The Naughty Nymph Ch. 06

I tapped my comlink. "Rashid, is your bounty hunter's license still valid?"

"Renewed it last year."

"Meet me at my ship. Hurry!"

*

I wasn't exactly calm when I fired up the engines of my Raptor. It was bad enough that she had stolen my girls' payroll, but manipulating their birth control was unforgivable. And of course having to chase a thief on an empty stomach before breakfast wasn't my idea of fun either.

I tapped the comms. "Furious Rose to Zesta Control. Requesting permission for takeoff."

Rashid looked at me, grinning. "That's the name of your ship?"

"Why? My friend Nora chose the name. You should see the thorns of my little rose."

"Furious Rose, this is Zesta Control. You're clear for takeoff, have a nice flight."

At maximum maneuvering speed I took the ship out of the space dock and towards the hyperspace corridor. Fortunately, the freighter hadn't made it far and it didn't look like they were in a hurry. They hadn't jumped yet, most likely they wanted to get away from the station to avoid another day of docking fees. At this point they were probably doing course calculations and final preparations for their trip.

I opened a channel. "Furious Rose to Reina Roja, please respond."

The freighter was raising its shields, which was a sensible precaution when a heavily armed assault transport was on an intercept course. My guns were no match for a corvette or a destroyer, but more than enough for a rusty old freighter.

"Reina Roja here, what do you want?"

"You guys have a woman on board who's wanted for theft. I'm sending you the search notice and our bounty hunter's license."

There was no response for a good fifteen, twenty seconds. They were probably discussing their course of action.

"Negative, Furious Rose. We have no women on board, just engine parts and scrap metal."

My sensors showed that they were charging their hyperdrive, so there was no time to waste. The next opportunity to catch them would be in the Resara system -- if their flight plan was accurate. We hadn't had time to stock up on supplies, so unless we wanted to spend a few days in space, eating emergency rations, we had to bring this to a conclusion right now.

I powered up the main weapons array and the targeting system, which was sure to raise all kinds of alarms on their bridge.

"Guys, I can peel away your shields and disable your hyperdrive before you can jump. We'll take you all back to Zesta and there you can explain to the cops why you were aiding a fugitive. Or you can hand her over and pick up a new whore at your next stop. Your choice, you got five seconds."

"Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a twist."

*

We docked at their port side and took positions at the hatch, blasters drawn. The cargo haulers had decided that even a pretty thief they could fuck all the way to Resara wasn't worth the trouble and they didn't care much for being boarded either.

The moment the hatch opened, they handed over both Elvira and her luggage. She wasn't keen on going back to Zesta -- one of the guys had a bloody nose and she took a swing at me as well, which I blocked easily. Rashid zip-tied her to one of the benches in the cargo hold and took a knife off her that she had hidden in her right boot. Fortunately, there had been no time to spend anything, so the money was still in her pocket.

"What were you thinking?" I shouted from the cockpit as I released the docking clamps. "How could you do this to us?"

"Oh, come on," she shouted back. "As if you never stole anything in your life. You're hardly a saint yourself."

"Yes, and I paid for it, like you will. At least I never stole from people who took me in and trusted me and I sure as hell never fucked anyone over like you did my girls. They have been nothing but kind to you and that's how you thank them?"

"Well, you got your money back. No harm, no foul, right? Cut me loose and you'll never see me again."

"Forget it, I'm handing you over to the cops. It's time to get yourself a collar and a slave stamp, bitch. You'll wish you never met me."

*

It was the second time within three months that I had to give testimony in court to Judge Erhardt, the same judge who had sentenced my mother. It was just a formality, the cops had already taken everyone's statement and the whole episode was well-documented. All that remained was getting everything on the record and of course, sentencing.

"Ms. Anderson," said the judge. "Back so soon."

"Not by choice, your honor."

He leaned back in his chair and looked at me.

"I read up on you since the last time we met, you have quite the eventful past. From what I gather, you should be in prison, but apparently you have been pardoned by someone at the highest levels of the Altranian government. You must have powerful friends."

"I didn't ask for that, your honor. In any case, that's in the past, I'm a law-abiding small business owner. And I'm not looking for trouble."

