we did - honestly, you'd think I'd gone mad if I told you half of what happened. And you wouldn't believe the other half."

"Ain't nothin' new, 'Randi'. They still ask for a location check on you anytime something unexpected happens to the docking conduit."

Miranda's cheeks colored with the memory. "Come on, don't tell me that wasn't funny. Besides, if you're not smart enough to run a maze, you're definitely not smart enough to live in a space station on the edge of an asteroid field."

"Mi-RAN-da, those miners come back from an 18-hour shift, with a run usually totaling over 24 hours. The last thing on their minds is which of the last 15 turns in a zero-gravity space took them in a direction farther from their goal than where they are now."

"So?"

"SO, there wasn't even a proper exit from the whole thing! The guy had to re-attach his ship to another node hidden in the middle of giant, inflatable spaghetti that never stopped moving around- BY HAND, because the autopilot couldn't find a valid course."

"Pssh. I bet his grandkids will appreciate it. 'Grandpa, tell us the docking story! Why didn't you just leave the ship and go through the emergency hatch again?' "

"See, Miranda, this is why I love you. You're always thinking of others, even when you're not thinking at all."

"Love you too, Cass. Gotta go, the elevator's out again so I have to go the long way."

"Now hold on, you haven't answered the most important question. This new guy of yours, Chris - is he worth it, do you think?"

"I'm not sure yet... but god I hope so."

"Oh no, I know that look. You're planning something big. Please tell me I'm not involved."

"OK, you're not involved anymore. See ya!"

"AT ALL, Miranda! I'm not losing my cushy day shift for you."

"Until next time, you big baby. Kisses!"

"And no more 'slow helium leaks' by my radio console. I am not a chipmunk goddammit!"

Strike 1 for Miranda: No criminal history to exploit. No major accidents. He didn't socialize much on the networks, just in person, so embarrassing chat logs were probably out of the question. What was he hiding? Everybody had skeletons in their closet. Hmm, maybe that was it - she'd have to check his closets herself. He probably kept his secrets very close. But how? Lugging giant scanners around his apartment would draw too much attention. The most she'd be able to do is put a small spy cam down to record when he left and arrived, which she'd already done. No way around it, she'd have to venture into his lair directly. Hopefully his neighbors weren't into the whole 'neighborhood watch' thing, or she might be spending her evening filling out incident forms again, and they'd be the serious ones this time. Fortunately, his entryway was still screened, so as long as she made it to the front door, nobody would be the wiser. However, she had yet to breach his apartment's real security system, and if he was halfway good at what he did, and he probably was, then he was better than her and she wasn't likely to succeed. However, with a different approach...

"Facilities maintenance hotline. Is this an emergency?"

"Well, I don't know, but I think there might be a water leak at this apartment across the way from me. I see a puddle."

"I've got your location. Can you give me the unit number?"

"221b."

"OK, we'll send somebody out right away. Did you ring the door to see if anybody's home?"

"I'm sure I saw him leave earlier."

"OK, we'll call the number on file and get permission to enter if necessary. Would you like to register for an early maintenance award?"

"No thanks, I'm sure he'd do the same for me."

"Alright, you have a lovely day then. I've got some calls to make, take care."

"Bye."

Now, to wait. Water was expensive, as were top-grade filters but - if a person wasn't squeamish, and didn't mind using an uncomfortable recycler for a few days, medically-sterile water could be purified from urine. Well, Miranda wouldn't want to drink the stuff produced, but it was a perfect substitute for expensive drinking water if you needed to conjure a convincing "intermittent" water leak in a pinch, and if there were any visible impurities or odors in it, well, so much the better to make the responding worker double-check any systems that might carry health concerns. She'd carefully sprayed the water right at the joint leading into the house, so if there was no leak to find on the outside, they'd have to go inside to look also.

Actually, on second thought, she'd better ditch the recycler, just in case. But there was the maintenance guy now.

"Hi Bob, are you here about the water leak?" Miranda said in her sweetest voice, taking a quick look at his name badge.

"Yes, ma'am. Can you point me to it?"

"Sure, right over here. I've got an appointment so I have to run, but my boyfriend told me you could let yourself in if you had to. I won't be long."

"I've got a temporary code good for 24 hours, so yeah, I'll be fine."

"Thanks! Good luck," Miranda chirped.

Brilliant! So far, so good. Now to drop that recycler hidden in her bag back at home, and get back 'conveniently' in time to discover there's no leak.

