Agent in Distress Ch. 03

Lana leaned to the side so that she could see his face. She searched his eyes for signs of teasing, but he seemed genuine. "So then why do you treat me like a child?" she asked, calmly.

Warrick laughed, a deep, hearty laugh. "Whatever do you mean, milady?"

Lana wasn't even sure what she meant. "I mean, your people take females as slaves . . . you are . . . barbaric, by my people's standards. Yet, no matter if I am drunk . . . or afflicted by the effects of the fruit . . . you make no attempt to, umm, to have your way with me. I worry you think of me as a spoiled child, or perhaps I am not attractive . . ."

Warrick chuckled, not the reaction she had hoped for. "You may be a powerful fighter, Lady Lana Torina, but your mind is very much that of a female. You think too much, do not worry about such things. You are not a slave, would you have me I treat you as one? Now rest, milady, you will need your strength."

Lana sat back on the saddle behind him, more confused than ever. Did she really want him to take advantage of her? All her upbringing told her she should seek out a gentleman, so why did she feel a strange disappointment that this handsome barbarian was being a perfect gentleman? She mulled over it in her head and they moved on in silence, and soon Lana felt her eyes drooping again. She was still exhausted from exercising her abilities so much, and she needed the sleep, so she rested her head on the warrior's back and nodded off.

It was past noon when she woke to the sound of distant voices. They were on a trail in a dense forest. Warrick had stopped the horse and was very still, listening. Lana reached out with her mind, and she sensed several presences up ahead - human. Warrick sensed she was awake and turned his head to whisper.

"Southmen scouts, we approach the border." Lana strained to see, but the dense leaves prevented her seeing anything. They waited a few minutes and the voices moved off. As they rode, Warrick asked her to describe her home world, and he listened intently, asking questions, as she told him about her lovely home. Later he told her about his life before the war with Nikos. When he told her about his brothers who died in the war, she gave him a comforting squeeze, and hugged his back, crying softly at the sound of loss in his voice.

Sometime later, Lana realized she'd begun squirming in the saddle. The burning arousal was returning with a vengeance, within minutes it was as bad as before, and worsening. Without noticing, she was clutching Warrick's leather armor tightly in her hands, and when the horse would take a false stop, the lurch would make her gasp as her widespread thighs had no defense against the constant friction.

"Lana, are you ok?" said Warrick, finally.

"No," moaned Lana, "I'm not ok." She tried sitting back so her breasts were not touching the warrior's back, but it made little difference. She was dying to reach inside the leather and cloth that covered her breasts, and try to relief her discomfort.

"Please try to bear it," said Warrick, "we are almost there. In fact . . . there, up ahead!"

It was little more than an inn, she realized, as they slowly approached on horseback. A few bored guards looked at them with disinterest, their eyes lingering for a few moments on Lana before they looked elsewhere. Warrick's uniform had passed its first inspection, and they showed no professional interest in Lana. The mission's first test was a success.

There was a man standing in front of the inn, he looked familiar. Lamare, she realized, frowning. "What is Lamare doing here?" said Lana, concern in her voice.

Warrick shrugged. "He was to meet us here in case there was a change in plan. Pretend you don't know him, we'll follow his lead."

Warrick stopped the horse and tied him off to a post, helping Lana down from her high perch on the animal's back. Lamare turned casually and entered the inn, and after a few moments, they followed him. The interior was a vast dining and drinking hall, fairly crowded with adventurers, a few guards or soldiers, and a half dozen serving wenches. Lana also noted that several of the tables of men were accompanied by a scantily clad female. Slaves, she realized. A few of them turned to look at her, eyeing her with expressions that were a bit unfriendly. Disdain perhaps, from a slave toward a free woman? Warrick gently guided her to the side of the room, then casually up a staircase, as if he were a guest of the inn already checked in. Upstairs was a long hallway framed by rooms on each side, and when they were halfway down the hallway, a door to the right opened slightly, and Warrick quickly guided her into Lamare's room. They closed the door, looking about cautiously. The room was empty save for Lamare, and it contained a large four-post bed, a table with four chairs, and some more comfortable chairs and couches.

