On the planet of Farpost, there are no prisons. The punishment for severe crimes is Judicial Slavery. This is the story of one such slave. In this chapter, slave shishi is sent to the horror of the mines.
642 is the story of a young woman on a distant planet in the distant future who is wrongfully convicted of theft and sentenced to two years of judicial slavery. This book, divided into twelve chapters, is her mind diary as her slavery goes through some very interesting– and erotic– twists. This is the ninth chapter. I will be posting a new chapter about every week.
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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2021 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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Chapter Nine - Sentenced to the Mines
Cycle 4378, Day 357
I don’t know where I am. Everything is black. I try to remember how I got here. It is hard. My mind and body move so slowly. I remember lucida and I were enjoying the peace and quiet of the beautiful garden area in the center of the house. We went there often in the afternoon for a short while. I was very happy. Master would be home soon. My hair was growing back and I had a short rope hanging down my back. I had been keeping up with my pleasure slave training and had even learned a few more things which might please him. Everything was wonderful.
I was lying on a soft blanket, looking up at the dull glow of the artificial sky on the ceiling dome above us and remembering that night when I watched the stars with Master when suddenly the ground opened beneath me and I was falling. One of the mine shafts beneath the house must have collapsed.
No, that couldn’t be because rough hands grabbed me almost as soon as I started to fall through the ground. A gruff voice said, “Throw the other one back. Make sure she has been given the drug so she won’t remember what happened.”
I was carried into a small side tunnel and the same gruff voice said, “Remove the barriers so the main shaft will collapse.”
There was a loud roar and the small tunnel was filled with dust. A different voice said, “That hole goes down below level twelve. They will assume it was a natural void that gave way. They will give up looking. Her body could be thousands of feet down.”
Then I felt a sting on my asscheek and everything went black. When I woke up, I was in a courtroom. The same judge was on the bench as at my last trial. “You have been convicted as a runaway slave,” he said loudly. Then his voice somehow got softer and harder at the same time. “And since this is a second offence,” he growls, “I revoke your contract and sentence you to the mines as a permanent slave.”
I want to scream out that I am innocent, but my body will not respond. I can barely stand between the two guards who hold my arms.
“Take her to processing,” the judge snarls. “Let her be an example to those who would continuously try to escape judicial slavery.”
The two guards drag me down several long hallways and bring me to a room with a strange chair sitting next to some weird-looking equipment. There is something attached to it that almost looks like the space helmets that are used when repairing ships in orbit. There are also several strange arm-like things with various tools attached to them.
One of the guards laughs and says to the other, “Do you want to use her before they wear her out in the mines?”
The other guard also laughs and says, “Pussy or ass?”
“You know I’m a back door man,” the first guard says. “You can have her cunt.”
They pull their pricks out of their pants and hold me up between them. I scream as one guard impales himself in my cunt and the other spears my ass. I am not ready for them, but they force their way into me and begin thrusting. They have done this many times before because they immediately synchronize their thrusts. First the man in front pushes into my cunt, then as he is pulling back, the man in back rams into my ass. I continue to scream and beg as they pound mercilessly into me bouncing me up and down. Finally they drop me crying and sobbing on the floor.
“Don’t worry 97846,” one of them sneers, “after a week in the mines you will look back at this and wish you had it this easy.”
Then one of them picks me up and throws me into the strange chair.
“Face down,” the other one says. “They have some special orders for this one.”
The first man presses some buttons on a panel and the chair folds back so it is flat like a table.
“I would really love to hear you scream in pain,” one of them says, “but you have to be real still for this to work right.”
There is another sting on my asscheek and I can no longer move my body. My eyes are closed as if I am asleep, but I can hear and feel everything that is going on around me. The weird helmet is placed over my head and something presses against my skull in several places holding me firmly in place. There is a flash of extreme heat and I can smell hair burning. Then it is as if a million bees were attacking my scalp and face.
“That’s the lasers making sure your hair never grows back,” one of the guards says with a laugh. “In a minute they will change to tattoo mode.”
There is a loud “Thunk!” as something slams against my head on both sides, just barely missing my eyes.
“Oh,” the other guard laughs, “he forgot to warn you about the eye pearls.”
I try to cry, but I can’t. I am being made into a permanent slave.