In a jiffy, she was back, with a few goodies for her break-in. As planned, Bob had gone inside, and used the temporary security code to bypass the main door lock Miranda couldn't get past by herself.

"Is it fixed?" she called. Bob had locked open the main interior door with the maintenance code, and the front door was closed but unlocked also. Perfect.

"Ah, you're back," the maintenance guy said. "No leaks I can find. Best I can tell, some clod with a really full bladder decided he couldn't wait and let loose on your wall. He must have been wearing a sterilizer though, because the DNA's been frayed beyond any possibility of a match. I can file a report with the authorities, but I doubt anything will come of it."

"No, we'll just have to catch him in the act if he does it again. Thanks for your help."

"Sure. I'll undo the maintenance hold on your doors and we'll be all done."

"Thanks. I let Chris do all the computer stuff, he's better at it than I am."

"Not a problem. Let us know if there's anything else we can do for you."

"Thanks Bob, I will," Miranda said, slipping into the kitchen area.

Success! Now the real work began. A quick tour showed a very spartan aesthetic, though that was hardly surprising. When she caught the right man, decoration would be her responsibility, she'd long ago decided. The straight men she'd met just weren't equipped to deal with that, whatever other admirable qualities they had. Secondary rooms are where it got interesting, though. The attached storage unit had been half converted to some kind of lab, and there were all manner of mechanical parts lying around from different small vehicles and machines in various states of disassembly. Miranda's opinion of him tentatively kicked up another small notch. Fascinating as it all was, she was more interested in his moral fiber for the moment. What made him tick? Would he show grace under pressure, or would he fold like her ex-husband?

Enough wallowing, she thought. Space, especially the chaotic frontier, was no place for the spineless, but it was time to move on. So, now to run the checklist.

Basic hygienic cleanliness - check. He knows his self-cleaning cycles.

Stocked food supplies - check. Bonus points for a compact full bar dispenser in the central table.

Folded clothes - hmm. Come back to that. Where did he keep his wardrobe?

Made bed - check. Easy when the machines do it for you, but there were still some who didn't do it.

Pets - none. Sensible, if disappointing; pets were an expensive luxury. Most people made do with holographic simulations that followed them around everywhere they went, didn't clog air filters, and didn't require oxygen, food, or a place to sleep. Miranda had been sad to sell her ferret when she'd first moved out on her own, and hoped to have another one someday. There was, however, a real-time feed of the fish in one of the aquaponic gardens somewhere in the station taking up an entire wall. He hadn't technically been lying about having a fishbowl wall, but having a projection of someone else's tank was cheating in her book.

Central service system isn't showing any notifications from management such as overdue bills - check.

Viewscreen history showed nothing particularly exciting, just some news bulletins and light music compilations, probably for background while he was working or cooking. She would need the password if she wanted to dive any deeper there. Drat. What about his control center, or whatever grand name he wanted to give it? He did some kind of programming work, surely he had a more comfortable place to do that than the giant viewscreen near his bed. Well, there was that one closet she hadn't gotten into yet. Surely she'd have some insight into his personal habits if that was where he spent most of his time. She'd come back to that in a few minutes.

First, she had some small mischief to do to justify her barging into his house, in case he had cameras hidden somewhere besides behind the mirror, which she'd quickly sprayed with a glass cleaner to fog the image when she'd come in. She slapped some metallic tape over the safety sensor on the door to the front room so it wouldn't try to close and started emptying shelves. His video library was stored, exactly as she remembered, on separated modules individually packaged and filed. It was an impressive collection, and made an equally impressive pile on the floor. Miranda mixed and matched labeled cases and videos, removing the labels on the modules inside. She stuck the unlabeled video of her first visit to Chris's apartment into the case for a documentary about marriage rituals of different cultures on ancient Earth. More or less appropriate. If he decided to get serious about their relationship, he might get some unexpected inspiration. Tee hee! Finally everything was back up on the shelf, in no particular order, and the extra video that no longer had a case was in the viewscreen itself. He was going to have quite a time putting everything back in order...

Time check. That took way too long, actually, she had only an hour before he might get home, if he didn't make any stops. Time to tackle that last door. She returned the chair to its place, and stared down the closet door, hands on her hips. She pushed, tapped for hidden pressure sensors, disguised wall switches, all to no avail. Think, Miranda! Fortunately, this unit is rented, he couldn't do anything too strange to the building itself. If he had a secret sequence of faucets to activate, turn on the blender, stand on his head, and open the cooker door three times, she'd be at this all day and never figure it out. Think. What does a man like Chris want most in his private sanctum? Would he- Oh, yes, he would. Cheeky son of a bitch.

