RVA: In Her Lair, Part One (Mature)

[jeriendhal]

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“Night” was an abstract concept at best aboard Darktail Station, as it floated in the void near a convenient nexus of hyperspace navigation points. The docks ran non-stop of course, but all of the Six Races generally were most comfortable with a defined cycle of rest and labor. Which is why everyone outside of the docks tended to follow a ten-twenty pattern, ten hours of work, twenty hours of rest, based on an average of the day-night cycles of the Prime homeworlds.

Given the services that Habebti’s Sophistications offered, it tended to work closer to a twenty-ten pattern, with enough shifts that none of Habebti’s boys and girls had to labor more than ten hours at a time. The nature of their work demanded that they be enthusiastic, not weary. As was her habit, Madame Habebti herself made her usual appearance in the early “evening,” after the doors had been open long enough for a nice grouping of customers to gather.

And there were so many customers these days. The shift from pirate outpost to legitimate shipping port had been rather eventful, but Sophistications had weathered it with patience. Not only had the number of customers increased, their attitudes had mellowed considerably compared to the older, rougher crowd.

So Habebti, dressed in her usual flowing white dress and heavy gold and emerald jewelry, accented by a pair of golden rope belts at her waist, had stepped into Sophistications’ public lounge. She was a striking figure, a Wazagan, with that draconic race’s height of nearly two and a half meters, her toned muscles flexing under a skin composed of thousands of tiny blue scales. Her thick curly hair was dyed green, to match her eyes and the emerald earrings she wore.

The boys and girls working the room all stood, even the ones attending to patrons, to give her a respectful bow as she lay herself on the lounge set on a raised dais at the back of the room. Habebti’s kingdom was small, but she was mistress of all she surveyed, and under her eyes it prospered.

Two hours passed. Music from a Gliten claw strummer filled the air, covering the low tone of voices as Habebti’s boys and girls chatted up potential patrons, learning their needs, understanding their wants. Not all of which was sexual. Some patrons just wanted the reassurance that, for a few hours’ time, they’d have the undivided attention of a single person all to themselves. Some even just enjoyed the ambiance and a good drink. Speaking of which…

Habebti gestured briefly to Savannah, who was standing watch beside the dais. Sophistications’ head of security was a leggy human woman dressed in her usual outfit of harem silks, augmented by a decorative sword and a more practical stunner for the occasional obnoxious patron. “That vixen over there,” Habebti said. “How long has she been here?” She raised a claw towards a tan furred foxen by the bar, dressed casually in Service Caste culottes, and a blouse with an embroidered vest. A multitool at her belt suggested she was probably a freighter crewfolk, looking for a good time before having to leave dock. Except the expression on the vixen’s face was downcast, her tail drooping, not meeting the eyes of any of Habebti’s boys or girls, despite their occasional gentle overture.

“About three hours, Milady.” Savannah discreetly checked the comp built into a silver band around her left wrist. “She’s tech on the freighter Lovejoy Starshine. The ID she presented checked out. She’s had about four drinks so far, nothing too hard.”

“Preferences?” Habebti asked. Any patron desiring a night with one of Sophistications’ hosts was required to fill out a brief survey detailing their preferences in orientations and possible activities. It tended to save confusion, especially with the mandatory Consent and Understanding statement at the end.

“Bisexual, unattached,” Savannah read, then raised one manicured eyebrow. “Species preference was left unchecked except for ‘other,’ which wasn’t filled in.”

“That’s uncommon,” Habebti said. Most patrons tended to stick to their own species when looking for a partner, though there were the xeno-curious. But they almost always at least checked off what they wanted. “We certainly have foxen hosts,” she noted. They’d even had to expand their staff in that area, given the uptick in traffic going to the foxen colony of Greenholme since the station’s purchase. “Most foxen don’t go for gliten, even more rarely for kinis,” Habebti said. “Has she given you or any of the other humans special looks?”

