The Naughty Nymph

This is the last chapter for now, thank you so much for reading and voting! I still have material for a few more chapters, but I'm worried that it might become a bit repetitive. I hope you enjoyed the story so far and please let me know what you think.

Contract

Last month's whipping had taught me to take my bureaucratic duties more seriously, so with another tax deadline looming I was sitting in the office filling in forms when Sylvie and Carla walked in.

"Could we talk to you, please?" asked Sylvie.

"Sure," I said and dropped the data pad on the desk. "Anything for a distraction. Gods, this stuff is killing me."

I had procrastinated and pushed this bureaucratic bullshit off as long as I possibly could. After scrubbing the oven and washing out the fridge I had finally started and ten minutes in I was ready to gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon.

"You know," started Carla, "I hit my milestone this morning. One hundred anal tricks, and I took some really big ones, too."

"It's true," said Sylvie, nodding and supportive as always. "We checked the register."

"And I've done a few face fucks, too. Without puking, I can show you."

I chuckled. "No need, we've all seen it."

She had played the video of that particular achievement on a loop on the break room screen until Anahí finally put an end to it.

"Cassie, I've been working two part-time jobs for almost six weeks now. Does your offer still stand? I mean, taking me on, full-time?"

"Like I said, any time when you're ready. You should have talked to me earlier, you could have made a lot more money than at the agency."

"I wanted to make sure that I could do it. And I still earned quite a bit."

"Buy yourself something nice," I said and leaned back in the uncomfortable office chair. "You worked so hard, you should really treat yourself once in a while."

"Oh, that money is long gone."

Gods, I thought and took a long hard look at her. Had I missed any signs? They were both just twenty years old, I had a responsibility for these girls.

"Sweetie," I said and took her hand. "Are you taking drugs? You can tell me, I'll get you all the help you need. You are not alone in this, I promise."

Carla laughed. "No, it's nothing like that. I was two months behind on rent and five on the citizen tax."

"Five months?!" Sylvie was shocked. "You should have said something! You can't cut it close like that!"

Six months behind and the government would assume that you were unable to take care of yourself. After two years of penal slavery you would get another chance at becoming a tax-paying member of society.

"Yeah," said Carla, grimacing. "That was way too close. I sleep a lot better now that I paid off most of it."

"Alright," I said and picked up the data pad. "Let's use Anahí's contract as a template. I'll send it to you, just let me know if you want any changes. And tell me how much you still owe, I'll give you an advance. Deal?"

They both stared at the floor.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I, err, talked to Sylvie," said Carla, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers like she always did when she was nervous. "She gets to eat and sleep here for free-"

"Everyone gets to eat and sleep here for free," I said.

"But as a serf she doesn't pay citizen tax or income tax or anything. And the business saves on taxes, too. That does sound like a pretty good deal."

I rubbed my temples. "Financially maybe, but you'd sign away your rights. Do you understand that? This is serious, I wouldn't do that in a million years."

"But I trust you! You always take care of us and teach us stuff. It's so much fun staying here and hanging out, I have never had anything like that. And I like the job, too."

I sighed. It sounded like she wanted a break from adulthood and its responsibilities. Not that I could blame her -- it was a hard, unforgiving world out there, especially for a young woman who hadn't found her place yet. If she had struggled that much to make ends meet, she must have been under a lot of stress for a long time. On the other hand, this was her freedom we were talking about.

"We already went to the Slave Emporium and picked out a collar," said Sylvie quickly. "They reserved it for us."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course you have."

"It's really pretty and comfortable," said Carla, "and it's on sale. Not expensive at all."

"What about your parents? What would they think? Did you talk to them?"

"My dad left before I was even born and my mom has been in and out of collars her whole life, she'd understand. Girls like me get collared by the millions, it's no big deal."

I scratched my head. "So you didn't talk to her?"

"I can't reach her, she's currently on a contract, but I left a message through her owner and gave them our business address just in case."

"How about you wait until you hear back?"

"I'm an adult, this is my decision. But she'd be happy to hear that I'm taken care of. She'd tell me to go through with it."

"The collar will come off when your term is up," I said, rubbing my own registration number above my pubic mound, "but the tattoo, that's nanite ink. That one's for life."