"Well, except for a little run-in with our tax authority, there is nothing on your record. I'm happy to hear that. By the way, have you heard from your mother?"

"No, your honor. According to the register she's still on Besha, but it's not like I could send her a message."

"She's doing okay, considering the circumstances, just the usual adjustment issues. You can leave a message with my office and I will make sure she gets it."

"Thank you, your honor."

"Alright, to the matter at hand."

The matter in this case being Elvira. She was cuffed to the defendant's table, wearing a bright orange prison uniform, leg irons, and a control collar and didn't seem to be particularly happy. A week in lockup and the prospect of a lengthy term of penal slavery probably didn't help to brighten her mood.

"You caught yourself quite the thief, Ms. Anderson. That's an impressive rap sheet for a person her age. Do you intend to press charges?"

"Like any law-abiding citizen would, your honor."

He chuckled. "Thank you for letting the courts handle this matter. We don't care much for vigilantes."

Even a week after the incident I was still angry and I wasn't the only one. Sylvie in particular was feeling betrayed and wanted her punished to the full extent of the law, while Carla, who had first-hand experience with the neuro whip, thought a few lashes and a warning were sufficient. The rest of us fell somewhere in the middle.

"Young woman, you stole from your employer and abused the trust she placed in you. Would you like to offer an explanation or ask for forgiveness before we proceed to sentencing?"

This really wasn't the time to be stubborn. The smart move would have been to fake some remorse in hope of a lighter sentence, but she just shook her head.

"Very well. You realize that as a serial offender, a sentence of twenty years of penal slavery-"

Elvira jumped to her feet, making her chains rattle. "What?! You fucking son-"

The judge pressed a button on his data pad and she was silenced immediately. That collar she wore must have had a built-in neural gag -- her mouth was open and she looked at us, confused, unable to articulate the thoughts that she so desperately wanted to share.

"Miss, don't make things worse for yourself. Sit down and listen. You should consider yourself lucky that we on Zesta believe in rehabilitation and I hope you are still young enough to turn your life around. I hereby sentence you to four weeks in jail with fifty lashes per day of the neuro correctional whip, followed by four years of penal slavery at a location of this court's choosing. After two weeks you will get the opportunity to give that apology another try."

Elvira smashed her handcuffs on the table in frustration but finally sat back down. Four years was on the lower end of what she could expect if her rap sheet was in fact that long, but the whip was serious business. Judges often shortened sentences in exchange for a higher number of lashes, but it wasn't quite the favor they thought it was.

"Ms. Anderson, according to your paperwork with the slave register, your establishment is licensed for employing penal slaves."

"I don't know. It is possible, your honor."

Obviously, a brothel needed to be able to employ serfs, but this was the first time I heard about slaves. It was entirely plausible that one of the previous owners had owned slave whores, judging from the cages in our backyard. After the war, millions of cheap Thorean girls had saturated the markets, sending slave prices to all-time lows. Purely from a financial point of view, it would have been a sensible business decision.

"You are the injured party, so I'm at liberty to have her serve her term at your establishment. You'd get to keep half the money she makes, the rest goes to the state. We have to keep the lights on, too."

I looked over to Elvira, but she kept staring at her shackled feet.

"I'd rather not, your honor. My staff works with me voluntarily, none of them are chained up or caged. I would like to keep it that way."

He tapped at his data pad. "I'm sorry, your business is listed as a brothel. Is there an error in the paperwork?"

"It's a brothel and I'm aware that it's unusual, but we're doing this without the chains. I have worked as a whore in slave brothels, that's why we try to be different."

He raised his eyebrow.

"That is commendable, Ms. Anderson. In that case I will find another place for her and you will receive twenty-five percent of the sales price. That seems fair, considering that you were also the one who captured her."

"Thank you, your honor."

"Don't thank me too soon. I'm afraid the wheels of justice turn slowly, it will take a while until you see any of that money."

Jail

The judge had been right, it would take more than three months for the money from the sale to arrive and for the stolen money to be released from evidence. For the time being, I had to use my personal funds to pay everyone.

