Shoshin

Note to readers: this story begins with an apparent non-consensual situation, including sex. If such situations disturb you, you may want to reconsider continuing.

This story is a near-future sci-fi novella in six chapters, about 32K words in length, published in full here.

SHOSHIN

Chapter One

I was in the airport, frantically looking through my purse for my boarding pass. It had to be in there, but I searched and I searched and it wasn't there. The last few passengers were filing onto the plane. I was going a little crazy. And I was also thinking,

Don't they know who I am? Why the fuck do I need a fucking boarding pass?

But I couldn't remember. I just stared into my bag.

Out of nowhere a hand reached in, a man's hand, and pulled out the slip of paper. The man held it up for me. I was dumbfounded. "What the fuck?"

He handed the pass to me. I grabbed it, pissed at myself, went through ticketing, and took my seat on the plane, 1A. It was only then I realized that I hadn't thought to check, and that I didn't know where this plane was going. I couldn't remember why I had got on the plane. I took out the boarding pass and was about to the read the destination when the man sat down next to me and took it out of my hand.

"You don't want this," he said. He put it in his pocket.

"Who the fuck are you?" I looked around the plane. It looked full. "What's going on?"

"You don't want to know."

"Know what?"

"Anything," he answered. "Don't forget your seat belt."

The plane backed out of the gate. I expected the pilot to come out and greet me like they always do and tell me about the flight, but the cockpit door stayed closed and the flight attendant did a moronic safety demo, totally ignoring me. I hated being ignored.

I thought to ask this man, who must be some kind of assistant . . . I didn't know what to ask him. As soon as a question would half-form in my mind, three more questions about the question would form, then more, and soon I didn't know what I needed to know to ask anything. The plane took off.

"Don't worry," he said. "You wanted this."

"I don't know what the fuck I wanted."

"Exactly. You don't know anything. You don't want to know anything."

We were over water. I finally thought to look in my purse. It was a cheap, ugly purse, way below my standards. I resolved that as soon as we got to wherever we were going I was going to dump it and get something decent.

"I have your wallet. Also your ID."

I looked at him. He finally had my attention. "So you're a thief."

"You don't want it."

"How would you know?" For good measure I added, "Asshole. Give it back."

He ignored the insult. "Happy to. Oh, is it yours? What's the name on your driver's license?"

"Have you been living under a fucking rock? It's, it's . . ." I didn't know what to say. Of course I knew my name. Everyone knew my name. Of course. I was just in a state.

The flight attendant appeared. She seemed about to say something, but a motion from him stopped her. "You want a drink now, don't you?" he said to me.

"Fuck yeah."

"She'll have a gin and tonic," he told the woman, who kept staring at me. To me: "I know what you really want. This is the closest they have."

I sat back. I reached again for my purse, but realized I'd already checked it. "You have my phone, too?"

"Both of them."

"Of course I have—" I began, but stopped myself. I tried to think back. I could remember walking out of a room in an airport, the one we'd left from, led by the arm— maybe by this jerk, I didn't remember looking at him, only the tiled floor and my shoes— to the agent at the gate for my flight. She'd asked for my boarding pass and I remembered wondering why I would need one. And then it seemed he'd appeared. "Okay," I tried, "why am I on this plane?"

"You wanted to arrive this way." His eyes went up and indicated a spot above my head.

I looked up, which was stupid, then realized I was wearing a hat. I took it off and looked at it. It was a military cap. No insignia. I was wearing a gray uniform, a knee-length skirt. Black boots. "What the flying fuck is this? I look like a fucking meter maid."

He grinned. "You do have quite the potty mouth, don't you?"

"What the fuck does it matter to you, asshole?"

The flight attendant arrived with my drink. "Here you are, Ms.—" she said, but stopped herself.

I drank half of the drink quickly. "This drink sucks." I drank more.

"You're used to better."

"What's going to happen?"

He smiled. Up until that point he'd been a very average, nondescript man, graying hair, nothing special, nothing horrible, except of course his very presence. But that smile. "Are you sure you're ready to find out?"

"I have no idea."

"Let's wait until we're off the plane."

The plane was descending. It seemed we were island hopping. "Where are we going?"

"We're landing soon. There's a limousine waiting."

"And then?"

"And then you'll see."

"See what?"