"Where I'm from most women have one. A lot of men, too. And it's not like it's in my face or anything."

"You know," I said, desperately fishing for arguments, "I'd have to pay your salary up front. Our numbers are okay, but that's a chunk of money."

"No, no," said Sylvie, shaking her head. "The salary could be just one credit with a variable performance component. You know, the seventy percent per trick, like my contract after we changed it."

I took a deep breath. Talking them out of it was a waste of time, these girls were relentless when they set their minds to something.

"If you agree to this," said Sylvie. "I'll do the taxes from now on. I study law, I'm good at reading all the fine print. There will be zero problems, I swear."

*

Carla had given notice at Everton's and moved in with us, which was a rather quick affair. All of her worldly possessions fit in a small, half-empty gym bag that she stashed under the bunk next to Sylvie's suitcase. I moved over to the small cage to give the girls some space -- as far as that was possible when all the walls were made of steel bars.

Now that I knew about the tax debt that had been hanging over her head, a lot of things made more sense. She had always come to us for her meals and even on her days off from the agency she had worn her work uniforms because the rest of her wardrobe consisted of one pair of pants, a skirt, and two t-shirts. Apparently, she had been living with eight other girls in a cramped one-room apartment, sharing three beds, so it was clear why she had stayed overnight after her shifts.

*

"I'm a bit nervous," she admitted when the two of us were standing outside the slave registration agency on deck seventy-nine.

"We can still go with Anahí's contract," I said. "There's no shame in backing out now."

"Never. Let's do this."

With its large store window and advertising posters, the agency looked like any other small shop. An older woman in a blue company-issue blazer was behind the counter and nodded at us when we entered.

"Good afternoon, how may I help you?"

"Hello," I said. "I have a pending contract for The Naughty Nymph that we'd like to get notarized."

"Of course," said the clerk after tapping something on her data pad. "The payment has been confirmed, we've got everything ready."

Carla carefully placed her collar on the counter. It was made of silver-colored dura steel, five centimeters high with rounded edges, and had a standardized attachment point in the back for chains and other compatible equipment. The Slave Emporium had already engraved it with the registration number and the ownership information as required by law.

It read:

Property of The Naughty Nymph

Teraxis / Zesta Station, Deck 97

#TXS-AF79-1B23

Slave collars weren't really my thing, but even I had to admit that it was a beautiful piece. It was relatively light and other than the mandatory tracker it didn't have any other features -- no neural gag or neuro stims for punishment.

"It's a Teraxan number, but it's valid everywhere, right?" asked Carla.

"Yes," said the clerk. "It will stay the same for the rest of your life, even if you should be collared in a different jurisdiction in the future. And now please disrobe and step on the scanner."

With trembling fingers Carla took off her clothes. It was understandable that the girl was nervous, but I was surprised that she seemed to be aroused by the whole situation, judging by a certain wetness and her stiff nipples.

"No anomalies," was the verdict after a blue beam had scanned Carla from head to toe.

She showed us the pictures and data that were now part of her permanent file at the slave register. Carla blushed when she saw herself on the screen, all hot and juiced up, but the lady behind the counter was too much of a professional to say anything.

"You may collar your property, Miss."

Carla lifted her long brown hair and I placed the collar around her neck. Then the clerk clamped a small pliers-like tool to the seams and welded it shut with the press of a button. The steel was fused together and would be impossible to remove without special tooling.

"Keep in mind that here in the Teraxian system your collar must be visible at all times when in public. Obscuring it can lead to a fine for the owner or corporal punishment for you."

Carla nodded and traced the surface of the collar with her fingers, over the engraved letters, around to the back of her neck where the seam used to be.

"Comfortable?" I asked.

"Yes," she said and whispered. "It's exciting and a bit scary."

We weren't quite done yet. The clerk came around from behind the counter and pressed a small device that looked like a stamp onto Carla's bare pubic mound.

"Hold still, this may sting a little."

Carla grimaced while the device tattooed the registration number under her skin. Like my own tattoo from many years ago, this wasn't ordinary ink that any doctor could easily remove for a few credits. Nanite ink would reappear after a few weeks should someone try to get rid of it.

