Time and Chance

Only now did I avail myself to look around. I was standing among a cross-section of society. Adult men and women of every known body type. There were gray-haired old women and slouchy, mature men. A number of the people wore collars just like mine. Most, but not all of the collar wearers were among the few without any body hair whatsoever. From time to time, I caught a male or female eye appreciating me, I favored them with a leer in return. Surprisingly, none of the guys were sporting erections. I supposed this sort of communal nudity was a common occurrence in this universe. The doors to the chamber opened, we hustled to our robes and made our way back to our cabin.

Larta allowed me only to keep my robe. She stated that she had, "A surprise" for me. Whenever she used that phrase I cringed. Swallowing my fears, I took her hand and allowed her to lead me to a surprisingly large room located in the gasbag of the Zeppelin, on the lower levels above the gondola and observation deck. In the plain white walled room was a small dais and a collection of people gathered behind easels. One of them, clearly the instructor, embraced Larta as though she was an old friend, which she no doubt probably was. He looked at me and asked, "Is this our model?"

"Yes, Anton," returned Larta. "She has never posed before, but it will be good for her training," after a pause, she followed up, in a voice designed to awe, "She is on loan from the emperor!"

He looked at me with appreciation, "Her experience is immaterial," returned the gray-haired teacher, "The point of this "on the fly" lecture is to just to see how one artist's technique compares to another so that they can learn shortcuts and insights from each other. We have neither the time, nor the materials for anything beyond the most rudimentary of sketches. That said, some of the professionals and amateurs on this flight's class are both quite skilled and quite rapid. Have her remove the robe and mount the dais. I'll tell her how to pose."

And that is exactly what happened. Somehow it was less intimidating to be in the altogether for a group of skilled artists. Certainly, they had seen naked models before. I imagined their attitude was like a doctor's or an anatomist's. Even so, for several long moments I was quite self-conscious as I stood there. After a while however, the entire thing, standing naked and posing, before a room of fully clothed men and women had a bizarre sort of normality to it. What helped enormously was the instructor. He had a gentlemanly but firm manner that I liked immediately and had no trouble following his instructions. There were regular breaks and everyone, including me, got to share in the wine and hors d'oeuvres were served then.

The class was only a few hours long. I recall my final pose. I was sitting on my butt, legs flat and fully extended, supporting my body with my arms splayed backwards. While in this pose, I was essentially at eye level to the artist closest to me. He was rather handsome with longish light hair and green luminous eyes that seemed to look into my very soul. I tried to remain impassive and keep my eyes focused on a remote point as the instructor had requested but my eyes kept coming back to his time and again. I could read no emotion other than deep concentration on his face, but his eyes! They flashed and focused, dilated, and contracted and were never less than mesmerizing. I lost myself completely in his unbelievably beautiful eyes!

And then, just like that, class was over. I broke my reverie and found my robe. Then I became aware that Larta was caught up in conversation with the artist with the beautiful green eyes. I approached and caught sight of what he was working on and gasped audibly. There on the giant sketchpad was the most amazing likeness of myself I had ever seen. The face of the woman on the paper wore my face, but more beautiful than ever. She wore my collar, but somehow, it did not look like an object of oppression and control. She had my breasts, only better. He navel and tummy were mine, yet both were somehow even more attractive than the genuine items. My shorn sex looked like a lair of mystery and my legs and toes were perfectly crafted. After I had at last comprehended that this beautiful woman was indeed me, I noted that Larta and the artist were caught up in a heated discussion.

Larta adamantly wanted to buy the sketch. The artist, just as adamantly, had no desire to sell. Finally, the artist exclaimed, "Yes, Ms. Spotswood, that is a more than fair price for my work, but the piece is exceptional. He gazed at me and continued, "BUT I WILL part with it for that price with two additional conditions, one, your enchanting slave poses for no one else and that she spends a month at my studio so that I can capture her far more fully and more permanently.

"But she is only on loan to us from the emperor!" stated Larta exasperatedly.

"You and your famous husband are on a first name basis with the emperor, are you not? When she arrives at my studio, I will send the sketch to you. To be fair, I will not cash your check until I return her to the emperor."