"Why you wanted this."

"How the fuck should I know what I wanted?" I complained. But that question didn't even make sense to

me

.

That smile again.

# # #

As the plane pulled up to the gate he handed me a pair of sunglasses, way too cheap and dull. "You'll want to be wearing these," he said before I could formulate the obvious objection. "People will be staring."

"Why?"

His smile became condescending. "Put your cap back on. Tuck in your hair." I could feel as I stood that my outfit's underwear wasn't quite right. "Why the fuck am I wearing this?"

He chuckled. "It's your disguise."

"Why the— why would I want to hide?"

He laughed. All his humor seemed to be at my expense. He looked behind us toward the back of the plane. We were in the first row of first class, and the entire planeload was looking at us, waiting for us to move. Checking me out. Was I in some kind of witness protection program? What had I done?

I took the sunglasses and put them on. He was holding a phone, maybe mine, I couldn't remember what mine looked like. He snapped a picture of me.

The door opened and we walked out into the airport. Two men were waiting for us, dressed in suits, the only people around in suits. Everyone else was in tropical holiday loungewear. Except for me in this meter maid uniform. A portly man in a loud shirt and shorts pointed at me and poked the portly woman next to him. One of the suits waved him away.

They led us out of the arrival area, past baggage claim. "What about my luggage?"

He only shook his head.

"You mean I'm going to have to wear this . . . I don't know, shitty uniform . . .?"

He chuckled. I had no idea why. "No."

"Well, then, Mr.— do you have a name?"

"I thought you'd never ask. Once we're out of the airport you will address me as Sir."

"You're kidding."

I was ready to tell him to go fuck himself,

Sir,

up the ass,

Your Majesty,

at his first attempt to threaten me, but he just shrugged.

The glasses were very dark. I couldn't read the signage because I kept my head down and somehow didn't look up to see what airport I was being hurried through, and then we were outside the small terminal at the waiting limo. The sun blazed on us. I was immediately sweating in the uniform. I looked around for somewhere to run to, but there was nothing close. Anyway, I didn't see why I would need to run. "You!" I said to one of the suits, "Get me my own car."

He opened the door to the limo. "This is your car, ma'am."

I got in. Someone handed me a bottle of water. The limo was a bit cooler, though still too warm; the windows in the back were quite dark, as was the divider to the front seat. I could vaguely make out, when we left the airport, that we were driving along a coast.

I was about to knock on the divider to tell the driver to turn around when that man, who'd joined me in the back seat, said, "You should take all that off now."

I removed that military cap, which he took from me. I opened the uniform's coat. I was getting quite hot in the car's warm interior. "That's better. Thanks." I took a drink of the water, which was pleasantly cold.

"Thanks what?"

"Thank you, Sir." It came out before I could stop myself and think about it.

"Keep going." I took the coat off. That felt much better. He took it from me and put it in a bag next to him. "Continue."

When my hands began unbuttoning my blouse I was able to stop them after two buttons. It looked like I was wearing a swimsuit underneath, a small one. "Why the fuck am I wearing a bikini?" He just looked at me, expecting something. "Sir?'

"You can just get naked right now if you want."

That pissed me off. "In front of

you,

pervert?" I tried to mock him. "Sir?" It just came out. I couldn't help myself.

"Yes," he said, "undress in front of me. Leave the bikini on."

I had to stop my hands again as another button became undone. I slid them under my legs.

"Take your time. We have another twenty minutes."

"If this is my car, then turn it around." I looked for the intercom and saw a panel, but I had to keep my hands under my butt to maintain control.

"It's going to where it's supposed to go."

"And then what? You're going to rape me? Sir." I growled in frustration.

"Is that your fantasy?"

I sat there with my hands squeezed between my butt and the seat, fighting the urge to get this shirt off. It was a dowdy thing in a thick, coarse fabric that I would never wear on my own. I couldn't remember anything about myself, not even my fucking name, but I knew quality. I finally relented and took it off. Anything was better than that ugly excuse for a blouse. I did like how the red bikini top set off my breasts. I loved my breasts.

"Now the skirt."

