Agent in Distress

Lana woke to the sound of songbirds outside her window. She reached out with her mind, and was comforted to find that her abilities were back to normal, or the heightened level that was becoming normal. She widened her mental view and found Warrick was just down the hall. She found it remarkable that she could locate him like that. Even long after eating the fruit, it still seemed to amplify her abilities. Her head hurt from the wine, but she hadn't woken up burning with desire, and for that she was grateful. She was feeling the effects, however, and she quickly sat up and was relieved to find the vial still under her bed where she'd hidden it. Lana sighed, and lay back on the soft bed. The delicious hot meal and good night's sleep had done wonders, for she felt refreshed and relaxed.

Through the window, she spied the sun peeking over the lush green hills, and a dim orange glow appeared on the walls of the room. Lana rolled out of bed, and stretched, yawning the sleep away. Then remembering she'd neglected her mental exercise routine the night before, she sat cross legged on the bed and began to meditate. She cleared her mind of all thoughts, though she found herself unable to stop thinking of Warrick. Then her mind wandered to her journey on horseback, and she tried to force all thoughts from her mind. After a few minutes without success, she gave up and decided to do her stretching, fighting, and physical training exercises. She moved quickly and skillfully about the room, practicing her kicks, strikes and maneuvers. She loved to train and it cleared her mind. Lana lost herself in her training, until during her final exercise routine, she realized she needed to apply more salve. Her body had been gradually heating up, and she now felt flushed. Persevering, she finished her last routine, then stood panting slightly, heading toward the bed for her vial of salve. At that moment she heard a knock, followed by the door opening, and Warrick entered, looking refreshed and cheerful. He was carrying a tray of bread, jam and butter, along with juice, and he brought it to her.

"Good morning, sunshine," he said with a smile, taking a seat next to her. Then he frowned. "You look damp . . . have you been exercising?"

"Umm, yes, exercising!" said Lana, trying not to blush as her body reacted to his close presence with a jolt of heat. "I did my combat and stretching exercises, like I do every morning."

Warrick smiled. "You must forgive me, milady," he said, looking at her oddly. "I am still unaccustomed to thinking of you as a warrior." He winked at her. "I was easier when you were dressed all in black, like a little girl assassin."

Lana wrinkled her nose, not liking being called a little girl. "Is that so?" she quipped. "Well I am not accustomed to thinking of you at all!" When he gave her a curious look, she wanted to slap herself. What did that even mean? Her body's burning arousal was making her talk nonsense. She tried to distract her mind by taking a piece of bread and applying the butter and jam. "It is a lovely inn by the way, and the view is spectacular, thank you."

Warrick nodded, watching her eat. "Good, I'm glad you enjoyed it. However, we are short on time, and we must give you some training this morning. You should probably take another bath as well," he added, wrinkling his nose, then holding up his hands to indicate a joke before she could punch him.

"What sort of training will you give me?" she asked as she swallowed her bread in large bites, trying to hide her overwhelming curiosity.

Warrick cracked a half grin. "I haven't thought of it, but first thing, you must agree that for the next few hours—in fact, from here on, until our mission is complete—you must agree to follow my commands, no matter what."

Lana frowned. "We are a team, that doesn't sound like teamwork to me."

Warrick looked serious. "Yes, we are a team, but to prepare you properly, for what you will face in Gorum, you must agree to let me . . . do whatever is necessary. If I am constrained, or concerned about your sensitivities, I won't be able to train you sufficiently, and the mission will fail. You must trust me on this."

Lana's eyes went wide at his mention of her sensitivities, but she realized he was referring to her mind rather than her body. "I suppose . . ." she said finally, not very convincingly. "What do you mean my sensitivities?"

"I don't want to be having discussions or arguments with you -- just as you must be in character, I must also be free to act in character at all times. A master would not argue with a slave, he would only discipline her. I cannot be in character if I am worried about your . . . feelings. And I especially don't want you getting angry and using those abilities of yours on me."

Lana shrugged. "I cannot turn off my abilities . . ."

Warrick nodded, "I assumed as much, so for now, I just need your word up front that you will allow me to do whatever I deem necessary to complete this mission. Even if it offends you, or makes you uncomfortable."