"Change of plans," said Lamare, his voice low as if they might have eavesdroppers nearby. Lana was glad that no listening devices existed on this primitive planet. "Khan's agents have arranged a meeting for you, to obtain a pass. But it's in the town of Hogwood, a few hours to the west if you ride hard. I am to bring Lana to Darius and meet you there tonight."

"Very well," said Warrick. "Whom and where am I meeting."

Lamare pulled out a roll of parchment and unrolled it, then began to describe the meet. When they were done, he used a flint to set fire to the parchment. "Go now, I will meet you at Darius' shop with the girl."

Lana didn't like the idea of spending the day with Lamare, and she frowned. "Why don't I go with Warrick?" she said. "It's only a few hours out of our way."

Lamare glared at her, "Leave the planning to the men, girl." he retorted.

"But it makes no sense, why split up?" she protested, ignoring his jibe.

Lamare crossed his hands in defiance. "Warrick can ride faster without you slowing him down."

"Give me a horse, I can ride!" she exclaimed, crossing her own arms across her chest.

"And you expect me to walk home?" said Lamare.

"Then you ride to the meet, and Warrick and I will meet you at Darius' shop," she suggested.

"We have our orders, enough of this nonsense," said Lamare. "We are wasting time. Warrick, make haste to make your meeting time, and Arbiter, you will come with me. I will use the journey to acquaint you with your cover as a slave girl."

Lana didn't like the sound of that at all. Warrick placed a large hand on her tense shoulder. "Lana, do not worry, I will see you tonight. We must stick with the plan. The agents will want it to be me that meets them, and Lamare . . . is better suited to explaining slavery to you." She sensed a bit of derision, that Warrick didn't approve of Lamare, but she might have imagined it.

Seeing her pouting silently, Warrick patted her on the shoulder and left as discretely as he'd arrived. No sooner had he left the room than she got up to chase after him, to wish him farewell. She didn't get far, for Lamare grabbed her arm in a strong grip. With Warrick gone, Lamare's demeanor went from bad to worse.

"Let go of me!" she spat, pulling on her arm.

"Now let's get one thing straight here, Miss Torina," he scolded, a finger in her face. "You will obey me at all times, or I will call off this mission."

Lana was not intimidated. "I will most certainly hold up my end. And I may be mistaken, but I believe only Lord Khan can call off the arrangement."

The look in his eyes told her she was right. "Nevertheless, with Master Warrick not present, I am in command of this mission, and you will obey me!" He was right, but there was something about this man that worried Lana, more than his cruel disposition.

"I will obey you only in matters that pertain to our mission," she replied, coldly.

"Good enough," said Lamare. "There's another thing, the dress you have been wearing is for free women. I've procured some more suitable slave outfits. I'll leave it up to you to pick one."

"Thank you," said Lana with more than a hint of sarcasm. The dress was soiled from a day's travel, so she went to the pack on the table that Lamare pointed at, and began to pull out the insides. There were several outfits, and she picked up one and held it up. It was a yellow shift that was semi sheer and fairly short. That certainly won't do! she thought, putting it down. Next she picked up a red dress that seemed to have two narrow strips that went over the shoulders and down the front, meeting below the navel. Yet the strips were so narrow, that much of her breasts would be visible. Lana bit her lip and thought about withdrawing her offer of wearing the slave outfit. Picking up the last outfit, she found it was a set rather than a single piece. There was a skimpy pair of white panties, tiny skirt, and a thin top that only came down over the breasts, not to the waist. It was all white, with some brown trim. Since it wasn't sheer, it would at least cover her.

"I thought you would like that one," said Lamare, nodding. "Hurry up and change, we've dallied enough here."

