Body Shop

No sex; just hints at it. Lots of nakedness, lots of physical contact, it's all in a Martian settlement, no room for shyness.

Body Shop

"I want to buy one of your slave girls."

"Wonderful! We have a very fine selection, for all tastes! This model just in from Venus, has skills in cryptography, cybernetic systems and fellatio."

Way to lay it out there! The girl though, looked ok, not exactly to my taste but shapely like all Venusian women. It's their diet of cultured yeast and native vermiculan, full of hormones, makes them develop early. She had pale hair, wispy and almost transparent from all that time in pressure suits, no sunlight. Her skin wasn't the pasty-pale of the sun-deprived because she was naturally dark. Narrow hips, you couldn't survive on Venus if you couldn't fit into the suits. Her tits bulged just that extra bit that helped them hang down against her ribs like they would spill over with just a little effort.

And that mouth! A lifetime sucking down the worms that passed as food on Venus, gave her a perpetual O-face, pouty lips just begging to have something stuffed in there. That prehensile tongue peeked out, moving with a life of it's own.

I just stared for a bit, lips were definitely one of my soft spots. Heh. Hers too!

But not for me, not gonna work out in a machine shop. Which was my real goal.

"Anything in a mech-tech?" I owned a repair shop and wanted mechanos for some routine jobs. Took half your time just keeping mechs lubricated, doing joint maintenance, updating software. They could do it for one another except they weren't allowed, the AI laws forbid it.

"Yes! A Martian crawler maintenance third, logged a thousand hours at Hellas Mining! Stamina like a beast! Keep you gasping for hours!"

She had that sparkly skin that all Martian girls had, growing up in all that sand, embedded in her skin from a lifetime of exposure to sandstorms. I'm sure she was warm and silky inside where it counted, but you'd have to get past that crust first.

Looks like she has good lungs, a barrel chest to breath the thin terraformed Martian atmosphere, that accounts for the stamina. And here on Deimos she'd not get the bone problems they got on Earth, not built for high gravity, she'd just buckle there.

As if I could live on Earth! Mortgages that would take somebody like me three regens to pay down. If I could stand the gravity either, which I couldn't.

She seemed to be thriving, happy and settled. Her torso expanded and contracted rhythmically, just breathing with those accordion-ribs made her small mammary charms move in the most distracting way. The light made them twinkle as they moved, even her nipples had embedded silica, glittered like a vid-girl's.

She smiled at me, her stiff lips creased, pleased at my build I guess. I'm a 'roid-bred man, spidery they say, long arms and legs, prehensile feet from negotiating negligible gravity during my formative years among the asteroid belt habitats. I smiled back but gave her a pass.

"Something more commercial, not industrial?" Mining crawlers were bulky mechs, monsters. Mine needed a careful hand with all their tiny parts, like clockwork.

"I do have a wire monkey, very trainable, uploaded on all station connections and harnesses, able to negotiate the smallest tubes."

Wiring was half of the job with my mechs. Maybe she would do. A tiny woman, agile arms and fore-shortened legs, tiny hands and feet for the finest work. A long, long neck allowed her to look in any direction, important when there wasn't room to move around in the narrow wiring-ways and service tubes.

"What's her genes look like?" She had a twitch in one eye, I just noticed it now as she turned her head halfway around to peer at me, clutching a spar in one hand and grooming her crotch absently with the other, picking stray station-lice from her flaming red bush and crunching them in her slash of a mouth. Uncurious, thoughtless, just existing in the moment, happy to be here, to be anywhere.

"Funny you should ask!" That was never a good beginning, now she'd tell me it was a meta, not cleared for reproduction, at the end of her gene line, her telomeres eroded by stray alpha.

"Just refurbed! New lining, DNA extensions, proteas treatment! Her former owner kept his harem well maintained, only rode them on special station-holidays."

What a salesman! Did she think I was a rube? That line was old when I was in the womb. A refurb title meant resale value was negligible, nobody would touch that piece with a ten-meter probe! The former owner probably rode her forty hours a cycle, and yes, I could see her nips were stretched and chewed, like she'd had a dozen cubs sucking.

A pity, I liked the littler ones, they were always so quick. Those clever hands!

"If that's all? I'll be on my way."

She looked alarmed, needed a sale, her body shop was not one of the big names, an indie trader. Probably owed on her O2 bond, desperate. Could I use that?