The laser tattoos begin. I can feel the machine putting on the blue eyeshadow, dark blue eyebrows, and dark blue eyeliner of a permanent slave. The dark blue matches the eye pearls which have already been embedded in my skull. The pain is tremendous. I want to scream, but can’t.
The helmet is removed, but they are not finished. “Now the special touches,” the crueler of the two guards says. I hear machinery moving around my head and feel lasers again zapping the top of my skull.
“That’s pretty,” the other guard says. “How far down will it take it?”
“All the way to her ass,” the other responds, “just like a permanent rope.”
The bee stings move down my neck. I can no longer stand it. The pain is almost tolerable, but that is not why it is so terrible. They are ruining me. Master will never see me as beautiful ever again. My mind can stand no more and I black out.
That’s all I remember, but I now know where I am. I am in a slave box. I have seen such boxes many times when a violent or dangerous slave is being transported to the mines. It is a metal box and is usually drawn on an ore cart. There are much better ways to take a slave to the mines, but the purpose of the box is not just to transport the slave. It is not even just to torture him... or her... with the heat and lack of air. It is a public show of what can happen if you hold the laws of Farpost in such scorn that you are no longer fit to be a part of life here. The slave box is the symbolic coffin of a slave sentenced to life in the mines.
The cart rattles through the streets of town until it stops and I can feel the box being lifted up by some sort of crane. Then it starts down. I am being lowered through one of the air vents into the mines. Again, there are better ways to do this, but when a slave dies, their bodies are removed from the mines in these same boxes lifted up through the air vent holes. All of the slaves and overseers in the mines will know that I am sentenced to life... or should that be death... in the mines.
The box stops descending and once again I am bouncing along in a mine cart. I know that now I am deep underground. The box is dropped heavily onto the solid floor of the mine and opened. Even though the light is very dim, I blink as my eyes try to adjust to what is, to me, brightness.
“Get up, you lazy scum,” the gruff voice of an overseer sneers at me. I can tell he is an overseer because he isn’t naked but is instead wearing a rough spun tunic over a pair of loose fitting rough spun pants.
All around in the background I can hear cries of “Fresh meat tonight!”
The overseer looks around and growls out, “We are behind schedule so there will be no playing with the new toy until after shift and you have been put in the pens. Anyone who doesn’t keep their mind on work will end up working the next shift and will miss out on the fun.”
I feel a wetness on my legs. I have peed myself in fear.
“You!” the overseer snarls at me. “You look pretty useless for digging ore so you will be pulling a shaft cart.”
Shaft carts are small carts that are used to drag the ore over to the belts which take it to the surface. He pushes me over to a loaded cart and says, “Remember you have to meet your quota or there will be a public punishment at the end of shift.”
I get between the traces of the cart and lift the front bar. It won’t move, but I push and push until it finally starts moving forward. I am thankful for the muscles that Mistress Elaine has built up in my body. When I get to the belt area, I pull on the front bar to bring the back of the cart over to the dump pan. Then I lift up on the push bar. The ore slides out the back of the cart and rumbles into the chute.
As I turn to return to the ore face a three-cart bounces into the dump area. A three-cart is exactly that. It is a larger cart that is pushed by three slaves working in tandem. It doesn’t quite hold three times what a single cart holds, but the slaves tire less and are able to move faster and thus make their individual quotas by working together.
This particular three-cart is pushed by two female slaves. They look like sisters or possibly even twins. I see that they are obviously slaves, but they are not wearing slave collars,
I reach to my throat. I have no collar. Somehow that makes me feel even more naked. I have been stripped of my collar. There is no Master to protect me. I am just fresh meat for the scum slaves in the lowest level slave pens.
As the sisters turn to dump their cart, one of them calls out, “Don’t go. They are waiting for you.”
I stop and stare at them. There is no way I can get away from the men who want to use me. I have no place to hide. “I know,” I wail. “But I can’t stay here. There is no place fresh meat like me can hide in the mines.”
The other slave says, “Push your cart into the storage area and get between us.”
“Will that hide me?” I ask.
The first slave laughs and says, “No, there is no way to hide your strange tattoos, but it will protect you... for now.”
The second slave runs her hand over my head and says, “I have never seen a tattooed rope before. It is almost as if whoever did that wanted you to stand out down here.”
