The Color of Iron

At the end of the corridor was a service elevator, small and cramped. We entered, and we stood as far from our escort as space allowed. Don't look too demure, Color Of Air thought. Nuritha would carry herself proudly, even when a prisoner.

The elevator let us into a serving alcove for a grand ballroom. That is if grand were defined as spacious, imposing, and monumental, but omitted terms such as lavish, splendid, or opulent. The overwhelming use of iron and steel in the columns and walls and even tables was perhaps useful for impressing on visitors the nature of the principle export of this planet, but as a design motif it was definitely on the oppressive side.

Our escort signaled to a majordomo standing near the head table, who bent and whispered to a steel grey man sitting at its head. He nodded, which was conveyed in reverse to the alcove. Our escort directed us to go to the table and await his pleasure, and reminded us not to get more than thirty feet away from the control unit for the collar. We walked to the position indicated. Into every step we put the dignity of royalty ascending to the throne. Every eye stopped and watched as we paced through the room, until we stopped and awaited the First Citizen's pleasure, while conveying the impression that we were granting him the audience with us.

In the hush that followed, the First Citizen suddenly burst into laughter, and turned to the man on his right, who was sandy-haired and dressed to indicate that he was from offworld. "There, what did I tell you? Isn't she magnificent? She walks as if she owns the place, brazenly naked as if she were the lowliest whore, and stands before us without the least shame. Her kind must be not quite civilized yet, eh? Just barely beyond the jungle. Look at the pelt on her! Quite like the panthers we keep in the entry hall, isn't it? When she arrived on-planet, the police picked her up right away for public indecency. We took her in, for her own protection. All we ask for her keep is for her to perform some of her native dances for us. They're quite primal."

He turned to us. "Now, mon petite bête, do your dance for our distinguished visitor."

We gave him a withering look and turned our back to stalk away a few paces. Color Of Air was seething. Nuritha's people believe that clothing is an abomination. Their pelt is their ultimate pride; they shun any covering or ornamentation of it. To cover yourself in public is shame; to cover another is a deadly insult. She could bear captivity more easily than she could bear clothing.

Are you going to dance for him? Because I can't.

Tonight we are Nuritha. She will dance for them.

The First Citizen began a rebuke, but we — Nuritha — held up a peremptory hand, and the room stilled. We were just observers now, and Nuritha held us, and the room, in thrall. She held that pose as the silence stretched, until everyone forgot their meals, their companions, their conversations.

She began the hunt. She was the mother of all her race, and she was born to hunt. Eschewing the stage, she made the tables her hunting ground, stalking softly, spear held high. The world was so young that it had no name, was merely the world. A herd of antelope pawed nervously at the ground as she passed by. A family of monkeys chattered briefly but was cowed by a snarl. Storks near the verge of the meadow edged nervously towards flight. Nuritha paced past each of these as beneath her notice. Collective sighs of relief were breathed as each were confirmed as lesser beings, not worthy of challenge.

But then a great boar emerged from the rushes, tusked and bristling. Nuritha raised her spear, but the boar charged. She leaped, scoring a knife stroke on its hide as she vaulted over its back. Enraged, it whirled and charged again. Each attack was met with a feint, each pass with another slice, but the fearsome tusks gave no opening for the spear. Finally, bloody and weary, the board turned too slowly, exposing a flank. The spear flashed home and the great boar toppled at last. Nuritha stood triumphant before the head table, and the spell wavered a moment to reveal the First Citizen sweating and cowering in his chair.

Now Nuritha was dancing around the fire upon which the boar meat roasted. Many men were there who desired her, but none could match her in pursuit. Now came a new suitor, strong and tawny. She pretended indifference; he pursued. She sprinted away, vanishing in the forest. He hunted, he tracked her, he discovered her (perhaps she cooperated a small bit). The chase was on. Across the plains, over the mountains, across the oceans they ran. The world turned under them as they coursed and day and night took turns watching the race. Finally, he caught her (she may have let him) and he threw her down and impaled her with his mighty organ. Together they wrestled, joined by the flesh, tawny fur and black fur forming a single ying/yang union, and the world shook with their mating. And from their passion all the peoples of the land sprang forth.