"You haven't seen my premium stock!" She smiled a nervous smile, waved me to a hatch, another compartment back there? Wouldn't hurt to look.

I stalked to the hatch on my long legs, ducked inside, she was close behind.

Here there were stalls, refurbed lockers really with the doors removed, meant for old-style pressure suits but now each containing a slave girl on a seat. Flickering plasma lights played across their features, making them look exotic and new.

The first was not really premium, just young, fresh from the vats. Full-grown, downloaded with the standard wetware but with a confused look like all newbs, still absorbing the world, everything new to her. Skinny as fuck. Receptive language skills and full motor coordination, but little else.

Did I want the trouble that came with a new model? None of the glitches worked out, have to tape her in mech-skills myself. I could do that, I had an old tape unit, used it on myself from time to time to keep current. Hm.

"Spillover from Starlight! They overbred, sold off the surplus at a discount, my savings passed on to you!"

Starlight bred their own showgirls, geisha dolls, service models and actress blanks, a luxury relaxation station for the wealthy. Operated their own vats, it saved on haulage, import duties.

This one looked like a service model, standard layout, wide-eyed, innocent. Four fingers and a thumb, bipedal with the normal three toes. Meant for cleaning and sales, selling blunts and scrubbing bunks. Pleasant looks but no special features, a utility design, just light housekeeping and occasional mating with bored customers.

The shop owner was showing off her features, lifting her limbs, stroking them. Pulling her legs apart, showing her fresh down, the hair barely grown in. She startled, not used to being pawed over, clearly never put into service, resisting gently, urging hands away. Huddling on her seat, eyes darting every direction, settling on me. Looking at me.

"What do you want for her?"

She named a ridiculous price, casually, knowing she wouldn't get it but had to start somewhere.

We went back and forth, I brought up my taping costs, getting her shots, her upkeep compared to a purpose-built girl, this one would grow to have some meat on her so she'd go through the calories.

She kept banging on about fresh meat and un-tasted tits, really going for the lech-sale, wanting me to want her because she was a virgin. Just because I am a man, a slave isn't all about sex for me. I resented the assumption but kept it to myself.

Twice I pretended to lose interest, had her show me some of the other 'prime stock'. The breeding doll in the next locker, perpetually horny and hips like a space-tug, tits that could suckle a half-dozen brats at a time. A Jupe, all thick thighs and abs like synth-steak, rippling in the low gravity. She'd likely break my neck without noticing.

A T-rat, a hybrid from Outbound, what she was doing here I'd never know. Three-fingered hands and feet, just more hands really, I pretended interest because she'd be a whiz with tools but not really feasible, her upkeep wouldn't pay in my line of work, needed special methane feed.

I sighed, like I was out of patience, ready to leave. Stopped by the first stall again, an afterthought, maybe I could do something with this one?

"Got her papers?" Like it mattered, I wasn't looking for pedigree, just help around the shop.

"Crypto signed with a Starlight cert chain!" She was proud of that.

The newb was still looking at me, had followed me with her eyes the whole time I was browsing the other girl-flesh. Curious. Maybe the first man she'd seen, ripe out of her shipping pod. The first time for everything, for her.

"Got a name?" They always had a name, a model series at least. Her eyes were grey.

My agent looked up and to the right, consulted her shipping invoice on an optical implant. "A Frontier gene-line...nope, just a number, VN724."

VN. Veen. Veena. That would do for a name.

I named my final offer, a third less than she'd said was her lowest price, a third higher than my previous bid. She muttered, complained, spaceway robbery but with all her germline to feed she'd think about it. Thought about it, put out her hand. I clasped it, my palm embed mating with hers, transferring the agreed-upon sum and the deal was done.

I owned a Starlight girl! Well, a service unit but still. A first for me, buying new, I've been a used-and-rebuilt man my whole life, learned that in the 'roids where supplies and parts were three AU and six months away.

I approached her, my new girl, my slave, introduced myself. Some guys were all pack 'er up and deliver to this address! Like she was meat, which I guess she was, girl-meat, my property. But I like to treat my tools with respect, treat everything as it required whether arc-welder or future technician.

"I'm Bran."

"Bran." She said it like she was tasting it. I smiled, her newness had it's appeal. She smiled back.

"Your name is Veena?"

"Veena. Veena!" She was excited by that, to have a name! She nodded, liking it. "Veeeeena."

I laughed; her innocence was refreshing. My line of work was all hardened Suiters, prospectors who spent too much time alone in pressure suits, working their mechs too hard and expecting me to fix them for cheap. Nothing soft in my life. Not so far.