"No fucking way," I snarled, "Sir." But the skirt, as drab and unfashionable as the blouse, had already slipped a bit down my waist as I'd been struggling with my hands, revealing a red bikini bottom that nicely matched the top. I knew my legs would look much better exposed, like my nice, flat abs. I was pulling the skirt down my thighs before it occurred to me that I was obeying the asshole again. "Fuck!" I yelled, "Fuck! Sir." But the frumpy skirt was soon in his hands and then in the bag.

I immediately regretted losing the skirt. The bikini bottom was not much more than a couple of strings and a tiny triangle that barely covered my mound. I crossed my legs and covered myself as much as I could with my hands.

But then out of the bag he gave me a pair of high-heeled sandals that were as nice as I'd ever seen, silvery straps on a glistening sole with a transparent heel. I had no reluctance at all to trade the awkward black boots on my feet for those gorgeous sandals. Apparently I had a strong fashion sense.

We arrived at the wide entrance of a low building with a thick thatched roof supported by dark wooden pillars. It could have been the movie set of a Polynesian king's palace. Another suited man opened the door for me. I stepped out and quickly put my sunglasses back on in the glare. The man, along with greeters and helpers, stared at me briefly then looked away. I looked myself over, and yes, I was smoking hot, and not just because the sun was baking everything like an oven. I thought I should just walk away, but there was nothing around this place, just tropical scrub as far as I could follow the road in both directions, and where was I going to go in a red bikini and high heels?

The asshole I hated calling Sir led me inside, though the area was so open that 'inside' only meant under the roof. I could see all the way through to the ocean. We were walking straight across the lobby, no stop at a check-in, no— "My luggage?" I asked again.

He laughed again.

"Sir," came out unbidden. I was about to curse him, but I saw a blurry reflection of a woman in a metallic surface, nice curves, platinum blonde hair, in a bikini just like mine. I stood there shocked.

"Yes, you are quite beautiful, world class."

I looked around. There were clerks and valets and other attendants. All watching me. "Am I a model? Sir." It was revolting that I had to ask him.

"Don't worry. Nothing that will happen here will ever be revealed to the outside world." He motioned me through the lobby, toward the seaside opening.

I was learning, and detesting, that he never quite answered my questions. "And what is going to happen here?" I put my hands on my hips and stood my ground, doing my best not to automatically follow him and to keep my jaw clamped shut, to not say that damned word. He waited, watching with mild amusement as my lips trembled. "S-s-sir!"

"I think what's going to happen will have a more . . . let's say . . . piquant thrill if we keep it a surprise." Again he motioned toward the sea. A young woman, very attractive, dressed in a simple kaftan, came up to me and offered me a wide-brimmed straw hat.

"Listen girl, I want you to tell me right now who the fuck I—" I almost asked her who I was, but that was too humiliating— "are you?"

"I'm Valerie, ma'am," she replied politely. I felt embarrassed and took the hat as an apology. Asshole Sir smiled and nodded the young woman away. So he was familiar with the help here.

We walked out together, down steps, to a walk that ended at a small pier where a very pretty wood-trimmed motorboat waited. A young man in the boat, sandy-haired, quite handsome, helped me in. He looked me up and down. All the other male helpers had done their best to avoid doing that, so his impolite behavior seemed insulting in contrast.

"You like what you see, pervert?" I snapped at him.

"I'm not the one who's walking around 99% naked," he joked. He adjusted his crotch, not bothering to hide his action. "And yes, I like what I see very much. This is going to be

a lot

of fun."

"Let me introduce you to your chef," Asshole Sir said. "You will address him as Chef. Go ahead, tell him you're pleased to meet him."

"Pleased to meet you, Chef. Although I'm not at all pleased to meet you." I showed him a middle finger.

They both laughed.

Chef moved towards me, but Sir stopped him. "Let's get to the island." Chef just kept leering at me. "You'll get your chance."

Chef went to the pilot's chair and got us heading toward a small island in the distance across a channel. We sat in the back under a canopy while he gunned the craft over waves that thumped us along. I wondered if I could just jump out of the boat and swim to shore, but I'd missed my chance and now we were moving too fast.

The low-level fear simmering underneath came to a boil. "What did you mean by that?" I asked. "That he would get his chance. Sir." I wasn't remembering to call him that automatically, but I couldn't make myself not say it. I was ready to give up.

"His chance? You must have noticed that you always obey my orders, no matter how much you try to resist."

"No fucking way. Sir."