Lana smiled. "Yes, I understand. At the Institute, we had training in interrogation. It was quite severe, painful even, but of course we were given a safe word, that we could speak if things got to be too much for us."

Warrick looked at her oddly. "A safe word. A foreign concept to us I'm afraid." He shook his head. "Lana, there won't be any safe word here. Once you agree to put me in charge, there will be no turning back until the mission is over. You will just have to trust that I know what is best for you and the mission."

"And suppose I think you are wrong?" she asked, out of curiosity.

"You will be free to voice your opinion," said Warrick, nonchalantly. "But you may not like my response. I will hold you to your promise, once you give it." Then he looked serious. "Lana, I'll leave you alone for a few minutes, you can think about it while you freshen up. It might be your last chance at hot water or a bath in a while. Then I am hoping you will give me your agreement so we can get started. I know it is a lot to ask, but I see no other way. We have very little time."

Then he stood and walked out, leaving her alone pondering his sudden serious manner. Of course, she trusted him, and would give her word, but she wondered why he seemed so concerned about it? Confused, she quickly finished her breakfast and then stripped down to take a bath. She wanted to quickly wash up and then use the salve before he returned. The bath water was only lukewarm, most likely the coals under the stone base were cold. Rather than relaxing, she bathed quickly and began toweling herself off, delicately avoiding touching her intimate spots with the soft, fur-like material.

Suddenly she heard a knock on the door, followed almost immediately by a creak as the door swung open, causing Lana to scramble to wrap the soft towel around her torso just in time to see Warrick striding purposefully into the room.

She glared at him. "Do you know what a knock is?"

Warrick shrugged, "A warning that I'm about to enter?" he offered.

Lana gaped at him, "Uh, no!"

Warrick blinked at the girl with a towel clutched to her chest and a dark mass of wet hair streaming down over her shoulder. "Oh, a thousand pardons, Princess, may I enter?"

"No, you may not!" she replied with a huff. "I'm not dressed, give me a moment to get ready."

"Before that, Lana, do you agree to entrust me fully with the mission, to surrender yourself to my will?"

Lana frowned at the change of subject, hesitating.

"This mission won't continue until you agree," said Warrick, unhelpfully.

Lana swallowed heavily. "Yes, I agree," she said, finally.

It wasn't enough for Warrick. "Say it for me; say 'I agree to be completely under your command, to do as you say at all times, for the remainder of the mission.'"

Lana frowned, then repeated the words.

"Good," said Warrick, simply. "Now come with me, quickly. Darius has a room prepared for us."

"Is it ok if I wear my red and white outfit?" asked Lana. "I can't take another slave girl outfit, they are hideous!"

Warrick shook his head. "Your red and white outfit is dirty and dusty, you are fine as you are, come." The warrior grabbed his pack, then took her hand, but she dug in her heels, for all the good it did, as she nearly fell over when he pulled on her wrist.

"Hey, I'm . . . wearing a towel, and I haven't dried or brushed my hair!" she protested, looking at him as if he were blind.

"Your hair looks perfect, and the towel covers you more than adequately. We're only going down the hall. We can find something suitable for you to wear later."

His strong hand on her wrist was a strong reminder of her need to use the salve. "Warrick, wait," she pleaded, changing tact. "May I . . . use the restroom?"

Warrick stopped, paused, and finally let go of her wrist. "Very well, go quickly."

Lana paused, remembering where she'd hidden the salve, it was in the pile of clothing on the dresser. She moved to get it and was frozen in place by a stern bark from Warrick.

"Where are you going?" said the warrior, clearly impatient.

"Uh, I . . . just need to get something . . ." replied Lana, hopefully.

"No, you don't, quit stalling and go . . . do your business," he said, gesturing at the bathroom. Lana considered going anyway, but rejected the idea; Warrick was watching her so carefully it would be difficult to grab the glass jar without him seeing it . . . and if he found it, that could be disastrous!