"Let's go! You'll come with me? To my shop? We will live together now. Work together."

She lit up like a nova! She had a place to live! A home!

"I come with you! Bran! Bran!"

She hopped down, half a head shorter than me, skinny arms and legs but we'd fix that, put some calories in her, get her fed up and strong.

Barefoot, naked. Cute as shit. Something about that face, designed to let people like her. Bony all over, like all vat-born at first. Still has tits, tiny with bright pink nipples, hard to ignore.

Ok for a slave girl in public, but maybe I didn't want the attention she'd draw in this section of the settlement. She'd get groped on the transport line, packed with lonely shift-workers, have somebody's fingers up her butt before we got half a klik.

"Let's get you dressed, buy you some clothes."

She was curious, willing but not really knowing what I was talking about. None of the girls here had clothes. I tugged at my work shirt, let her feel the plastine.

"Let's get you dressed! Like Bran! Let's go! To my shop!"

I make some tea while she explores the shop. Nothing too dangerous, I always leave the panels locked out and the sharp tools stowed. Tremors are pretty frequent on Deimos Settlement, all the excavating for new cubes, I don't want a carving tool falling off a table, landing on my foot.

Padding around in her sandals, touching everything she sees, feeling it, getting to know it. Picking up a data pad, brushing her fingers across the back, doesn't even know which face is the screen and which the charging coil. Putting it to her nose, that cute nose, smelling it. Out comes her pink tongue delicately, licking it! Recoiling, doesn't like that, probably some grease on it, this is a maintenance shop after all.

The clothes got her home without incident. Not that she isn't still cute as shit in a plastine work-shirt, tights. You could see everything, her gentle breasts, her puffy nips. Her thin belly and hips, pelvic bones prominent. Her cunt lips, obvious through the stretch fabric, the only thing about her that wasn't vat-frail, full and plump.

Obviously, a slave girl, but now she is somebody's slave girl. Clothes were like a Private Property notice, hands off!

The gap between her thighs is as wide as my palm, nearly. So lean. Have to get started fixing that, now. I heat some protein broth, add mineral cubes, a carbo cake, stir.

"Veena! Come here! I have something for you!"

She ignores me for a moment. Then remembers, Veena! That is her! She sets the pad down gently, like a precious object. Smiles, pads over to me, ready to experience whatever new thing I have to show her.

"This is your supper. Eat the cake, drink the broth! Tastes good! We'll put some meat on those bones!"

She looks alarmed at that, looks down at herself, her thin arms, her prominent ribs. Not sure how exactly I am going to do that, will it hurt?

I hold out the bowl, and she takes it. Smells it and lights up! Puts her lips to the edge of the bowl, gentle and careful, tips and slurps.

Joy!

"It taste ooooooooh!" She doesn't have the words for it, but clearly likes it.

"Just yeast and carbs, but filling! You'll grow stronger, so you can do your work."

She nodded, enthusiastic.

"Work for Bran! Strong! Grow stronger! Meat on my bones!" Work sounds just fine, she will like that!

"Eat up! Then I'll show you where you'll bunk."

She nods, goes to a bench, sits on a stool, she knows about stools, puts the bowl down. Puts her face to the liquid, pouting her lips, slurps at it. My dick jumps.

It's just standard ration, not intended to taste any better than it has to. But in her state, new from the vats, her body craving nutrition, it must seem like heaven.

I get a utensil, hold it out to her. She looks puzzled, takes it gingerly. Licks it.

I have to smile. Ask for it back, show her how to spear a carbo chunk, nibble at it myself. Hand it back, she nibbles, mushes it around in her mouth, swallows deliberately.

"Carbs!"

Yes, Veena, carbs, go ahead and finish your lunch.

I go into the storeroom, intend to clear a shelf, lay out a pad for her to sleep on. Her slave quarters.

The shelves are loaded with tools, parts. Equipment. I'll have to sort through it, put some of it away to make room for a five-foot frame.

I start in, put spares in bins, toss stray hardware into a locker. Find the vibe spanner I thought I'd lost, put it out in the shop where it belongs.

I'll teach Veena to do this stuff! Get the shop in order, everything where it belongs. She was born to tidy up, it is in her genes.

She has the bowl lifted now, just the broth left, slurps noisily. A bit leaks from her lip, runs down her chin, her neck, under her shirt collar.