“Nope,” Savannah said. “And I made sure to pass close by to her.”

“Well, I suppose she might like naughty tentacles, but we don’t have room for an ardalian,” Habebti said, smirking slightly.

“You’re missing one, Milady,” Savannah said, smirking back.

“Oh?” Habebti asked. Then she realized what Savannah meant. “Oh,” she said. “Well, we haven’t had that for a little while. Let’s test your theory.”

Habebti shifted slightly on her couch, stretching out one leg while she lashed the tip of her tail. Given her size, it was hard not to attract attention with the movement, and there was an unobstructed view of her from the vixen’s position on her barstool. The vixen looked up at Hebebti, her eyes widening and her ears flicking back as she realized Habebti was staring right back at her.

Habebti kept her eyes locked with the vixen, then raised one hand and curled her index finger imperiously, in an unmistakable come to me gesture. The vixen froze, tail lashing, looking like she was caught between the urge obey the order or flee out of the door. Habebti gestured again, her eyes narrowing as if displeased by the vixen’s hesitation. Then her quarry finally slipped off her barstool and approached, almost bumping into one of the other patrons as her gaze remained fixed on Habebti.

Up close, the vixen was even less imposing. Her fur was more dun colored than tan, ears a bit rounded rather than having pleasingly sharp tips, and her body was a little thick around her middle. Her tail drooped down, almost dragging on the floor. The look in her eyes though… It was not precisely scared, though there was a touch of fear. But most prominent was a combination of hunger and hope. Seeing it, Habebti knew she’d guessed correctly, and where to take things next.

“What’s your name, girl?” Habebti rumbled, deepening her tone.

“Um, ah… It’s Leesa,” the vixen mumbled. “Leesa Engineminder.”

“Leesa Engineminder, why are you here?” Habebti demanded.

“To… to have a good time. Like everyone else,” Leesa said, making a vague gesture towards the other patrons and their hosts.

“You don’t look like you’ve been having a good time,” Habebti told her. “You’ve been looking like someone’s lost pet.”

“I just… just haven’t found anyone… yet.” Leesa’s voice became even more quiet, and if Habeti’s ears hadn’t been so large she wouldn’t have heard her.

“So, you’ve sat here for three hours,” Habebti said sternly. “Taking up space that another patron might have enjoyed, sipping our drinks, and wasting my boys’ and girls’ valuable time.”

“I paid for my drinks,” Leesa protested.

“Wasting. Time,” Habebti repeated, ignoring her. “My boys and girls are here to make people happy. You are not happy. Not Happy patrons bring gloom to my establishment, because my boys and girls think they have failed to fulfill your needs.”

“’m s’ry,” Leesa said, breaking away from Habebti’s gaze and staring at the floor instead. “I’ll go.” The vixen started to turn away, only to bump against Savannah. Perceptive as always, the human woman had discreetly stepped behind Leesa while she was staring at Hebebti, blocking the vixen’s escape.

“You have not been dismissed,” Savannah said, matching her mistress’ tone.

“Huh?” Leesa said, looking back and forth between them in confusion.

That was when Habebti stood up from the couch, rising to her full height. As she was still standing on the on the dais, this meant she was fairly towered over Savannah and Leesa. The poor vixen froze, knees trembling. “I did not give you permission to leave,” Habebti said sternly. “Savannah, hold her.”

Savannah gripped Leesa’s shoulders, more to keep her from collapsing at this point than to prevent escape. Habebti removed one of the golden ropes from around her waist, tying a slipknot on one end and flipping the loop over the unresisting Leesa’s head. The vixen was now leashed to Habebti, though the loop was certainly loose enough for Leesa to pull off, if she truly wished.

“We need to discuss your fate in private,” Habebti said, trying not to smile as Leesa visibly flinched at the word fate. “Follow!” She turned and began walking away, listening to Leesa’s brief squeak as she scrambled to match Habebti’s stride.

TBC