"You drive a hard bargain, Alphonse," sighed Larta.

"Take it or leave it, you, social parasite!"

Then the two shook hands while I just stood there dumbly. All I wanted at that moment was for Mark to see that amazing likeness, collar and all. As Larta grabbed my arm and as subtly as possible led me away, she whispered in my ear, "THAT is Alphonse Dressen, only the most important of the practitioners of the realist school! I'd KILL to own one of his originals. Looks like I will have to impinge on the emperor's friendship, yet again."

"He certainly has fascinating eyes," I returned.

"If the rumors are true, my dear, Laurel, his green eyes are the LEAST fascinating thing about him!" replied Larta with a hearty and very sexy chuckle.

By the time we made it back to our cabin and I finished getting dressed, Larta and I had missed both lunch and brunch. Still, we thought it a possibility the galley was still serving so we made our way there. I had eaten a bit while posing but it was not enough to slake my hunger. Larta, on the other hand, had had nothing since the night before, so she was famished.

The galley was deserted save for two off-duty Air Corps stewards. (We knew they were off duty because they weren't wearing their jackets and hats.) Both asked politely if they could share our table. Larta, never missing an opportunity to flirt, batted her eyes at them and made no objection as they settled themselves opposite us. One was older, the second close to my age. Like apparently all Air Corps officers, both were extremely handsome. The young one introduced himself as Stefan, he sat down across from Larta. He was blond and rugged with brilliant blue eyes. The older one stated his name as Simon, and he sat down across from me. Conversation came easily. Simon was dark-haired but had a dashing bit of grey in his hair at the temples. His eyes were gun metal gray and quite striking. He reminded me of my mother's favorite actor, Jeff Chandler, whom I had developed a second-hand crush on by osmosis. They talked about life in the Air Corps and about other airships they had served on. The "Romulus" was only Stefan's second assignment, whereas Simon had been flying for decades. He was on the crew of the "Statesman" the last airship to have crashed. That disaster resulted in more than one hundred fatalities!

Larta and I hung on every word as Simon described the harrowing ordeal as well as the split-second decision which he had made that saved not only his own life but dozens of others! "I became the second youngest captain in the history of the fleet after that, for my "heroics" but further advancement took a long while because, in a sense, I became a marked man. Even though I had nothing to do with the wreck of the "Statesman" I had been aboard her and was considered something of a jinx. Kind of like what happened to that poor cosmonaut, Michael Collins, who had to leave the crew of the first lunar lander on the moon. He didn't foul up, Major Critten did when he accidentally locked himself and Igorsky out of the lander, but Collins NEVER flew again. At least I wasn't grounded for life like that poor son of a bitch was!" Larta made goo-goo eyes at Stefan all throughout the meal. I'm sure that Simon could tell through my body language and the way that I paid attention to him that I found him extremely interesting and handsome. The air around the table became pregnant with "anticipation" for lack of a better word.

Stefan broke the tension by suggesting, "How would you two lovely ladies like a private tour of the "Romulus?" We can show you parts of the ship that never make the tours or the video documentaries."

Simon rose, extended his hand to Larta, who gladly accepted it. Stefan held his hand out. I felt it would have been rude to refuse it. The tour was beyond fascinating. We went everywhere even into the giant gas bag itself, well the catwalks that ran through it anyway. The four of us ended up in an out of the way room that certainly would have been invisible to me had I not been with Stefan. It was surprisingly roomy with a table chairs and couches.

"This is the crew's private oasis, a place to go where we don't have to deal with the passenger, present company excluded, of course," stated Simon.

"What do you DO here?" asked Larta.

"We kick back, smoke, play cards," offered Stefan.

"Well. let's continue that tradition," stated Larta avidly, "how about a little poker?"

"What are the stakes?" asked Simon.

"How about our clothes?" returned Larta with a wide grin.

"Larta!" I complained.

"Oh, don't be a wet blanket, Laurel! Besides, we might win."