"Take off your top."

I reached back to untie it, then stopped myself. I was absolutely not going to expose my breasts, which I loved, to this asshole pervert. Or the one up front who kept looking back at me and grinning. Yes, he'd been able to get me to take off that awful uniform, but this was different. No way was I going to expose myself to him. I sat with my hands on my lap and gave him a smug smile, looking right into his eyes, my hands firmly gripping my thighs although my arm muscles kept twitching. At last I had wrested control from him. "I don't feel like doing that. Sir."

He chuckled. He relaxed back and waited, matching my smugness and raising me. But I was not backing down. I slid my hands up and back on my thighs, showing him I was in complete control of my hands, from knees, over cloth, to my hips.

Over cloth? I looked down to find my hands holding the top. I reached up to my breasts and yes, they were bare and somehow I'd removed my top without knowing it. I sagged back. I was shaking all over. I couldn't even control my own body.

"Calm down," he said. "Take some breaths."

I breathed.

"Are you ready to hear what's going to happen?"

I tried to shake my head no.

"Sit up."

I sat up, but I felt dizzy. I had to hold onto his shoulder, which I hated, as the boat bounced along the waves.

"Chef!" he yelled, "Slow down for a bit."

Everything got calmer. Me too. I could have jumped out now, but we were much farther from shore. And I'd have to remember to hang on to my top or I would wade onto the shore showing my lovelies to the world. And could I swim in high heels? Could I swim at all? "I guess for the moment I'm trapped." I pretended to relax. "You can say whatever you want. I don't have to believe you."

"You should. What I tell you is for your own good."

"Fuck you. I don't know how you did this to me, but I'm going to fight you every step of the way."

"Then you'll have to learn the hard way. Hmm . . . what would be a good lesson?"

His eyes played on me while I waited for him to tell me to do something. My hands went instinctively over my breasts. I wondered if a dog would feel like this, waiting to be told to do a trick and win a treat. No, I was no pet. I felt more like a trained tiger in a circus, wrenched from my jungle where I was the apex predator. One false move and I would be on him. "I don't know what the fuck's going on, but whatever happens here," I said, "I guarantee you're going to get what you deserve for doing this to me." I was able to put some strength into what at the moment was an empty threat. I had no idea how I would carry it out, but I was determined. I knew I had resources. Somewhere.

He smiled with his eyes. He seemed to have twenty different smiles. This one was evil. "Offer to give me a blow job any time I want."

"Of course, Sir. I'll be happy— happy—" I felt tongue-tied. "Fuck! You asshole cocksuck— cock, you, your, your cock, Sir, Sir, I'll suck it, any time you want." I turned away. "Fuck!" I spat out. "Fuck! You motherfucker!"

"Ooh, she's got a mouth on her, doesn't she?" Chef yelled from the front.

"She does. Mistress will fix that. Go ahead," he continued to me, "tell me again."

I sighed. I could feel the urge building, so I did my best to deflate it. "Sure, Sir, I'll blow you whenever you want." I made a face to give off a "whatever" attitude.

"Good," he concluded, "you see? And when Chef gives you an order you will obey him as if the order came from me. Understand?"

Chef grinned from where he stood at the wheel.

"He's the worst kind of asshole. Sir." I shuddered to think what he might make me do.

"She really does have the most perfect tits," Chef said. "And lips."

"Indeed, sometimes he is. You will meet another man on the island," Sir Asshole said. He waited for me to say something so he could shoot me down. I refused to give him that satisfaction. "You'll obey him too. And the woman you'll meet there."

I kept my mouth shut. I was still stewing about what he'd made me say and thinking,

You can make me say it, but you can't make me do it.

Though it was just bravado. He'd rendered me topless and I had no idea how it had happened. I couldn't remember what, if any, blow jobs I'd ever given, because I couldn't remember anything at all before the airport. I had no idea what kind of sex I'd ever had, assuming I'd had some. No idea of any men I'd known. Nothing.

I really needed to get out of here, and fast. I looked around. I wondered if I could steal this boat sometime, and where I could take it, but there seemed to be nothing but the big island we'd just left and the small island we were almost at.

"When you meet that man, you will offer yourself to him."

My escape plans evaporated. Words of protest rose in me. I swallowed them.

"You may have racist tendencies."