"Hereby notarized," said the clerk, tapping away on her pad while Carla was getting dressed. "She's all yours."

All accounts and assets were now frozen until the end of the one-year term and voting rights were suspended along with the right to sign contracts or to conduct any kind of business. For all intents and purposes, the former citizen's life was put on hold for the duration of the contract.

"Congratulations, mom," said Carla and winked at me. "Now you've got a second daughter."

It was a joke, of course, but there was some truth to it -- this sure felt like an adoption. I was now responsible for two young women, but fortunately they were nothing like me at that age. I gave her a kiss on her forehead and a hug.

"You should find the paperwork and a promo voucher in your mailbox shortly," said the clerk.

"A voucher?" I asked.

"From our local Everton's agency," said the clerk and pointed to a poster on the wall. "Twenty complimentary lashes of the neuro correctional whip, valid for one month. Just in case there are any disciplinary problems."

"I spent enough time at that place," said Carla. "I'll be a good girl."

Chains

"Where's Carla?" I asked.

I was standing at the stove while the rest of us were sitting around the break room table. It was time for lunch and after everyone had sufficiently admired her new collar and tattoo, I had warmed up some leftovers from yesterday's chili.

Sylvie tapped a few buttons on the data pad. "She's in the bathroom, on her way."

"Stop tracking her through her collar, that's impolite," I said, putting the pot on the table. "Ah, there she is."

"Look," said Sylvie and showed Carla the pad. "You're a business asset now, like me. Or the coffee maker. If you ever need to find me, you tap that button on my screen here. And here's my health chip with birth control and everything. But don't touch that, I'm not ready to be a mom."

"Definitely don't touch that," I said. "If we get a serf pregnant they'll cancel the contract and probably shut the whole place down."

"And what's that other button?" asked Carla. "The red one with the lock?"

"That's for my stopper. If you press that one I'll pee myself."

"Ohhhh," said Carla, excited. "Can I try it? When you're in the bathroom, I mean?"

"Yes, later. And if you're chained to a booth, you'll find the lock on your asset screen, too. We have to test that after lunch to make sure it works."

"Awesome," said Carla, tracing over the engraving on her collar for what had to be the hundredth time. "But we're serfs, are we even supposed to have access to that?"

"I don't think there's a law against it," I said. "But all the business accounts are on that thing, so be careful. And now put the pad away, sweetie. We're eating."

"Yes, mom," said Sylvie, giggling. "Hey, let's chain ourselves up tonight to celebrate the occasion. We're both serfs now, we should at least do a shift like that once in a while."

Anahí raised her eyebrow. "Both of you? That would mean Cassie or I have to work reception all night while you two are fucking. Forget it."

"Okay, okay, so we'll take turns," said Sylvie, and grinned at her, mischievously. "You could join us if you like. I'll pick a nice collar for you and I'll even let you go pee if you ask nicely."

"Or I could give you a spanking," said Anahí and threw a towel at her.

"You could join us, fifty-one," said Sylvie, rubbing my registration number with her finger. "You still got the tattoo and we'll get you a collar. You'll look super cute with a bit of steel around your neck."

"Keep referring to me by my number and you won't get dessert," I said, shoveling chili on her plate. "And there will be no steel around this pretty neck. Unless someone pays extra, of course, because I have principles."

"Why are whores always chained up anyway?" asked Carla. "I mean, even the free girls. It makes no sense."

"Because we're not unionized," said Anahí and Rashid almost fell off his chair laughing.

"That's the best explanation I've heard so far," he said, coughing.

"It's tradition," said Anahí. "Some brothel owners say that customers expect it, but we see every day at the Nymph that it's not true. And it doesn't improve service one bit."

"It makes sense occasionally," I said. "Like when I worked on a mining outpost. If I hadn't been chained to the wall, the guys would have just picked me up and taken the party elsewhere."

"Yeah, okay," said Anahí. "And when you're traveling as a ship's whore, it's sometimes necessary for insurance reasons. The larger shipping lines don't allow unauthorized personnel on board, so if the crew wants to take a whore along, there have to be security measures."