In the meantime, the judge's office notified me that Elvira's first two weeks in jail were up and they invited me to come see her for that apology that she still owed. By then, she had already received hundreds of lashes and even though the neuro whip didn't leave any physical traces, it inflicted an amount of pain that was unimaginable for anyone who had never experienced it.

I would accept the apology, sincere or not, and ask the judge to commute the second half of her lashes, but I was told that I had to go there for a signature.

*

Zesta's central jail was located on deck one hundred and four. It was a modern, relatively clean facility for short-term incarceration that mostly housed tourists who had partied too hard and people waiting for trial. Anyone sentenced to more than a few weeks would be shipped to the surface to one of many prisons and labor camps on Teraxis.

Even though the syndicate had taken care of all my open warrants, it was a strange feeling -- most times I had entered a jail, it had been in handcuffs -- so I took a deep breath and walked up to the desk sergeant.

"Excuse me," I said, looking around nervously. "I'm Cassidy Anderson. Judge Erhardt sent me."

"Good morning. You're here to self-surrender?"

"No, I'm here to see a prisoner. The judge feels she owes me an apology."

The sergeant typed something on his computer.

"Oh, that. I'm sorry, Ms. Anderson, in order to move that particular inmate to visitation I'll need at least two people and we are a bit busy right now. You'll have to wait a couple of hours or come back another time."

"Can't I just sign that I accept her apology and go? I really need to get back to work."

He shook his head. "I can't just ignore the judge's orders, no matter how inconvenient they are for any of us. Erhardt takes these things very seriously."

"How about you have someone take me to her cell? It'll take five minutes, tops."

"Miss, no offense, but I can't just let anyone from the street walk into my jail. You wouldn't believe what people try to smuggle in on a regular basis."

"So have me searched, I don't mind. Anything that gets me out of here quickly. And you won't have to take her to the whipping chamber every day, so that's a win-win."

He scratched his head.

"Alright," he said and turned to the other guard at the desk. "Mills, have Ms. Anderson searched and take her to three twenty-five for a quick visit. You know the girl, it's one of Erhard's lost causes."

*

Mills was a tall, friendly guy in his fifties who looked like he appreciated food a bit more than should. He took me through a couple of security doors to the womens' booking area and I could see that the sergeant hadn't exaggerated, it was loud and extremely busy.

The holding cells to the left were at capacity and the benches along the corridor on the right were lined with naked, handcuffed women waiting to be searched, all tethered to the wall using steel collars and chains. Some girls were squabbling among each other, a few were crying, and the rest were just sitting there, staring into the void.

"We'll jump the line," said Mills and handed me a small gray box. "Put your clothes into the container and I'll get them scanned."

Undressing was a rather quick affair -- all I had was a comlink, pants, a t-shirt, and my ballerinas. The guard was very professional and didn't stare. As beautiful as mine were, if he wanted to look at naked boobs or cop a feel, there would be dozens on display to choose from. With everyone's hands cuffed behind their backs, nobody could hide anything.

"Please take a seat, I'll be back in a few."

Following instructions has never been my strong suit, so when I saw that there was an opening, I walked over to the female guard who was conducting the searches on what looked like a gynecological examination table -- except those usually didn't have leather straps all over.

"Hop on," she said with a friendly smile and an inviting gesture. "We have a huge backlog today, I'll be quick."

I looked around, but Mills was nowhere to be seen and when I hesitated, she made it clear that this was an order, not a request. She took the shock prod from her belt and pressed the button, making it emit blue sparks.

"We'll use the prod if we have to, either way you're going on that table," she said firmly. "The last girl who got her fanny zapped peed all over herself and couldn't walk for an hour. But if you get on the table now, I promise I'll be gentle. There's really no need to be nervous."

I wasn't particularly happy with how this had turned out, but I had been poked and prodded in quite a few prisons and as long as it only took a few minutes, there was no point in making a fuss. I sat down on the table, put my legs in the stirrups and leaned back. She closed the straps around my ankles, belly, neck, and wrists, making me feel helpless and exposed.

"I can't believe you zapped that poor girl's pussy," I said, remembering all too well what a shock prod in that sensitive spot could do. "You should try it on yourself, see what it's like."