“They did,” I said. “They want me buried... and eventually dead.”
“What’s your number?” one of them asks as we trot back toward the ore face.
I turn my head and stare at her as I run. Finally I say, “shishi.”
“Your number?” she almost yells back. “What is your slave number?”
“97846... I think,” I stammer back.
“You think?” she sputters. “You had to give that number every morning and every night and every meal since you were sentenced.”
“I was only sentenced this afternoon,” I say softly.
“Holy shit!” the other spits out. “Somebody really wanted you buried in a hurry.”
“What are your numbers?” I ask.
“I’m 58933,” one of them replies. “She’s 58934. People call us 33 and 34.”
“We’re sisters,” they said in unison. “We were independent prossies who were forced to do a little thieving on the side to survive.”
I must look confused because 33 says, “That’s a prostitute not working in an official brothel. After Madame Loretta’s was blown up there was no place to work except for the Moudorae. They had all the official houses. We tried to stay independent, but couldn’t really survive that way. So, we did a little thieving from our customers. Then we made the big mistake of stealing from a member of the founder families.”
34 shrugs and says, “Ten years in the mines is survivable if you have a sister to watch your back.”
33 pulls a knife from the side trace of the ore cart and says, “We’ve survived seven years. Only three to go.”
34 looks at me and says, “The thugs down here fear us because they know that we will kill to protect each other. We will try to protect you, but someone has made it clear that you are nothing but fresh meat. I’m afraid that when they take you back to the deep pens it will be bad for you.”
We make trip after trip from the ore face to the lift belts. The shift will be over soon and I will be taken to the deep pens. 58933 and 34 are kept in an upper pen. They won’t be able to protect me once the shift is over.
I look down at my legs. They are covered with dust and sweat. My tattoos are probably invisible now, buried beneath the fine dust of the ore. I feel myself shuddering as I realize that soon I will be just fresh meat for the miners kept overnight in the deep pens. I will probably not live to see the morning.
Suddenly there is a lot of shouting. Miners are pointing and shoving each other trying to get back into the shadows. Something terrible must be coming down into the mines.
I hear cries of “It’s her! It is her! She will kill us! She will kill us all!”
We turn our cart and try to run for the storage areas when I hear a cry of “You three! Stop!”
33, 34, and I stand there shaking. Then a much more gentle voice says, “Is that you shishi?”
We turn and I am looking at Madame Loretta and six of Master’s guards. She still has the blaster pistol hanging around her neck, but she is also wearing a multi-colored cloth sash across her body. It is the flag of the Moudorae.
“I want this slave released to me, now!” she says loudly to the overseer who has stepped up to block her path. Another overseer stands back in the shadows.
“I am very sorry, but that is not possible, Madame Loretta,” the first man says, bowing slightly to her. “She has been sentenced to the mines as a permanent slave and she must stay here.”
Madame Loretta pulls a cloth band from her arm that has the same pattern as her sash. She quickly wraps it around my neck like a collar and says, “Then I put her under the protection of the Moudorae and demand that she be housed in the upper pens with the non-permanent slaves until my Master... and hers... can talk to the courts.”
I find my voice. “They have protected me until now,” I say as firmly as I can, nodding toward 33 and 34. My voice is shaking. “They are now also in danger.”
33 and 34 both show fear on their faces. I don’t know if they just realized what protecting me may cost them or they are that afraid of Madame Loretta. Madame Loretta pulls two more cloth bracelets from her arm and says loudly, “All three of these slaves are now under the protection of the Moudorae. If you protect them you are a friend to the Moudorae. If you harm them or fail to protect them then you are making yourself an enemy of the Moudorae... and of me!”
Madame Loretta was nearly shouting as she finished. I have never seen her so angry or so fearsome-looking. For a minute I thought she would start blasting with her pistol. But after staring at the overseers for a few moments, she said firmly, “I speak as a Katillmat. My word is binding on the Moudorae. This slave is protected.” She points to 33 and 34 and adds, “And so are they.”
As soon as she turns and walks back toward the mine elevator, the overseer comes up to us and says gruffly, “Dump your last load and take the elevator to the upper pens.” He is obviously afraid. He looks around furtively and then says, “Take your three-cart with you. You will be going to a different face tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” 34 says very slowly.