The dance ended and Nuritha's spirit passed from us, leaving us in control once more, swaying slightly but maintaining her final majestic pose. We did not bow because she would not have bowed. At the table of antelopes, one woman had fainted and the rest looked scandalized. At the table of the monkeys, they exchanged flushed looks and whispers of "Just wait until we get back to our room!" The storks resumed their duties of waiting on the tables. At the head table, the First Citizen had gone grey with shock, as if he had just received a death threat. (He had.) The sandy-haired off-worlder had a dazed look, as if he had just been fucked (he had, but only in his mind).

The off-worlder recovered, and leaned in to whisper to the First Citizen. The latter looked shocked, and replied in rather more than a whisper, "But she's barely more than a beast. We have laws against that here!" The off-worlder was unmoved. He raised his eyebrow, and the effect was as if he had turned over his hole card. The First Citizen folded. He turned to the Majordomo and ordered, "Take her to the Ambassador's suite!" He emptied his glass and petulantly held it out, causing a stork to nearly trip in his haste to fill it.

Color Of Air was not pleased with the development. That pig just wants to fulfill the fantasy we just painted him. We need to stay near the First Citizen and wait for a chance to put a knife in him.

It didn't look like he was going to let us get that close. At any rate, this solves the problem of going back to our room through that detector tonight.

Hmm, yes. If that alarm goes off one more time when we go through it, even guards this dense will figure it out.

Our escort conducted us through servant's corridors again, but upwards this time. We re-entered the land of the more equal on the ninth floor and were ushered to a door at the end of the hallway. The guard opened the door to let us in, then closed it behind us. I was briefly puzzled why he didn't check for escape routes before I remembered the collar, and the transmitter that was strapped to his wrist. Our hands reached halfway to our neck as Color Of Air said plaintively, Can't we take it off now? It makes me itch to think that something that can kill us is around our throat.

I pulled our hands down. We don't want to make anyone suspicious. How long would it take you to get it off in an emergency?

About a tenth of a second if it doesn't disrupt muscle control too fast.

We'll have to take the risk.

We didn't have much longer to wait. The Ambassador walked in loosening the black tie that went with his dinner jacket. Might as well get this over with. We went over to the bed and turned down the corner and started to slip into it.

"What are you doing?" His voice was peremptory and troubled.

"Your Excellency asked for me to be sent to his chambers. I can only assume you wish a personal re-enactment of my performance this evening."

"Good Lord, no! I don't take abused and unwilling prisoners to bed. I wanted to take down your story as evidence of violation of the rights of a sentient being. It's what I need to have this despot removed from power and tried before a galactic court. I was appalled at his treatment of you and the way he abused you for your people's cultural avoidance of clothing."

"You know of my culture?"

"Of course. I've visited your world, and it's every bit as beautiful as you conveyed in your dance. Your people are proud and are accomplished in the arts, though you are the most exquisite dancer I have encountered from your people or any other."

It appears I've misjudged him, thought Color Of Air. We walked up to him, adding a subtle sway sheerly for the artistry of it. Despite his noble words he found he couldn't take his eyes off our breasts as we approached. Heh, he's still a man at heart.

We put our arms around his neck and whispered, "You don't have to bring charges on him before morning, do you?"

He flushed and stammered, "I, I told you, I don't take advantage of captive women..."

"How about if I take advantage of you? I think I fell in love about the moment you said 'exquisite dancer.' I may be the despot's captive, but I'm free to do what I want in your rooms, isn't that right?" He nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm so glad that we agree," we added, pushing his jacket from his shoulders.

We kissed him deeply while beginning to tease the fastenings from his evening dress. I had found this a bit weird at first when I had first joined Color Of Air, but by now when our partner was male I just let her female aspect take over and enjoyed the ride.

Color Of Air plucked the buttons from his shirt like the strings on an instrument. Since we had no clothes for him to remove in turn, he stroked the soft fur on our back and flanks, then slid his hands around to cup our breasts. His large hands fit perfectly over their surface, containing their softness in his strength.

We kissed our way down his hairless chest, delighted to find that he was quite a respectable specimen of ambassador, fit and well-muscled. "So what do I call you?" we murmured.