"We have to use the prod sometimes when people don't comply, but never on anyone's genitals. The threat is usually enough and it worked on you, didn't it? And now please open your mouth."

She pushed a dental gag between my teeth and locked it, then she donned medical gloves, checked my mouth with a flashlight, and removed the gag.

"Have you ever found anything?" I asked.

"We do, but mostly in the bottom holes, that's why we gotta check there. If you're hiding something, I can get your number of lashes reduced if you admit to it right away."

"Nope, I got nothing."

Back in the day I had smuggled plenty, but usually in the cargo hold of a freighter. Assault rifles and thermo grenades were a bit too large to shove them up one's ass, even if it was as flexible and well-trained as mine.

"I see you already have a slave stamp," she said, brushing over the tattoo above my pubic mound. "Serf or penal?"

"Penal."

"A repeat offender then? Sorry to hear. Maybe it won't be that bad, the judges on Zesta don't hand out life sentences like they do in other places. Fingers crossed."

"It's okay, I'm just here for a quick visit."

"Gotta love your optimism," she said and squirted some lube onto a speculum. "This may feel a little cold. Please relax, we'll be done in no time."

The search of my vagina was invasive, but nothing compared to the search of my ass. She pushed roughly one meter of sensor tube into my colon, making this my most thorough cavity search to date. Of course it didn't turn up anything -- except for a good amount of cum that my customers had left behind this morning.

"Looks like you've been busy," she said, taking off her gloves. "Did you make some good memories before coming here?"

"Just a normal day at work."

"Ah, I see, a lady of the trade."

Now that we were done, she unfastened the straps, right when Mills came rushing back to get me. She looked surprised when he handed me my clothes.

"She's a visitor," he explained while I was getting dressed. "For our problem child in three twenty-five."

"What the hell, Mills?" she asked and gave him a dirty look. "If I had known we could have done this with a squat and a cough. No need to make her go through the whole thing."

"I would have told you," said Mills, "but she went ahead without me. I'm sorry, Miss. I hope it wasn't too unpleasant."

I shrugged. "All good, I've had worse. But can we go now? I'm in a bit of a hurry."

Mills looked a bit embarrassed. "Something got stuck in the scanner, that's why it took so long."

"I'm a whore, getting my holes probed by strangers is pretty much my job description. But if you wanna keep going, you gotta pay me."

"We're definitely done. With my salary at Justice I couldn't afford a beauty like you."

I laughed. "Come to the Naughty Nymph, deck ninety-seven, you'll find that we have very reasonable rates. I'll give you a discount."

*

After my search, Mills escorted me through more security doors towards Elvira's cell block. The area we were passing through seemed to be the medical tract -- I saw three guards strap down a struggling girl on a gurney -- she was cursing and kicking, but they eventually managed to overpower her.

"We do tattoos and collars on Tuesdays," said Mills. "Women in the morning, men in the afternoon. Things tend to get a little chaotic at times."

We didn't have to wait long to see proof of that. A naked young woman rushed through an open door in front of us, she was shuffling away as fast as she could -- which wasn't very fast, considering the fact that she was wearing leg irons. She was in full transport restraints and half a dozen security doors away from freedom, making this the most hopeless, desperate escape attempt I had ever seen.

"Whoa, did someone forget to secure you?" asked Mills and grabbed her by her upper arm. "Sorry, Miss, there's no running from your collar."

With gentle pressure he pushed her back through the door and made her sit down on a bench. When he chained her to the wall using one of the collars, she started to cry.

"P-... please, I don't know what's happening," she said between sobs. "I did nothing wrong. Can't you... can't you just let me go?"

"What are you in for?" asked Mills and when she didn't answer he scanned her orange plastic wristband. "Failure to pay the citizen tax. Two years in penal."

"But, but... I came here to be a dancer. For work! Wh-... what will happen to me?"

"You're a first offender, it can't be too bad. You'll do gardening or janitorial work, they won't send you to a camp. But Miss, there's no way out now, don't resist and let it happen. If they identify you as a problem, they'll increase your security level and you don't want that, trust me. Good luck to you."

He closed the door and we continued our way along the corridor.