After the overseer has walked away, she says softly, “I smell a trap.”
“Would he go against Madame Loretta and the Moudorae?” I ask.
“If there were something that he feared more,” 33 says softly, “or that was paying him enough.” Then she lifts the push bar and says “Let’s get this load dumped and get up to the upper pens. Might as well get cleaned up and get something to eat before we find out what the overseers have waiting for us.”
“Don’t forget paying the rent,” 34 adds as we back the cart over to the dump chute.
“Paying the rent?” I ask.
“The upper pens,” 33 begins to explain, “are much better than the lower pens. The overseers pretty much keep order so you are safe up there.”
“But it has a price,” 34 adds. “A couple times a month, we have to fuck the overseers.”
“Or maybe put on a show for them with one of the male... or female... slaves,” 33 continues. “Everybody pays the rent, but nobody ends up fucked to death like can happen in the lower pens.”
“Oh,” I say sadly as we push the empty cart into the elevator.
As we ride up, 33 says, “First we get cleaned up. Then we pay the rent. Then we eat.”
34 smiles and says almost cheerfully, “Since we are early, we will get first pick on the slop. It’s still just a bowl of greasy stew, but we will be able to get more of the good stuff.”
“Great,” I say glumly.
I start to say something else, but the elevator jolts to a stop and 34 says, “We’re home.”
We pull the cart out of the elevator and push it into the storage area. It is the only cart in there.
“This level was worked out years ago,” 34 explains. “And this pod is down about as far as the ore extends. I didn’t know they were working any new ore faces. I wonder where they are sending us.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” 33 says. “Let’s get a shower and then something to eat.”
We walk into a small side tunnel. The floor is wet and water is running from the roof through several shower heads. 33 sticks her arm into an open barrel and scoops out a handful of what looks like animal fat or grease.
“It’s discharge from the food plants,” 34 explains, “but it works as well as soap.”
“You will learn to shower very quickly,” 33 says as she steps under one of the shower heads and rapidly rubs the grease all over her body, including her hair.
34 laughs slightly and says, “You can be even faster since you don’t have any hair.”
I reach up and touch my naked scalp. I must have sobbed out loud because 33 quickly says, “Sorry. We didn’t think.”
“That’s OK,” I say. “It is what is.”
As soon as I step under the water, I realize why 33 said I would shower quickly. The water is almost freezing. I feel my nipples get rock hard as the water chills my body.
33 reaches over and rubs her hands over my back and on down my legs. “We have to help each other get clean,” she says quickly. I see that she and 34 are also doing each other’s backs.
As I quickly finish and step out of the water, 33 says, “One more thing.” She had evidently scooped up a small amount of the fat in her hand. She presses her fingers between my asscheeks and pushes some of the fat into my ass.
“Just in case they want the back door,” she says as I gasp. I notice that she and 34 had both prepared themselves in the same fashion with some of the fat.
As we walk out of the shower area 34 says, “The water is pump water from below the mines. They divert some of it to the shower rooms.”
“Our pen is on the top level,” 33 says, “so we get to use it first. Our drains are the next level’s shower heads. By the time it gets down to the deep pens, you are washing off dirt with dirt.”
“Oh,” I say. “No wonder people refer to the deep pits as the bottom level of hell.”
“That’s not the only reason,” 34 says harshly.
“You are back early,” a gruff voice calls out. It is one of the pen overseers.
“We were ordered to bring our cart up early,” 33 promptly responds. “We are supposed to be sent to a new ore face tomorrow.”
“New ore face?” the overseer says with a confused look on his face. “There are no new ore faces. There won’t be until the dome is finished on settlement area twenty-three. I’m sure they haven’t put down any shafts over there yet.”
“We were ordered,” 34 says firmly. “We didn’t ask questions.”
“Well,” he says, “since you’re early... and since there are three of you... we might as well collect your rent.”
Two other overseers step forward.
I don’t know why I do it, but I step between them and the sisters and say, “I am... was... a pleasure slave. I can pay the rent for all three of us. I am very good. I promise you it will be something you will remember for a long time.”
“A pleasure slave, eh,” one of the other overseers says with a crooked leer. “I’ve never had a pleasure slave service me.”