"Ok," she said, defeated. Quickly she hustled to the bathroom and closed the door, looking hopelessly around the bathroom for something to help her plight, even some clothing to put on, but of course there was nothing. After a short minute of standing around, she washed her hands in the cleansing bowl and wiped them, then cinched up the towel around her torso and opened the door, seeing the warrior standing there impatiently with arms crossed. She quickly moved to him, gazing forlorn at the hiding place of her salve. Then she was gasping and sputtering protests as he took her by the wrist again and not so gently pulled her down the hall, and down a flight of stairs to the lobby. Luckily there were few people up and about to notice her in a towel. Then to her surprise, he walked her right out the front door. Lana was mortified as she saw passersby looking at her, yet even more surprising to her was the fact that no one seemed to take much notice, as if it was commonplace to see a barefooted, wet-haired female being led by the wrist, dressed only in a towel. As she hustled to keep up with the strong warrior, she couldn't help finding the new Warrick a little intimidating. She'd given him authority over her, and he'd immediately started using it. She decided she was grateful to have the towel.

They moved through the streets, his hand never lightening its vice-like grip on her wrist, such that she would occasionally stumble as she kept pace with him, wincing when one of her bare feet stepped on a stone. It wasn't far before they reached Darius' shop, and Warrick entered. Darius saw them and motioned upstairs, then returned to his customers. Warrick led her upstairs to a heavy wooden door, produced a key, and entered, pulling Lana in behind him. He closed the door behind her, and she heard a lock being turned, but she was too distracted by what she saw.

The room was the size of a large guest room, and it contained a bed, low to the ground, only knee height, and simple, with just a mattress and no wood headboard or baseboard like in the hotel room. Yet the bed appeared to be just one of several stations. Another station consisted of a wooden platform, above which dangled two leather manacles, suspended high, above her head even, and tied off to a vertical post attached to the platform, presumably so that they could be raised and lowered. She noticed two more bindings on the floor of the platform, spread wide apart and clearly meant for ankles. Another area contained a hip-height narrow wooden platform, which baffled Lana until she saw leather manacles on the floor like the first platform.

Lana realized her heart was thumping in her chest as the purpose of the room dawned on her. Yet she couldn't stop looking around. Another station contained a wooden chair, with open bottom, and manacles for wrists on each arm. The final station contained a leather saddle, like the one she and Warrick had ridden on, suspended high off the ground on a wooden platform, yet again with manacles where on the real horse Warrick had placed his boots. She'd had enough, and she turned to Warrick in alarm.

"What is this place?" she demanded, nervously.

"This is a slave training room," said Warrick matter-of-factly, looking at her. "Customers rent it out from Darius . . . for fun, or if their slave needs some discipline."

"Fun?" exclaimed Lana. "Discipline?" She thought of poor Nika suddenly, and Lamare threat to punish her. Would he take her to such a room? She shivered, not wanting to look about, yet deep down she found it fascinating. Dellune men and their twisted minds certainly had given sex a lot of thought, she decided. And she was certain that her world had done nothing to prepare her for this.

Suddenly, Lana felt a bit intimidated by Warrick in this place. It reminded her of when he'd commanded her at the negotiating table, but this time the thrill had a slightly fearful tinge to it. She could feel her nipples pressing warmly against the soft towel, her each movement causing a tiny stiffening in her swollen buds. She truly regretted not finding a way to use the salve, for her body's heat had only risen in the time it had taken to come to this training room, and Warrick's new commanding demeanor seemed to only make it worse. Lana didn't want to think about what that meant.

Warrick was looking at her, his eyes narrowed. "You have agreed to follow my orders, have you not?"

Lana nodded, wondering if she would regret that decision.

"Good," replied the warrior. "Now, because this is all new to you, I will allow you some clothing." He pulled out a small white bundle from his tunic and held it out to her. "You may put this on, I will turn my back."

Lana bristled despite her promise. "You will allow me to wear clothing?" she mocked, incredulous.

The warrior paused, retracting the bundle he'd extended. "You may choose to wear what you have, if you prefer."

Lana made a face. Who did he think he was? When he held it out again with a slight grin, Lana snatched the bundle with annoyance. She moved over to the wooden platform below the dangling manacles and spread the clothing on it. There was a pair of white string underwear like she'd worn before, and she slipped them on, pulling them over her hips under the towel. Warrick was no longer facing her; his back was to her, but she kept an eye on him in case of cheating. There was only one other item, and soft white halter top that looked much too transparent for her tastes.

