Galactic Odyssey Ch. 06

Taking another mental note, I stripped out of my shoes and dress, folded the expensive piece and put everything into the plastic bag. When I was done, I dropped it next to the other bag that was already lying on the floor.

The girl rummaged through another box and threw a set of shackles at my feet.

"Put them on," she ordered. "Then turn around, hands behind your back."

I did as I was told, locking the shackles and testing their fit. They were cheap and uncomfortable, with a short chain that only permitted very small steps. When I turned around, she cuffed me, fortunately without closing the handcuffs too tightly.

The final touch was an injection into my left butt cheek. It was the stimulant that would prevent me from passing out.

"Go through that door and sit on the bench."

I wasn't keen on getting another jolt, so I shuffled towards the door, with tiny steps, as fast as my leg irons permitted.

*

Inside, the whipping bot was already in action, thrashing the back of a middle-aged woman. She was alternating between screaming bloody murder and begging for mercy - a request that everyone knew would never be granted. But when the bot was working you over, rational thought was hard to come by.

I tried not to watch as I slowly walked to the empty wooden bench and when I sat down, an attendant chained me to the wall by my collar. There I stayed, waiting, trying my best to ignore the drama that was playing out ten meters away from me.

Maybe a minute later, another customer joined me on the bench and was chained up as well. He was older, probably in his sixties and just as naked as I was.

"What are you in for, sugar tits?" he asked with a toothless smile.

"I pissed off George," I said, not really in the mood for conversation.

He looked at me with big eyes. "And you're still alive?"

"I'm friends with his wife."

"Ah yes, the wife, such a nice kid. She's so good for him, everyone's happy that she's back."

*

The woman before me was done and I saw how she was crawling out of the circle, motivated by shocks from her collar.

Unlocked from the wall, I shuffled into the center, trying to avoid the puddle on the floor. One of the previous victims must have lost control of their bladder and despite the fee that Everton's charged, nobody had found it necessary to actually do some cleanup.

*

Tied in place, the first hit caught me by surprise, forcing a startled yelp from me, but I was able to endure the first ten without major problems.

Lash after lash rained down on my back and soon I was dancing in my bonds as the pain was building, like anyone who had ever seen the business end of a whipping bot. I screamed and cried and some time before the twentieth stroke, I added to the puddle on the floor, but at least I didn't beg.

After the twenty-fifth lash, I was hanging in my bonds, utterly exhausted and really glad it was over, but a new feeling of dread overcame me when I remembered that there were still seventy-five hanging over my head. I wasn't looking forward to my next sessions and hoped George would at least reduce the number. A hundred of these every week - that would get old really quick.

Suddenly, the cuffs opened and I collapsed on the floor.

"Move your ass," shouted the attendant who was already bringing the next victim. "You got three seconds."

Afraid of another zap from the collar, I used my last bit of energy to drag myself out of the circle. More crawling than walking, I left the whipping chamber.

*

"Another satisfied customer," joked the girl at the counter when she saw me. "I guess I'll see you more often."

Too weak for a witty comeback, I picked up my plastic bag and got dressed, leaving the back of my dress open. There was no way I could walk in my heels, so I left the shop barefoot - or tried to, anyway. Before I reached the door, another dose of pain hit me out of nowhere.

"Hey!" the girl shouted. "That's company property."

Fuck. I wasn't thinking straight, I had completely forgotten about the collar.

*

Outside the shop, I dropped my shoes and sat down on the floor, leaning my back against the wall. There was nothing I wanted more right now than lying down in my cell, but I needed a few minutes, otherwise I wouldn't be going anywhere. Right now, even the transport capsule around the corner seemed very far away.

Fucking hell, I thought, I need to impress George and quick.

While I was still wiping my tears and tried to compose myself, Ahmad appeared out of nowhere, handing me some paper tissues. For all I knew, he could have been standing on the other side of the corridor - in my current state, I wouldn't have noticed.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, while helping me up.