"Oh, Lord, where are my manners? I am Alexander. And what is your name, my dear?"

"You can call me Nuritha."

"What a lovely name, it sounds like a purr. It seems fitting for one..."

We used our teeth. "You weren't going to say feline, were you?"

"Er, no, of course not."

"Good. We are not descended from cats, though we have fur and we hunt."

"I'll keep that in mind."

His dress trousers were held with a braided cord tied in a complex knot in front. We delicately picked the knot apart with teeth and lips, which had him trembling in anticipation by the time the final loop fell. The trousers fell to the floor and his cock sprang free.

We took it in our mouth like an offering, and held it while we savored its salty, smokey heat. It beat with life and need, the shaft hard and the glans taut, sheathed in silky soft skin. It tasted like sunlight resting on basil leaves on a summer day. Shapeshifter senses are complex, and hard to express without some poetic license. Just try explaining to an earth human the color of ultraviolet light.

We had Nuritha's wonderfully rough tongue, and we used it to explore the veins and ridges of this ambassador of our ambassador. We nibbled down one side and up the other before engulfing it to the base. Shapeshifters have no gag reflex; for that matter we don't have a throat. If we want to form a vagina there, well, we've never had anyone say anything more than "Don't stop!"

We deep-throated him until his knees trembled, then kissed our way back up his chest, fingertips playing lightly over his cock and balls. When he had reached a peak of madness, we swung around and propped our elbows on the bed. We looked back over our shoulder at him and wiggled our butt. We had undressed him from his clothes and now we had shredded his cloak of civilization. With a roar he grabbed our hips and plunged his cock deep into our vagina. Color Of Air was apparently in a mood for a good pounding. She made guttural sounds with every stroke, which drove Alexander even faster and harder. She played him like an instrument, keeping him on the edge until I wondered if his heart might give out. She could adjust her tightness and depth to ease him back when he got too close, and spur him on when he was rested.

Alexander reached down and took a breast in each hand. He rolled nipples between thumb and forefinger as he continued to pound us. Excitement built in our pelvis in a cinnamon effervescence that tingled all the way to our fingertips. Electric saffron arced from nipple to nipple. I hoped it felt as good to him, but less confusing.

We gradually tightened our vagina around his cock, slowing his thrusts and increasing the friction. He was panting now. We could feel his smooth engorged glans parting our flesh with every thrust and the sucking sensation of every withdrawal. The cinnamon sparks had grown into habanero flames. We had to hold back. We didn't want to lose control and absorb him as we did Nuritha.

One more thrust and we felt him stiffen, felt him swell larger within us. He hammered it home, and we grasped his cock with our vagina and milked the explosion for all he had. He had a lot; he was good for nearly a dozen quivering spurts. They must serve a lot of oysters at diplomatic functions.

He slumped against us for a moment until he recollected to himself a few tatters of his courtly ways. He rolled to the side and gathered us up in his arms. It felt nice to be held after sex. His voice returned a little bit later as he wet his lips and managed, "That was simply astounding. You are a beautiful, sexy lady with far too much skill to be safe for a simple diplomat to handle. But, did I please you as well? I fear I didn't attend to your needs well enough."

We kissed him again, he was such a dear. "You pleased me a great deal. You may even please me more this night." We took his cock in hand, not quite softened yet from our encounter. It responded sleepily, and then more vigorously to encouragement of lips and tongue. Soon we were reclining on our side, upper leg raised in a boneless split while he straddled our lower leg. In this position he entered to a delicious depth, and could pull us into him with his grip on our raised leg. We made sure to ride him long and hard, and to vocalize enough to satisfy his chivalry. At last we lay spent and spooned, and we heard his breathing deepen.

He held us closely, which presented a slight problem. We softened into a puddle and streamed out from under his arm and down onto the floor. We reformed again, but this time into an exact replica of Alexander. It was only a few minutes to dress in one of his sets of clothes and pocket the collar.

Outside the door to his suite, the startled guard barred our way. "Please return to your quarters. Your free passage privilege has been revoked."

We put on a bemused air. "What is the reason for this? It's not lawful to detain an ambassador from the galactic court."