With one finger she wipes it from her chin, licks her finger, not wasting, wants to taste all of it. Collects drops from her neck, tastes that.

Has trouble getting her finger in the collar. Tries for a bit, then sits the bowl down, pulls her shirt up, struggles out of it.

Shit! Veena!

"You, you don't have to worry about every drop. There's more! It's cheap! No problem!"

She looks up from wiping her breast, sticks that finger in her mouth, sucks, looking at me. Nods.

"Bran has more! No problem!" She smiles, and for some reason my heart skips a beat, this innocent girl with the tiny pert breasts, pale-from-the-vat skin, sucking on her finger.

She goes back to her bowl, tips it way up, slurps up the dregs, eyes on me the whole time. I feel my face flush, hot.

I tear myself away, back to tidying up. My slave girl has so much to learn! Every little thing! This was going to be a job, more than I figured when I bought her.

Will I regret it? I don't think so. I've needed help in the shop for ages, more work than I can get done in each cycle, I turn work away. With Veena we will pick up the pace, she'll more than pay for her keep if she just does the routine stuff. Restore the mechs for lubrication and de-rusting, panel-beating and sandblasting and recoating. Leave me to do the higher-paying stuff, the refits, the port grinding, installing oxy-boost scoops and such.

I'll buy more tools with the money, better stuff! A plasma welder! Work on better rigs, better jobs, plasteel and mag, that stuff pays even more.

I wipe down her bunk-shelf, scrape the grit into the trash bin. Look at my handiwork, a clean space for Veena! Think about a pad, maybe some shop rags, or even seat upholstery stuffing, I could dig something out of the recycle bin from that runabout redo last cycle? It is still good, torn but soft.

Look around, at the other tools and equipment, dull in the dim light from that overhead glowsheet. The parts and hardware. The grease smears and gritty floor.

Equipment. Tools. Now I had another tool, to store in here, on a shelf. On rags, castoff ragged pads that held some prospector's butt for years, smelling of his suit-grime, his exhaust.

Veena. My new tool.

I leave the storeroom, turn out the light, shut the door.

Veena holds her empty bowl out, the utensil in her other hand.

"Done!"

"Clean up! Let me show you!"

We explore the cleanser, play with the water flow, put our hands in it, let it wash off and splash into the recyc, watch it bubble up the tubes and through the filters and back into the reservoir. This pleases her no end, that the same water comes out again and again!

Wash the bowl, the utensil, rack them to dry.

"Veena's bunk! Bran show me where I'll bunk!" She is excited by this too, ready to learn the next thing.

"Um. First, put your shirt back on?" She is still naked from the waist up, her ribs showing. Her tits bobbing as she jiggles on her toes, excited.

"No clothes! At home! Not public, no shift-workers, fingers in my butt?"

I'd said something about that, and she remembers it, like a parrot, like a sponge. Have to be careful what I say, it is the first time anybody said anything to her, it will all stick like glue!

"We wear clothes here, to keep our bodies clean. There's grit from the work, and grease and food spills."

"Veena touch grit and grease, no! Lick food spills! No problem!" She resists my attempts to get her to dress decently. Why?

And why do I want her clothed? Slave girls are for work, and for enjoying. If she wears clothes, then I'll just have to take them off if I want to enjoy her.

I laugh. "For now, no clothes at home, ok. But when we're working, clothes! And gloves, and goggles. Safety first!"

She is ok with that. "Safety first! Bunk now!"

I lead her to the storeroom, put a hand to the plate, hesitate. She looks at me, ready, waiting.

My new piece of equipment. My tool.

I turn to the other door, the only other room in the place.

"Veena? You bunk with me, in my room. On my couch. Your couch."

"Veena on my couch! Yes! My bunk!" she opens the door herself, saw me doing it, remembers how, palms the door and it slides aside.

My room is barely that, just a bunk against one wall, a couch faces a vid screen, a little table for drinks. A storage unit in one wall. Maybe three by four, 30 cube. My sad lonely bachelor life.

I pull my work jumpsuit off the couch, lay it on my bunk. Point at the cleared space.

"Your bunk!"

Eyes wide, she reaches down, touches it. Surprised!

"Soft! Oh! Pretty! For me?"

I have to laugh. It is an old refurb I'd picked up, recovered. Some cheap Venusian pattern, all swirly and lurid, abstract, colorful.

"For Veena. For you. To sleep on! When we're not working, we can sit and watch the vids."