“Whatever you want,” I reply. “Who wants to go first?”
“What if we all go at the same time?” the third overseer says. There is something odd about his voice, but I can’t figure what it is.
“I’ve done two,” I say. “Three just means getting my mouth in the right place.” Maybe my deep throat training will finally be put to use.
The third overseer laughs and says, “Let’s get over by the fire.”
The three overseers pull their tunics up over their heads. I gasp as I see the breasts on the third overseer. It is a woman. When she drops her pants and puts them on one of the tables, I see that she is bare between the legs.
“Yes,” she says with a strange smile. “I started out here as a slave. When my sentence was up, they offered me a position as an overseer. It was better than anything I could get topside.”
She then said forcefully, “Frank, on your back, you can have her ass. You like that.”
The overseer she called Frank lays down on the ground face up. His prick was already stiff and sticking straight up into the air. I straddle him and slowly lower myself down. Once my rosebud is lined up with his prick, he pulls me forcefully down. I am thankful for the grease between my cheeks.
“Now lay back,” the female overseer says brusquely. “Frank can play with your tits while we do this.”
I lay myself flat on my back on Frank’s stomach and he immediately begins to maul my breasts and pinch my nipples.
“Jamie,” she says tersely, “you get her cunt... and you can play with my tits while she tongues me.” Her voice becomes almost angry as she says, “But don’t start anything until I say so.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Jamie says. There is no doubt about who is in charge in the upper slave pens.
Jamie clumsily kneels between my legs and pushes himself in. I wish I had used a little grease on the front side, but my body quickly adapts and I grow wet.
“Now,” the female overseer says, “let’s see if this pleasure slave has been tongue trained.”
Actually, I haven’t. But I know what to do. She squats over my face and I tilt my head so that my tongue can reach her slit. As soon as I start lapping she says, “That’s nice.” She almost purrs for a moment or two and then says, “OK, boys, you can start.”
Frank starts bouncing beneath me, driving his prick into my ass. He can’t move very much, but Jamie makes up for it ramming into my cunt and pushing me up and down on Frank’s prick. Meanwhile I am lapping and sucking on the female overseer’s cunt.
I can feel her juices starting to flow down on my face. She smells bittersweet. It isn’t really unpleasant, but it isn’t very appealing. I wonder what her home planet is. The strange things you think of while you are sucking a woman off.
Frank is now just holding on to my breasts, but Jamie is really mauling the female’s. She is starting to keen slightly and I speed up my lapping. Frank has already grunted loudly and spurted into my ass. Jamie is speeding up his thrusts and I can feel the twitching in his prick which means that he is close.
Maybe I have been trained. I reach up and close my mouth totally over the overseer’s clit and suck hard like Master did to me that last night we were together.
Jamie spurts into my cunt and the female overseer screams and shudders in orgasm. When she regains control she says, “That’s the first time I’ve really gone like that in years. I think I am going to like having you around.”
As we untangle ourselves, she says, “Help yourself to supper. And I won’t check how much you put in your bowls.”
33, 34, and I hurry over to the table where several large pots of greasy stew are sitting. “The trick,” 33 says, “is to fill from one pot and put the crappy pieces into the other.” She then demonstrated by using a ladle to fill her bowl and then using her spoon to flip really bad looking chunks of meat back into the other pot. After three or four cycles, she had a bowl of decent-looking stew. If this is how it always went, the people at the end of the line would get really nasty food. But that seems to be the way everything works here in the mines.
We go over to the corner and squat down to eat. We each have a small metal cup of water to go with our stew. “Thanks for paying the rent,” 34 says as we eat.
“Thanks for saving my life,” I reply.
While we are eating, I ask, “Can you tell me Madame Loretta’s story?”
34's face goes blank for a moment and then she says slowly and softly, “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes,” I say. I’m not really sure that is true, but this may be the only chance I will ever have of hearing the story.
“I especially want to know how... or why... she can call Master just ‘Karl.’”
33 laughs and says, “That’s the easiest part to explain. “Madame Loretta and Karl played together as children. Loretta’s mother was a free slave in the house of Burcroft who remained as an employee when her term in indenture was complete. No form of slavery is hereditary on Farpost so Loretta grew up a free woman. But she wanted to give women a chance to make a living without selling themselves into slavery or even pledging as a free slave. Thus– with Karl’s help– she started The House of Free Women.”