Stefan eyed me in an entirely new way as he settled himself in the seat across from me. I understood he had expectations I was not sure I wanted to live up to but could not afford to avoid. I made a wan smile in his direction. Simon produced a deck of cards and dealt four hands. As it happens, I am a better than fair poker player. Mark and I used to play strip poker with the curtains closed. After the first few games, I was no pushover. More often than not, I remained mostly attired while my husband ended up buck naked. The stakes of our private games were simple, winner got the loser as their slave for the night. I was a selfish winner. Mark had to give me the oral love I was entitled to as well a full body massage and a bowl of chocolate ice cream fed to me very slowly. Eventually, of course, before he started whining, Mark got everything he wanted as well. I thought those happy thoughts for a long moment before I gazed at Larta.

She placed a hand on my bare knee, leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Lose, Laurel, but don't look like you are losing.".

As if I had any doubt as to how this encounter with these two men was going to end... I bit my tongue and nodded.

Anticipating that we might be interrupted, Simon rose long enough to lock the door to the room before he returned to his chair. He flashed me a warm smile and I thought, "What the hell?" If anybody got in trouble for this erotic adventure it would not be me. I took a long appreciative look at Simon. That he was as old as my father suddenly didn't matter.

Stefan shuffled the cards and Larta cut the deck. The first hand was dealt. I'm proud to say, I lasted longer than Larta or Stefan. In the end, Simon beat me by a pair of panties while he retained his nicely tenting undershorts. He applauded and whistled as I unveiled my bald kitty. Larta and Stefan already occupied one of the room's couches, with a smile I found enchanting, Simon steered me towards the unoccupied one. The sex with him afterwards was a hell of a lot better than it had any right to be. What was coming over me? Was I truly a secret slut? Where was that pretty, supremely certain and demure woman who had pledged to be faithful forever while walking down the main aisle of my church? Did I want to know? The next morning, which was the day that the Zeppelin was scheduled to land, Larta dressed me in a chiffon mini toga. The underwear beneath it felt really good like the expensive stuff from back home. She had me don a pair of black nylon hose with seams up the back, the garters were JUST concealed by the bottom hem of my toga. The heels were a bit formal for a breakfast as well, but Larta explained that we would be landing about two P.M. and she intended to "Show me off." I was given a bib to eliminate risk of soiling my clothes. Breakfast was again, superb.

After the morning meal, which was served relatively late in the glittering dining room, the airship circled a large and beautiful city. I spied white towers and wide boulevards. We circled a large sports arena where a game was being contested. It appeared to my untrained eyes as a very violent form of rugby with the players allowed to use Billy clubs on their opponents as they battled for the oblong ball. Tiberius was quite excited by the sight. Apparently, it was a playoff game of some sort. I could just spy, not far away, an enchanting coastline and a turquoise sea. It reminded me of my Caribbean honeymoon with Mark, but nothing else about the landscape did. There was a buzz of activity as the airship came in for a landing several hours later. Tiberius, Larta, and I craned our necks so that we could watch the husky members of the ground crew capture and guide the huge gasbag to a mooring mast. I thought about old films I had seen of the Hindenburg and thought it a towering shame that the world I knew had lost such a delightful way of flying.

The couple who had invited Larta and Tiberius (and me) for a vacation in the sun were waiting for us Rondo and Mara Argent were about a decade younger than Larta. He was tall, broad, dark-featured with a nose that had obviously been broken several times. She was red-haired, petite, buxom, and absolutely gorgeous, my main focus however was the young man wearing a collar that accompanied them. I knew without even being introduced that this was the Darius I had heard so much about. Handsome? That word does not begin to describe him! He could not have been a day over eighteen and was clearly biracial with a lovely caramel color. His hair was dark brown and curly and worn a bit long. His face could have graced any Hollywood movie poster and his midriff bearing shirt revealed knot after knot of tight muscles. He was not overdeveloped like Arnold in his heyday, but perfectly, magnificently sculpted. I suddenly felt less intimidated by the prospect of this holiday. A moment after THAT I remembered Mark and felt like the universe's greatest heel!

Mara, Larta, Tiberius, and Rondo exchanged handshakes and passionate kisses. I was instructed to kiss Darius. Before we had even exchanged hellos, we locked lips. Darius was one talented kisser! The six of us immediately piled into an electric vehicle and drove towards the beach. Rondo and Mara's absolutely breathtaking and enormous house set atop the dunes of an incredibly beautiful, white sandy beach. Lovely, does not begin to cover it. We were all soon sitting in the screened porch enjoying the sea are and savoring freshly brewed tea and cookies that remined me of macaroons. I was introduced as "The emperor's special project," both Rondo and Mara said very nice things about my beauty. Darius was silent but his incandescent smile widened whenever his eyes met mine.