"Open," she said in her best impression of his firm voice.

Sure enough, the door slid open smoothly. Voice command was archaic, but was an acceptable control interface for rental units still. Some people liked them for lights. Miranda preferred gestures for that, but she had to admit there was a certain thrill to being obeyed verbally. Giggling excitedly, she stepped through the doorway - and into another world. The viewscreens had a flyover of one of the more exotic planets running, so that the whole room looked like nothing so much as the cockpit or observation deck of a spacecraft. So, maybe he dreamed of exploration, did he? She'd give him a few landscapes to experience... Focus! Her success was starting to go to her head.

This room was much bigger than the impression she got from outside. A large mat in the middle could be a full-body scanner to allow hyper-realistic computer simulation... or it could just be an exercise mat. Hmm. No traditional desk to be seen, or even a chair. Some cubbies blended into one wall, probably the clothes she'd been looking for. Did he walk around naked after his shower? What a glorious thought. Just a few moments to dig, then she'd have to make her daring escape. From the right side, the cubbies contained the expected pants, socks, and other articles, properly folded she was happy to note. As she got to the left, however, there was a noticeable shift in materials and quality. No longer the drab, forgettable work clothes, she began to pull out more supple, skin-tight pants and shirts in much bolder, aggressive colors. Deep crimson, oceanic blue, bright jungle-canopy green, sunset-flame orange, and even a chrome silver were represented in soft, supple animal-hide-replica leathers and brocade silks. Maybe even proper ethical-clone tissue. Oh my. So he did have a touch of style, after all. What would it take to get him into some of these? Impatiently, Miranda skipped to the end, eying the tall stack of thin drawers off by themselves.

Let's see, we've got several matched sets of cuffs, belts, sashes and ties for formal occasions. Buttons. Decorative watches. And... pendants? They were a bit delicate and feminine for him. How odd. Fake leather bracelets, top quality. Matched metal armlets. Gem-encrusted rings. She definitely couldn't see him wearing any of those. Had she been wrong about him? Drag was a hilarious costume party gag, but she didn't fancy a man who did it in the bedroom, and there was way too much here for a casual interest.

Oh, that was interesting- a set of matched metal bracelets, ornately engraved, and some kind of headdress with a veil. She just had to try them on, then she'd leave. She still had thirty minutes or so. The bracelets went on easily enough, there was an elastic or flexible strap that made for a perfect, snug fit. The headdress, however, required some careful adjustment for proper comfort. Miranda couldn't say what drew her to the mat in the middle of the room, but pretending to be an exotic dancer suddenly caught her fancy. Just a moment, maybe a little music, and she'd put them away.

"Music on. Dance," She said.

A prompt came up on one of the viewscreens: "Engage haptic mode?"

"Sure, why not."

Subtle mood lighting shifted as music started to play, and Miranda lost herself for a moment as she danced over the surface of a planet a million miles away. She could get used to this. Before she quite had a chance, though, she noticed the veil getting a bit tight on her face. She reached up to adjust it or pull it out of the way, but it wouldn't seem to move - it had gone completely rigid, despite being a sheer mesh material. As she struggled, she noticed she was getting a little light-headed, though it certainly wasn't from lack of air, as the mesh let her breathe quite easily. Or perhaps, she thought, it was her whole body becoming light, as if the artificial gravity were being somehow cancelled out.

CLACK!

It took half a breath to discover that the bracelets had locked together, and were no longer elastic enough to remove, and she did so as she flailed after jumping much higher than she expected to from the sound of them crashing together. Gravity was definitely being affected; she felt a draft of air rising as shifting pressures started a flow of air from around the mat inwards and then upwards. She landed on her feet but stumbled awkwardly. Maybe if she left the mat this would stop the "haptic mode" program, whatever it was. She stepped out and walked back over to the drawers. The bracelets were still stuck, and she could not remove the headdress or veil. She walked back to the mat, beginning to panic. This was not going well!

"Turn off haptic mode," Miranda said, muffled by the veil which pressed her lips against her teeth firmly.

A message appeared on the viewscreen: "Stand on mat and raise hands to disengage haptic mode."

Whew! This would all be over soon. She raised her hands.

The message changed: "Height threshold not reached. Please raise hands to disengage haptic mode."

The nerve! Was the computer calling her short!? Nevermind, just do it. Miranda jumped, hands over her head. It was easy with the low gravity still in place.