34 continues the story. “The House of Free Women was basically a whore house with free women. Very high class. The Moudorae didn’t like that, though. The public face of the Moudorae is a ‘Union of Unions’ so they have a mutually beneficial relationship with the official government of the planet. They run almost all of the brothels on Farpost and use women who sell themselves into slavery to save their families or whatever. Madame Loretta paid her “taxes” to the Moudorae like every other business person on Farpost, but she was giving the women another option and that was seen as a threat to the Moudorae. They wanted to force her out of business.
“They told Madame Loretta that she had to sell her brothel... and the women who worked there... to them. She, of course, refused. One of the local Captains of the Moudorae told her that if she didn’t sell they would kill her and all the girls. Madame Loretta began accepting explosives as payment from the miners who came to her place. These were the higher-level skilled miners who know how to set the explosives. Under Madame Loretta’s direction, they rigged the whole house so that it could be detonated from a secret safe room dug deep into the bedrock beneath the house.”
33 holds up her hands and interrupts. “One night, the Moudorae encircled the house and tell all the clients to leave. All do except two civilians– distant relatives of the founders– who hide in a storage room on the second floor because they do not want to be discovered at a whore house.
“Once the clients are all gone, the Moudorae attack. Their intent was to kill everyone in the house. But when they storm the house, they find it empty, and before they can leave, the house blows up killing all of them... and the two members of the founder’s family. The authorities would not have cared about the Moudorae, but because of the death of the two founders they threaten to bring in the Space Militia and clean up the planet.
“Madame Loretta knew that would mean the death of many innocent people, so she told what had happened. When the authorities wanted the name of the man who had started it all, she gave the name of the sub-lieutenant who had actually led the raid. She also said that she regretted not going to the Captain because she would have learned that this was not an action sanctioned by the Moudorae. She said that so there would be no vendetta against the women who worked for her.
“The Moudorae were impressed with her bravery– or perhaps treachery– and the fact that she shielded the Captain responsible. They named her a Katillmat, which translates to “man of honor” in the language of the planet of origin for the Moudorae. What it means on Farpost is a man who has done a great service for the Moudorae, is under their protection, and can call upon them for favors.
“Madame Loretta was sentenced to death, but the Moudorae got the sentence commuted to permanent slavery. Master Karl, who owned the land on which the house was built, claimed her in reparations for the loss of the house, etc. In fact, though, he had given her the land and the house, but that was kept secret so the police would not come up with some excuse to seize the house.”
34 smiles at me and says, “And that is why nobody messes with Madame Loretta.”
I swallow hard and try to smile. 33 looks over at the door and says flatly, “Oh, oh. That looks like trouble.”
One of the overseers from below is standing in the doorway. “Change of plans,” he says tersely. “They need another three-cart at the new pod. You will be pulling a double shift hauling dust for the dome under construction. Take cross-shaft fifteen to the surface elevator and report to Gerald. I will join you shortly.”
“What’s he saying?” I ask nervously as soon as he walks away.
“They are building another city pod,” 33 says almost angrily. “The inner dome isn’t finished. The outer dome and inner domes are in place, but it needs at least thirty feet of ore dust packed on top of the inner dome before it is safe in the daytime. All the construction has to be at night when the radiation is lowest. They scrape the dust off the surface and spread it out on the surface of the inner dome with lifter belts. Once the full dome is complete, they will start carving out a true city pod. They will also sink new shafts and extend the mine tunnels under it.”
The second overseer from the lower levels is now in the doorway. “Get your asses in gear,” he yells. “That dust won’t move itself.”
“Coming,” we all say in unison.
As we walk toward the storage area to retrieve the three-cart, 34 says, “A lot of accidents happen during dome construction.”
33 huffs and says, “Some of them are even real accidents.”
After that we walk in silence toward cross-shaft fifteen.
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END OF CHAPTER NINE
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The true rulers of this world, the credit card companies, have made it almost impossible to sell books with true BDSM themes. Erotic publishers will soon be a thing of the past. So I have pulled all of my books from the one publisher that I had left, and have decided to share them with my on-line followers.