There was no guile in his eyeing me. I did not feel like he was sizing me up like a wolf a lamb. I got the impression rather, that he found me attractive and interesting. We both knew that we would be having sex. It was not lust that I saw in Darius's eyes and that put me at ease almost immediately. I sat between Larta and Tiberius. He sat between Rondo and Mara directly across from me. I learned from Rondo's and Tiberius's animated conversation that Rondo was a retired athlete. He had been a star, I can't remember the position, of that brutal game we witnessed from the airship. That accounted for his frequently broken nose. Apparently, these days he is an occasional commentator for television broadcasts of those games. Sometimes the parallels between this world and my own are downright eerie!

The afternoon sun filled the sky. Mara announced, "Let's not allow this beautiful day to pass without a swim. Larta and Ti you know the routine. Darius, if you would be so good as to take Laurel under your wing? Meet us at our usual spot in fifteen minutes. Darius nodded and replied, "Will do, Ma'am." With that, they hurried from the room, leaving me all alone with Darius. He rose from his chair, made his way over to me and said in a rich tenor voice. "If you would, slave Laurel, follow me." I swallowed the lump in my throat and accepted his hand. He even smelled good!

We entered a long hallway. "The beach exit is this way," he said. "Since you are the visiting slave and I the host slave, I'll undress you first in the side room before you undress me."

Fearing the answer but determined to ask it anyway I replied, "Do I get a bathing suit?"

"What is a bathing suit, slave Laurel?" was his puzzled response. As a stupid question ...

We reached the designated room. It was fitted out with waterproof benches, shelves to store towels, and cubicles for clothing. I spied Tiberius's neatly folded toga in one.

"Relax, slave Laurel," stated Darius soothingly as his hands reached for the catch of my mini toga. Unlike with Rog, the first total stranger to strip me, I felt no shame or embarrassment as Darius set to work denuding me. The fact that he wore a bored, disinterested look upon his face helped enormously. I knew it was just a front, but Darius is a convincing actor. His no-nonsense take charge attitude was perfect for the occasion. In very little time, Darius was rolling the stockings off my legs and I was down to my birthday suit. Darius's eyes took a thorough but by no means threatening tour of my naked real estate. He stood there expectantly. Oh, that's right, I was supposed to undress him!

I took a breath and slowly let it out. Darius might very well be the handsomest man I ever met. Yes, it pains me to admit, he is far more attractive than my Mark. I felt my skin flush as I worked the half shirt up and off his muscular arms. No man has ANY right to look that good with their shirt off! I took another deep breath and held it even longer. I bent to take off his sandals before tackling the pseudo-trousers he was wearing. Big feet with high arches and nice toes, obviously, he had enjoyed a pedicure not too long ago. Darius smiled and tilted his head at me as I reached for the button of his "pants" I tugged them down. Since they were chamois lined, he was naked under them. OH! MY! GOODNESS! He looked just like Michelangelo's David, only more ripped. Obviously comfortable being naked in front of naked women, he had not the hint of a stiffy. His cock was right in the Goldilocks's zone, not too big, not too small, just right. "If I was going to be used..." I found myself rationalizing before Darius stole a kiss, winked at me, and handed me a towel before leading me out into the sparkling sunshine.

Rondo was huge everywhere. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall. He had black intricate tattoos, that were somewhat reminiscent of those of Maori but different, that extended from his wrists to his shoulders. Even though he was a retired athlete, it is clear that he kept himself in shape. Mara looked like a model, later I learned she had been one when she and Rondo had met. I hoped that I looked even half as beautiful in the eyes of others. Larta and Tiberius's naked forms were a familiar sight at any rate. The privacy of the beach and universal nudity, had me far more relaxed than I would have been otherwise. The water was a beautiful turquoise, the temperature of the water, when I stuck in my toe, was as perfect as that of the air.