"Your operation has a certain ... efficiency," I said, trying myself at diplomacy for maybe the second or third time in my life.

"It does, right? We have extremely low overhead."

"Listen, Ahmad, I don't have a lot of time, so let's implement a few changes right away. Does your staff have a performance and punishment clause in their contracts?"

"Of course. It's a standard employment contract."

"Good. That woman at the counter, she needs some discipline. I didn't feel valued as a customer, to say the least."

"Done," he said with a shrug. "How many lashes? Fifty?"

"Whoa, Ahmad! Have you ever been whipped?"

He looked at me indignantly. "No, Ma'am. Of course not!"

"Ever seen someone getting whipped?"

"I'm a numbers guy," he said, avoiding eye contact. "I, err, I try to stay away from these things."

I sighed. That's exactly what I had thought. Yet another corporate drone who had no idea about the business and how it affected its customers.

"We'll start her with ten lashes," I said. "Trust me, that's all it takes. And now help me with this stupid dress, I can't reach the zipper."

*

Still barefoot and a bit weak on my feet, I followed Ahmad into the shop.

The girl at the counter gave us a confused look and almost swallowed her gum. It probably didn't happen every day that the company's general manager paid a visit, and certainly not with a customer in tow who had just been whipped.

"What's your name, Miss?" asked Ahmad.

"I'm Myla, sir."

"We were audited today, Myla. This lady," he gestured towards me, "is an associate of Mr. Vlissidis. She was evaluating our customer service."

Myla's jaw dropped. "Oh god."

I couldn't help but grin.

"Ms. Cassidy told me she didn't feel valued as a customer."

"Not even a little bit," I confirmed.

"I'm so sorry, Ma'am! I didn't know-"

"Of course you didn't know. That was the whole point. Now get yourself ready, you know the drill. And hurry, or you'll get extra."

With trembling fingers, she undressed herself and applied the restraints that I helpfully provided. Ahmad was tasked with injecting the stimulant and judging by his facial expression, it made him positively queasy.

Naked, shackled and cuffed, Myla looked at me with pleading eyes.

"Ma'am, please. How many do I get?"

"I was thinking a hundred, but your boss convinced me to give you a chance, so we'll start with ten. There's going to be some surveys and if service doesn't improve dramatically, you'll get the rest."

"Thank you so much, Ma'am, thank you so much! And thank you, sir! I won't disappoint you!"

"I'm sure you won't," I said. "Off you go, the bot's waiting. And you, Ahmad, follow her, this is something you need to watch."

Myla shuffled towards the whipping chamber, chains clinking, with Ahmad walking next to her. At this point, I wasn't sure which of them looked more anxious.

"You're not coming?" he asked.

"Hell no. I've seen enough of this. Enjoy."

*

I waited outside and thanks to good soundproofing of the whipping chamber, I didn't hear much of what was going on inside. After a few minutes, the door opened and Myla appeared, crying and exhausted like everyone who ever had such an appointment. She was supported by Ahmad who hadn't been whipped but didn't look much better. He was trembling and pale as a sheet.

He coughed. "Oh my god. That was horrible. So horrible. I puked my guts out."

"Sorry I had to do this to you," I said, "but it was important."

He leaned against the wall, blowing his nose while Myla collapsed next to her desk.

"I had no idea, no idea," he said, wiping his forehead with a paper tissue.

"It's not pretty, is it?" I said. "Take me for example. I get a hundred per week, George's orders. When I come to a shop like this for a session, I get a little nervous - do you think I want to be insulted by the staff and stumble around in shackles?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Damn right I don't. The least I can expect as a customer is being treated with respect. It doesn't take a lot - politeness, maybe a bottle of water and some paper tissues. I don't think that's asking too much."

Ahmad closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Message delivered.

"I think we should close the shop for the rest of the day," I said. "Myla doesn't look so hot, she should go home and lie down. And me, I'm going back to my cell to get myself cleaned up. Come pick me up at seven for dinner, I've got a few suggestions for our report."