"Hurry up if you want to dress without me watching you," said Warrick. Quickly, Lana unwound the towel and draped it over the wooden platform, then placed her arms through the white top and lifted it over her head, pulling it down over her. It came only to her midriff, and billowed out below her breasts, lacking any elastic material like a modern form-fitting halter would have. A strong wind would likely expose her breasts, she thought, looking down. Then she gasped. Her nipples were clearly visible through the top, forming little peaks in the soft material that Warrick would surely notice. When she saw him turning around, she quickly moved her arm to cover her chest.

"Is there a problem?" said Warrick, with a hint of amusement as he looked at the girl standing awkwardly in front of him, one arm across her chest, the other dangling at her side like a useless appendage.

Lana opened her mouth to explain, then stopped herself. Better not to bring attention to her condition. She found herself unable to bring her arm down, however, so she just stood there uncomfortably as Warrick looked at her. His eyes traveled down her body, stopping in the area of her white panties, and she felt a twinge of pleasure as if she could feel his gaze caressing her very flesh. She'd given her word, and she knew he needed to give her some preparation for what she'd experience in Gorum, but now she was having second thoughts.

"Warrick," she offered, "maybe this, uh, training isn't necessary . . ."

"Nonsense," countered the warrior, gazing down at her. "Wouldn't you prefer your introduction to slavery be with me, rather than some ugly Gorum slaver?"

Lana laughed nervously. "I'd prefer neither, if you must know," she added, looking up at him warily, her arm still held tightly across her chest. "How are you going to train me?"

Warrick paused in thought. "When we take you to Gorum, you will likely go through some sort of inspection, or interrogation if you will. I will give you a feel for that, so when it happens for real, you know what to expect. How does that sound?"

Lana paused, then nodded nervously. She still had no idea what he was talking about, but she said "I guess it's ok. Do I have a choice?"

"As a slave, you have no choice," he said matter-of-factly. "Now place your arms behind your back, so I may have a good look at you."

His commanding tone nearly caused her to obey without thinking, but she bristled at his stated desire to ogle her unimpeded. When she didn't respond to his command, he frowned.

"Do not try my patience, Lana," he said, the half-smile gone from his face. "You have given me your word that you will follow my commands. Are you going to break your word already, over such a little thing?"

"It's not such a little thing," murmured Lana, quietly. Reluctantly, she moved her arms down and placed her hands behind her back, acutely aware of his eyes as they took in her jutting breasts and bare belly. After a few moments of silence, she looked up at him; he must have noticed her condition by now, the peaks of her nipples pressing against the white top were painfully obvious to her. Yet his eyes were on hers, and for a second she felt lost in the deep green pool of his gaze.

"Let me examine you a bit," he said, moving closer. Lana found herself trembling slightly with anticipation as his hands came first to her hair, which was drying quickly in the dry Dellune air.. He gently moved his fingers through her silky dark hair, feeling the texture and the weight. Her hair was very straight, which kept it from tangling in his fingers. Warrick gathered it up as if forming a ponytail, holding it out from her head so he could look at her neck. His fingers gently moved along the curve of her slender neck, and Lana shivered at the sensuality of his touch.

"Do all of your females have such soft, silky hair?" the warrior asked, enjoying the feel of her hair in his hands. "It is not a true black as I thought, but a lovely shade of brown."

Lana felt an odd pressure in her chest, as if his words were inflating her. "I--I suppose so," she murmured, barely following the conversation. "I'm nobody special," she added, all the flattery making her uncomfortable.

"I doubt that very much," said the warrior, before letting her hair back down and arranging it about her shoulders. "On any world, you would be an exceptional beauty."

Lana blushed at his compliment. "The men don't look like you where I come from . . ." she murmured. Lana's knees felt weak, as if they might let her collapse in a heap before him. She straightened herself, forcing calm on her mind. Her body's hyper-sensitive state and the closeness of the powerful warrior made things doubly worse. I'm 23 years old, she thought, not a teenager with a crush!

"Oh?" said the warrior, responding to her comment. "What do they look like? Max, the ambassador? He's a bit pale and probably hasn't moved with urgency in years. But he's not unlike our own diplomats. What do I look like, strong and handsome?"