The guard looked smug. "Conspiracy to overthrow the duly elected government of this planet for starters. Consorting with lower forms of life for another." The smug broadened into leer. "Was the little mink good, Ambassador? Does she bite? Uhhh..."

I suppose that technically he got the last word in. The next-to-last word was our fist in his solar plexus, driven by Color of Air's rage. He fell like a tree, heart ruptured by the force of the blow.

The Ambassador's suite must be bugged. They heard what he said about the First Citizen. Alexander's in danger now as well.

On top of that, they probably have a sex tape of us for entertainment and blackmail.

The guard was still wearing the controller for the collar locked to his wrist. We grasped his hand and let our flesh flow around his. (Look away if you're squeamish.) Moments later we had absorbed his hand, leaving only a smooth stump, and the controller dropped off. We stopped there. We didn't want to absorb this guy's memories; they looked unpleasant.

Pocketing the controller, we headed for the lift. The controls were a schematic of the palace, with the top floor conveniently labeled [Private]. Seemed like the place to start. Tapping the floor, however, only produced a red [Unauthorized] icon under our finger.

It must be fingerprint keyed.

Let's hope the guards are authorized.

Our hand morphed into a replica of the guard's missing hand, and we tapped again. This time the destination illuminated, and the lift began to move.

Neat trick, that.

All it takes are a few cells. Though my favored method of taking a sample is the one we used on Alexander.

We examined the controller that we had lifted from the guard. There was a big button marked [Activate], and a smaller one marked [Unlock]. We pressed the second one and the collar snapped open. I feel better now that it's not armed, commented Color of Air.

The lift opened directly into a sumptuous apartment. Draperies billowed languidly from an open balcony. The living area appeared deserted but faint sounds were coming from the bedroom. We started towards the bedroom, but Color of Air said Wait.

I don't want to confront him as Alexander. We would be putting words in his mouth. Besides, there is someone else with a score to settle here.

We dropped our clothes on the floor and flowed into the form of Nuritha, lithe and slender, glossy black fur covering all but belly and breasts. We walked proudly into the bedroom, the hunter into the boar's den.

The room was dark and reeked of sex. Damp sheets, female musk, spilled sperm acrid in the air, sweat and fear. We needed no light; we could map the room with scent, locate the inhabitants by their infrared glow. We could tell when they saw us and were ready when the lights snapped on. They were momentarily blind, squinting and shading their eyes, but we had no such trouble. The First Citizen was naked, flabby and flaccid, chest as bristly as the boar he resembled. (And he called Nuritha a beast.) His companion was plump, over-endowed in the breast department, and cowering in fear. Belatedly, we realized that she wore one of the hated collars as well.

"You! What are you doing here? I ordered you confined with that damned Ambassador! Plotting to entrap and depose me. He sent you ahead as an agent provocateur so they could step in and add another world to their hegemony. Well, I urgchh..."

With Nuritha's fluid grace powered by Color of Air's more than human strength, we crossed the room like a dark shadow and snapped the collar around his fat neck. Safely out of reach, we held the control unit, finger ostentatiously over the button. "So far you have none of your facts straight. The facts as I see them are that you are going to release Alexander from confinement, order your guards to stand down, and surrender yourself for trial. You know what that collar can do. One false word, one move for a weapon, and you'll know exactly what you've put your prisoners through."

The plump companion was scrambling out of bed, presumably out of the line of fire. We looked around for the control unit for her collar, but it must have been locked away. We jerked our head towards the living area. "Sit down in there until we can deactivate that collar." It would would be a good idea to get a potential hostage out of the line of fire.

It didn't work out that way. As she sidled past, she suddenly grabbed the control unit from our hand. She backed away, poised over the button. "A trial? That's a joke," she said. "After all the people he's killed, or worse, a court is too civilized for him." Before we could react, she leaped over the balcony and disappeared from sight. Twin screams rent the night, one from the bed and one dopplering down through the darkness. That one ended after a merciful two point five seconds. One standard G is quickly fatal, and a much more pleasant way to go than the collar. The First Citizen didn't have the gravitational option. We turned away, sickened.