Lana made a face, but she went into the bathroom to change. Stripping off her free woman dress, she first took care of the burning in her flesh with liberal use of the salve. Feeling a bit of relief already, she then slid the new white panties over her legs and pulled it snugly about her hips. It fit tightly, yet was surprisingly comfortable and soft. She put on the thin, short skirt, then she put her arms through the top and slid it over her head. She struggled a bit to pull it down over her chest. The thin, soft material barely contained her breasts, which pressed tightly against it, leaving nothing to the imagination. Lana gasped. Her chest seemed larger, just like Warrick had warned! She couldn't believe it, just what she needed, more attention on her bosom.

How long would that last, he hadn't said? A few days perhaps? She wondered if Lamare could find a larger size for her, at least while she was under the effect of the fruit. She grimaced, not wanting to bring further attention to her condition by suggesting such a thing. The top covered her down to just above her navel. She looked down at herself, suddenly aware of how little the skirt covered, coming down to mid-thigh. At least it won't impede my movements in a swordfight, she thought.

Steeling herself, Lana opened the door and stepped out. Lamare was not standing there gawking, as she was sure he would be, instead he was going through his pack, and putting it onto his shoulders. He turned toward her, and from the look in his eyes, Lana knew he was pleased. He walked toward her, and Lana felt suddenly very self-conscious. She was still not used to men looking at her body, for it was usually well concealed beneath her Arbiter uniform. Not only that, the way these Dellune men looked at her was entirely different, more intimate, intrusive. She realized she was subconsciously holding her hands in front of herself, yet was unable to move them.

"Very good," said Lamare, looking her up and down in a way that made Lana want to go hide. "You look much more like a slave now." Lana didn't think that was a good thing. She'd hoped he wouldn't notice the growth in her bosom, but he was a man, of course he did. "You seem to have acquired some largesse, the fruit's effect no doubt. You must have eaten a lot of it," he commented, amused. Lana couldn't help blushing and covering herself. "That will be helpful to the mission when the time comes," added Lamare, nodding his approval.

He moved over to the table where he'd placed his pack, and pulled out a set of delicate, bronze chains, then turned to face her. "And we need to complete your disguise. Warrick was a little loose with your appearance, but now we are in Southmen territory, and we cannot afford to draw any undue attention. You must appear to be a slave. Put these on."

Lana stared at the dangling chains in shock as he walked toward her. "I most certainly will not!" she declared. "Warrick told me that slaves often do not wear chains, and his word is good enough for me."

Lamare frowned at her. "Trained slaves yes. But newly acquired, untrained females, are usually bound. In the case of angry, obstinate ones, like yourself, chains are a necessity."

Lana scowled at him and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "I am not a slave, Lamare. I am only posing as one. You can put the chains on yourself if you like."

Lamare paused, then tried a different tack. "We are not leaving this room until you do as I say." He smiled. "Shall we return you to your Institute, so you can explain to your superiors how your pride sunk the mission?"

Lana's anger made her lash out. "Don't threaten me, Lamare. We both know this mission is even more important to you than to me."

"This mission will be very dangerous for me," he retorted. "I'm of a good mind to call it off."

Lana felt her anger change to doubt. The man was probably a coward, what if he changed his mind?

Lamare's face suddenly took on a look that resembled sympathy. "Look, Arbiter, neither of us wants to go back in failure. So let's just try to work together and get this unpleasant mission over with, what do you say? Now please put these chains on. Your Warrick is a fighter of unmatched skill, so he gets a little careless. I, on the other hand, cannot afford to get into any confrontations. The more convincing your disguise, the less likely my meagre fighting skills will be put to the test."

Lana was surprised by the man's change in attitude, and suspicious. But he had a point, and she knew sooner or later she would have to pose as a slave; she might as well get it over with. "Very well, I'll acquiesce for the sake of the mission," she replied with an agitated sigh. The day was getting worse by the minute.