"It really depends on the captain," I said. "On most freighters you could suck dick on the bridge under the nav console and nobody gives a shit."

"When I worked a shift chained up, I got used to it quickly," said Carla. "I don't think I would mind much. I, err, even found it a tiny bit exciting."

"That's because I let you go to the bathroom whenever you wanted," said Sylvie. "Before Cassie took over I spent sixteen hours a day at my booth and at night they locked me in the cage. The first couple of weeks I even had to wear leg irons when I wasn't at work. And they took my comlink."

Carla stared at her with wide open eyes. "What?! They took your comlink? That's just cruel!"

Career

"Sister," said Anahí when we were washing the dishes. "Can I ask for your advice?"

"Don't tell me you did the math and now you want to be collared, too. Because that virus seems to be going around."

Anahí scoffed. "If I had to choose it would always be free and broke over a collar and a paycheck."

"Amen to that. You know, the other day Sylvie told me that if I transferred the business to a trust controlled by my sister and worked here as a serf I could save a lot of money."

Anahí chuckled. "She's gonna be a great lawyer, I'll give her that."

"Do you think I'm spoiling those two? I want them to be happy, they had a rough start into adult life."

"Sister, just because we were miserable at that age doesn't mean they should be. They work harder than most whores I've met, so let them have fun."

"That's what I was thinking. But what is it you wanted to talk about?"

Anahí let a few seconds pass and picked up the next plate to dry.

"Look, since I left the corps I've been traveling around. But now, for the first time in my life I could afford to make some changes."

"You don't need a boob job," I said and gave her left breast a light squeeze. "They are beautiful the way they are."

She laughed. "That's not what I mean. You've got a ship, so you're a certified pilot, right? Interstellar?"

"Yes. I used to fly freighters back in the day, I have a commercial license for zero G, hyperspace, and intra-atmosphere flight."

In addition to the usual commercial gear, I was also rated for some military-grade equipment which I frequently needed on my previous job. Not that anyone would have checked the qualifications of a mercenary working for the Vlissidis syndicate.

"I won't be this hot forever," said Anahí, slapping her muscular butt. "I need a plan for when I'm fifty. I've always been a drifter and I spent a lot of time in space on Broke Girl Cruises, so maybe being a pilot would suit me. What do you think?"

"You'd be great at it," I said. "You're self-reliant and resilient, that's important when you spend months in space, and you're not afraid to handle the roughest of cargo haulers. The flight school here on Zesta has a good reputation and a pretty comprehensive program. I know a few people who graduated from there."

"I looked into it. They have a part-time course that runs for two years. I could afford the theory and flight simulator lessons with the money I make here."

"You're aware that they have a twenty percent discount for vets? They don't advertise it, but you get it on request."

"Really?" she asked and I could see that she was doing math in her head. "That'll make things a lot easier. But my main worry was my education, it was a bit one-sided as you know. I did pass the entry assessment though."

"How did you score?"

"Ninety-seven percent."

I almost dropped the pan I was washing. Back when I was kicked out of military school, my mother had enrolled me at a commercial flight school and I had to take that same standardized assessment. Even with some preparation it hadn't been easy.

"Girl, seriously!" I said. "I scored somewhat north of eighty percent and I had no problems, not even with astrophysics. You'll be absolutely fine."

"That is good to hear. It's mostly video lessons on my own schedule, only some exercises and the flight sim are in person. I can do my job here, just some mornings I have to go to class. And there's the exams, of course."

"We'll make it work. And for practice hours you can use my Raptor. That'll save you a lot of money and it's more fun than flying some old bucket."

Dummy

"How do I look?" asked Sylvie after pulling the pink adult-size dummy out of her mouth.

She was wearing a white diaper with colorful animals printed all over and had her long blonde hair tied into pigtails.

I almost fell over laughing. "Okay, you really look cute. The boobs are a bit big for a baby, but it's good that you dress appropriately for your age."

She stuck out her tongue at me. "Don't be a meanie or I'll tell on you."

"What happened? Your stopper doesn't work anymore?"

"No," she said. "It's working perfectly and actually I'm so full that I could burst. I've got a session with Antoine in ten minutes and I've been drinking lots of water all morning."